How to Marry a Marquis

by Julia Quinn

  “What more could you possibly have to do?” she demanded. But he’d already wrenched free of her grip and strode back to the kitchen door. When she thought he was out of earshot, she mumbled, “It seems to me we’ve already done everything today.”

  He threw a wicked grin over his shoulder. “Not everything.”

  She sputtered and spluttered, trying to come up with an appropriately scathing retort, when he completely ruined the moment by melting her heart.

  “Oh, Jane,” he called out, leaning against the door-frame.

  Elizabeth couldn’t see into the kitchen, but she could picture the scene perfectly as her baby sister lifted her head, her dark blue eyes wide and wondrous.

  James blew a kiss into the kitchen. “Goodbye, sweet Jane. I do wish you were a little more grown up.”

  Elizabeth let out a beatific sigh and sank into a chair. Her sister would be dreaming on that kiss for the rest of her girlhood.

  The speech was overrehearsed, but the sentiment was certainly sincere. Elizabeth knew that she would have to confront James about their scandalous behavior, and she’d played out conversations in her head all night and into the following morning. She was still reciting her words as she tramped her way through the mud—it had rained the previous night—to Danbury House.

  This plan—this strange, bizarre, incomprehensible plan which was supposed to deposit her on the altar of marriage—it needed rules. Dictums of behavior, guidelines, that sort of thing. Because if she didn’t have some idea what she was supposed to expect in James Siddons’s company, she was liable to go mad.

  For example, her behavior the previous afternoon was clearly the mark of a highly distracted mind. She had flung water all over herself in a fit of panic. Not to mention her wanton reaction to James’s kiss.

  She was going to have to assume a certain modicum of control. She refused to be some sort of charity case for his entertainment. She was going to insist upon repaying him for his services, and that was that.

  Furthermore, he couldn’t grab her and sweep her into his embrace when she wasn’t expecting it. As silly as it sounded, his kisses were going to have to remain purely academic. It was simply the only way she was going to emerge from this episode with her soul intact.

  As for her heart—well, that was probably already a lost cause.

  But no matter how many times she tried to rehearse the little speech she’d prepared, it sounded wrong. First too bossy, then too weak. Too strident, and then too cajoling. Where on earth was a woman supposed to look for advice?

  Maybe she should take just one more peek into HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS. If it was rules and edicts she wanted, she’d certainly find them there. Perhaps Mrs. Seeton had included something about how to convince a man that he was wrong without mortally insulting him. Or how to get a man to do what you wanted while making him think it had all been his idea from the very beginning. Elizabeth was certain she’d seen something to that effect in her readings.

  And if there wasn’t, there sure as heaven ought to be. Elizabeth couldn’t imagine a more useful skill. It had been one of the few pieces of feminine advice her mother had passed on to her before she died. “Never take the credit,” Claire Hotchkiss had told her. “You’ll accomplish far more if you let him think he is the smartest, bravest, most powerful man in creation.”

  And from what Elizabeth had observed, it had worked. Her father had been utterly besotted with her mother. Anthony Hotchkiss hadn’t been able to see anything else—including his children—when his wife walked in the room.

  Unfortunately for Elizabeth, however, when her mother had been dispensing advice about what to do with a man, she had never seen fit to explain how to carry out that advice.

  Maybe these things were intuitive to some women, but certainly not to Elizabeth. Good heavens, if she had been forced to consult a guidebook just to tell her what to say to a man, she certainly wouldn’t know how to make him believe that her ideas were actually his.

  She was still trying to master the most basic lessons of courtship. That seemed an advanced technique indeed.

  Elizabeth stamped the mud from her feet on the outer steps to Danbury House, then let herself in the front door and scurried down the hall to the library. Lady D was still at breakfast, this area of the house was quiet, and that blasted little book was waiting.…

  She kept her feet on the elegant runner carpet that extended much of the length of the hall. Something about the silence struck her as sacred—of course that may have had something to do with the endless bickering she suffered through during breakfast when Lucas and Jane had fought over whose turn it was to clean up. The second her feet touched the floor, there was a horrible clatter, echoing through the hall, and jangling her already frayed nerves.

  She dashed into the library, inhaling the scent of the polished wood and old books. How she savored these brief moments of privacy. With a careful and quiet motion, she shut the door behind her and scanned the shelves. There it was, sitting sideways on the shelf where she’d found it days earlier.

  Just one peek couldn’t hurt. She knew it was a silly book, and that most of it was stuff and nonsense, but if she could find just one little scrap of advice that would help with her current dilemma…

  She picked up the book and leafed through it, her fingers nimbly flipping the pages as she skimmed Mrs. Seeton’s words. She bypassed the bit about wardrobes, and the nonsense about practicing. Maybe there was something toward the end—

  “What are you doing?”

  She looked up, painfully aware that her expression was one of a deer staring down the barrel of a hunter’s rifle. “Nothing?”

  James strode across the room, his long legs carrying him to intimidating closeness in only five steps. “You’re reading that book again, aren’t you?”

