by Julia Quinn
Elizabeth groaned and tore open the envelope. She wondered how much her siblings knew of her situation. She had told them nothing, but they were little ferrets when it came to uncovering secrets, and she’d wager they knew over half the story by now.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Lucas asked excitedly.
Elizabeth raised her brows and looked over at her brother. He was actually jumping up and down. “I can’t imagine why you’re so excited to hear what Lady Danbury has to say,” she said.
“I can’t imagine, either,” Susan growled, slamming a hand down on Lucas’s shoulder to keep him still.
Elizabeth just shook her head. If the Hotchkisses were bickering, then life must be returning to normal, and that had to be a good thing.
Ignoring the grunts of protest Lucas was making at being manhandled by his sister, Elizabeth slipped the paper from the envelope and unfolded it. It took her eyes mere seconds to scan the lines, and a surprised “Me?” escaped her lips.
“Is something wrong?” Susan asked.
Elizabeth shook her head. “Not precisely. But Lady Danbury wants me to come see her.”
“I thought you weren’t working for her any longer,” Jane said.
“I’m not, although I imagine I shall have to eat crow and ask for my position back. I don’t see how else we’re to have enough money to eat.”
When Elizabeth looked up, all three younger Hotchkisses were chewing on their lower lips, obviously dying to point out that (A) Elizabeth could have married James or (B) she could have at least deposited the bank draft instead of tearing it into four neat pieces.
Elizabeth dropped to her hands and knees to grab her boots from under the bed, where she’d kicked them the day before. She found her reticule sitting beside it, and she snatched that up as well.
“Are you leaving right now?” Jane asked.
Elizabeth nodded as she sat on the braided rug to pull on her boots. “I shouldn’t wait up for me,” she said. “I don’t know how long I’ll be. I imagine Lady Danbury will have a carriage bring me home.”
“You might even stay the night,” Lucas said.
Jane walloped him in the shoulder. “Why would she do that?”
“It might be easier if it’s dark,” he returned with a glare, “and—”
“Either way,” Elizabeth said loudly, finding the entire conversation somewhat bizarre, “you needn’t wait up.”
“We won’t,” Susan assured her, herding Lucas and Jane out of the way as Elizabeth stepped out into the hall. They watched as she dashed down the stairs and yanked open the front door. “Have a good time!” Susan called out.
Elizabeth threw her a sarcastic look over her shoulder. “I’m sure I won’t, but thank you for the sentiment.”
She pulled the door shut behind her, leaving Susan, Jane, and Lucas standing at the top of the stairs. “Oh, you might just be surprised, Elizabeth Hotchkiss,” Susan said with a grin. “You might just be surprised yet.”
The past few days would not rank among James Sidwell’s finest. To deem his temper foul would be a gross understatement, and Lady Danbury’s servants had long since started taking circuitous routes around the house just to avoid him.
His first inclination had been to get good and drunk, but he’d already done that once, on the night Elizabeth had discovered his true identity, and all it had left him with was a blistering hangover. And so the glass of whiskey he’d poured when he’d returned home from her cottage still sat on the desk in the library, sipped at no more than twice. Ordinarily, his aunt’s well-trained servants would have swept away the half-filled glass; nothing upset their sensibilities more than a stale glass of liquor lying directly upon a polished tabletop. But James’s ferocious expression the first time anyone had dared to knock on the locked library door had ensured his privacy, and now his haven—and his stale glass of whiskey—remained his own.
He was, of course, wallowing in self-pity, but it seemed to him that a man deserved a day or two of antisocial behavior after what he’d been through.
It would have been easier if he could have decided with whom he was more angry: Elizabeth or himself.
He picked up the glass of whiskey for the hundredth time that day, looked at it, and set it down. Across the room, HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS sat on the shelf, its red leather spine silently daring him to look at anything else. James glared at the book, just barely suppressing the urge to hurl the whiskey at it.
Let’s see…if he doused it with whiskey, then tossed it into the fireplace…the resulting inferno would be most satisfying.
He was actually considering it, trying to gauge how high the flames would reach, when a knock sounded at the door, this one considerably more forceful than the servants’ paltry attempts.