  “Not reading, precisely,” Elizabeth stammered. She was a complete ninny to be so embarrassed, but she couldn’t help feeling like she had just been caught doing something most unsavory. “It was more of a browse.”

  “I find myself remarkably uninterested in the difference between the two.”

  Elizabeth quickly decided that the best course of action was a change of subject. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I heard your footsteps. Next time, if you want to engage in acts of subterfuge, walk on the carpet.”

  “I did! But the carpet ends, you know. One has to step on the floor for a few paces to enter the library.”

  His brown eyes took on a strange, almost academic light, as he said, “There are ways to muffle—Oh, never mind. That is not the matter at hand.” He reached out and snatched HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS away from her. “I thought we had agreed that this was nothing but nonsense. A collection of drivel and claptrap designed to turn women into brainless, sniveling idiots.”

  “I was under the impression that men already thought we were brainless, sniveling idiots.”

  “Most are,” he grunted in agreement. “But you don’t have to be.”

  “Why, Mr. Siddons, you shock me. I think that might have been a compliment.”

  “And you say you don’t know how to flirt,” he grumbled.

  Elizabeth couldn’t contain the smile that welled up within her. Of all his compliments, the reluctant ones touched her the most.

  He scowled at her, his expression turning almost boyishly petulant as he jammed the book back on the shelf. “Don’t let me catch you looking at that again.”

  “I was only looking for a bit of advice,” she explained.

  “If you need advice, I’ll give it to you.”

  Her lips pursed for a brief second before she answered with, “I don’t think that’s appropriate in this case.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Mr. Siddons—”

  “James,” he snapped.

  “James,” she amended. “I don’t know what has propelled you into such a temper, but I do not appreciate your language. Or your tone.”

  He let out a long exhale,
appalled at the way his body shuddered as he did so. His gut had been twisted in knots for nearly twenty-four hours, and all over this little slip of a female. She barely reached his shoulder, for God’s sake.

  It had started with that kiss. No, he thought grimly, it had started long before that, with the anticipation, the wondering, the dreaming of what it would be to feel her mouth beneath his.

  And of course it hadn’t been enough. It hadn’t been nearly enough. He’d managed to fake nonchalance fairly well the previous afternoon—with the help of her pot of well-aimed water, which had certainly taken the edge off of his need.

  But the night had left him all alone with his imagination. And James had a vivid imagination.

  “I am in a temper,” he finally answered her, avoiding an outright lie by adding, “because I did not sleep well last night.”

  “Oh.” She seemed surprised by the simplicity of his answer. She opened her mouth as if to interrogate him further, then closed it.

  Good for her, he thought harshly. If she expressed so much as a vague interest in why he didn’t sleep well, he swore he’d tell her. He’d describe his dreams in every last explicit detail.

  “I’m sorry that you suffer insomnia,” she finally said, “but I do think we need to discuss your offer to aid me in finding a husband. I’m sure you realize that it is highly irregular.”

  “I thought we had decided that we weren’t going to let that guide our actions.”

  She ignored him. “I need a certain measure of stability in my life, Mr. Siddons.”

  “James.”

  “James.” She repeated his name, the word coming out on a sigh. “I cannot be constantly on my guard, watching for you to pounce on me at any second.”

  “Pounce?” One corner of his mouth tilted up in a hint of a smile. He rather liked the image pouncing brought to mind.

  “And it certainly cannot be beneficial for us to be so, ah…”

  “Intimate?” he supplied, just to annoy her.

  It worked. The look she threw at him could have shattered a window. “The point is,” she said loudly, as if that could drown out his interference, “our aim is to find me a husband, and—”

  “Don’t worry,” he said grimly. “We’ll find you a husband.” But even as he said the words, he became vaguely aware of a strange distaste in his mouth. He could picture his tutoring lessons with Elizabeth—picture each and every perfect little minute—but the thought of her actually achieving her stated goal of marriage left him slightly sick.

  “This brings me to another point,” she said.

  James crossed his arms. One more point and he might have to muzzle her.

  “About this work, and your willingness to help me find a husband—I’m not sure I’m comfortable being in your debt.”

  “You won’t be.”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said firmly, “I will. And I insist upon paying you back.”

  The smile he gave her was so potently masculine it turned her ankles to water. “And how,” he drawled, “do you intend to pay me back?”

  “Blackmail.”

  He blinked in surprise. She took a little pride in that. “Blackmail?” he echoed.

  “Lady Danbury told me that you are helping to uncover her blackmailer. I should like to assist you.”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “I said no.”

  She glared at him, and then, when he didn’t say anything further, she said, “Why not?”

  “Because it might be dangerous, that’s why not.”

  “You’re doing it.”

  “I’m a man.”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, fisting her hands at her side. “You are such a hypocrite! Everything you said yesterday about respecting me, and thinking I’m more intelligent than the average female—was that just a heap of nonsense to get me to trust you so you could—so you could—”

  “Respect has nothing to do with this, Elizabeth.” He planted his hands on his hips, and she actually took a step back at the strange expression in his eyes. It was almost as if he’d become another man right there in the space of five seconds—one who’d done dangerous things, known dangerous people.

  “I’m leaving,” she said. “You can stay here for all I care.”

  He caught her by the sash of her dress. “I don’t think we’ve concluded this conversation.”

  “I’m not so certain I want your company.”

  He let out a long, frustrated breath. “Respect doesn’t mean that I am willing to put you in danger.”

  “I find it difficult to believe that Lady Danbury’s nemesis is a dangerous individual. It’s not as if she’s being blackmailed for state secrets or the like.”

  “How can you be sure of that?”

  She gaped at him. “She is?”

  “No, of course not,” he snapped. “But you hardly know that, do you?”

  “Of course I do! I’ve worked for her for over five years. Do you really think Lady Danbury could be carrying on in a suspicious manner without my noticing it? Good gracious, just look how I reacted when she started napping.”

  He glared at her, his dark eyes brooking no argument. “You are not joining the blackmail investigation, and that is final.”

  She crossed her arms in return and said nothing.

  “Elizabeth?”

  A more cautious woman might have heeded the hard warning in his voice, but Elizabeth wasn’t feeling terribly prudent at that moment. “You cannot stop me from trying to help Lady Danbury. She has been as a mother to me, and—” She choked on her words as he backed her up against a table, his hands closing around her upper arms with stunning intensity.

  “I will bind you, I will gag you. I’ll tie you to a damn tree if that’s what it takes to keep your meddling nose where it belongs.”

  Elizabeth gulped. She’d never seen a man so furious. His eyes were flashing, his hand was shaking, and his neck was held so tensely that it seemed the tiniest tap could snap his head right off.

  “Well, now,” she squeaked, trying to pry his fingers loose. He didn’t seem to have any concept of how tightly he was holding her—or even that he was holding her at all. “I didn’t say I would meddle exactly, just aid you in certain, completely safe endeavors, and—”

  “Promise me, Elizabeth.” His voice was low and intent, and it was nearly impossible not to melt at the ferocity of feeling in those three little words.

  “I—ah—” Oh, where was Mrs. Seeton when she needed her? Elizabeth had tried cajoling him out of his temper—she was fairly certain that was included in Edict Number Twenty-six—but it hadn’t had the least effect. James was still furious, his hands were still closed around her arms like twin vises, and God help her, but Elizabeth couldn’t seem to take her eyes off his mouth.

  “Promise me, Elizabeth,” he repeated, and all she could do was watch his lips as he formed the words.

  His hands tightened around her arms, and that, combined with some heavenly force, jolted her out of a trance, and she jerked her eyes up to meet his. “I won’t do anything without consulting you first,” she whispered.

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “It’s going to have to be.” She winced. “James, you’re hurting me.”

  He looked down at his hands as if they were foreign objects, then abruptly released her. “I’m sorry,” he said distractedly. “I didn’t realize.”

  She took a step backward, rubbing her arms. “It’s all right.”

  James stared at her for a long moment before swearing under his breath and turning away. He had been tense, and he had been frustrated, but he had never anticipated the violent flood of emotion she had unleashed. The merest hint of Elizabeth in danger, and he turned into a blithering idiot.

  The irony was exquisite. Just last year he had laughed at his best friend when he’d been in a similar situation. Blake Ravenscroft had come completely unhinged when his future wife had attempted to take part in a War Office operation. James had found the entire
situation vastly amusing. It had been clear to him that Caroline wouldn’t be facing any real danger, and he’d thought Blake a besotted ass for raising such a fuss.

  James could look at the present situation with enough objectivity to know that Elizabeth was facing even less danger here at Danbury House. And yet his blood coursed with fear and fury at the very mention of her involvement in the blackmail affair.

  He had a feeling this was not a good sign.

  This had to be some sort of sick obsession. He’d done nothing but think about Elizabeth Hotchkiss since he’d arrived at Danbury House earlier in the week. First he’d had to investigate her as a possible blackmailer, then he’d found himself thrust in the unlikely position of courtship tutor.

  Actually, he’d thrust himself in that role, but he chose not to dwell on that point.

  The fact was, it was only natural that he’d fear for her safety. He’d been cast as her protector of sorts, and she was such a tiny little thing; any man would feel protective.

  And as for this need—the one that was raking his gut and firing his pulse—well, he was a man, after all, and she was a woman, and she was here, and she was really quite beautiful, in his opinion at least, and when she smiled it did strange things to his—

  “Damn it all,” he muttered, “I’m going to have to kiss you.”

  Chapter 13

  Elizabeth had time to catch one short breath before his arms closed around her. His mouth met hers with a stunning mix of power and tenderness, and she melted—positively melted—into his embrace.

  In fact, her last rational thought was that the word “melted” seemed to be popping up in her mind with increasing regularity. Something about this man did that to her. One of those heavy-lidded stares—the kind that hinted of things dark and dangerous, things she knew nothing about—and she was lost.

  His tongue darted between her lips, and she felt her mouth opening under his. He explored her fully, caressed her deeply, made her breath his own.

  “Elizabeth,” he rasped. “Tell me you need this. Tell me.”