“James! Open this door at once.”
He groaned. Aunt Agatha. He rose to his feet and crossed the room to the door. He might as well get this over with. He knew that tone of voice; she’d pound the door until her fist turned bloody.
“Agatha,” he said too sweetly, “how lovely to see you.”
“You look like hell,” she barked, then pushed past him to settle into one of the library’s wing chairs.
“Still as tactful as ever,” he murmured, leaning against a tabletop.
“Are you drunk?”
He shook his head and motioned to the whiskey. “Poured a glass but never drank it.” He looked down at the amber liquid. “Hmmm. The surface is beginning to get dusty.”
“I didn’t come here to discuss spirits,” Agatha said haughtily.
“You did inquire as to my sobriety,” he pointed out.
She ignored his comment. “I hadn’t realized you had become friendly with young Lucas Hotchkiss.”
James blinked and stood up straight. Of all the non sequiturs his aunt might have chosen—and she was a master at changing the subject with no warning whatsoever—he certainly never expected this. “Lucas?” he echoed. “What about Lucas?”
Lady Danbury held out a folded piece of paper. “He sent you this letter.”
James took it from her, noting the childish smudges on the paper. “I suppose you read this,” he said.
“It was not sealed.”
He decided not to press the matter and unfolded the paper. “How odd,” he murmured.
“That he wants to see you? I don’t think it’s the least bit odd. The poor boy has not had a man in his life since he was three and his father died in that hunting accident.”
James looked up sharply. Apparently Elizabeth’s ruse had worked. If Agatha hadn’t managed to discover the truth about Mr. Hotchkiss’s death, then the secret was safe.
“He probably has a question for you,” Agatha continued. “Something he’d be too embarrassed to ask his sisters. Boys are like that. And I’m sure he’s confused about all that has happened in the past few days.”
James looked at her with curious eyes. His aunt was displaying a remarkable sensitivity to the little boy’s plight.
And then Agatha said, softly, “He reminds me of you when you were that age.”
James caught his breath.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised. He is, of course, much happier than you were at the time.” She reached down and gathered up her cat, who had slunk into the room. “But he has that lost expression boys get when they reach a certain age and they don’t have a man to guide them.” She stroked Malcolm’s thick fur. “We women are, of course, extremely capable and, for the most part, far wiser than men, but even I must admit there are some things we cannot do.”
While James was comprehending the fact that his aunt had actually admitted that there existed a task beyond her capabilities, she added, “You are going to see him, aren’t you?”
James was insulted that she would even ask. Only an unfeeling monster could ignore such a request. “Of course I’m going to see him. I’m rather curious, however, about his choice of locale.”
“Lord Danbury’s hunting lodge?” Agatha shrugged. “It’s n
ot as odd as you’d think. After he died, no one had any use for it. Cedric isn’t fond of hunting, and since he never leaves London, anyway, I offered it to Elizabeth. She refused, of course.”
“Of course,” James murmured.
“Oh, I know you’re thinking her too proud, but the truth is, she has a five-year lease on her cottage, so the move wouldn’t have saved her any money. And she didn’t want to uproot her family.” Lady Danbury lifted Malcolm up into a standing position on her lap and let him kiss her nose. “Isn’t he just the most darling cat?”
“Depends on your definition of ‘darling,’” James said, but only to needle his aunt. He owed the cat eternal gratitude for leading him to Elizabeth when Fellport had attacked her.
Lady D scowled at him. “As I was saying, Elizabeth refused, but she allowed that they might move there once her rent came due, so she brought the entire family out for a visit. Young Lucas was quite taken with it.” She frowned thoughtfully. “I think it was the hunting trophies. Young boys love that sort of thing.”
James glanced at a clock that was being used as a bookend. He’d need to leave in about a quarter of an hour if he wanted to be prompt for Lucas’s requested meeting.
Agatha sniffed the air and stood, letting Malcolm vault onto an empty bookshelf. “I’ll leave you to your own company,” she said, leaning on her cane. “I’ll tell the servants not to expect you for supper.”
“I’m sure this won’t take long.”
“One never knows, and if the boy is troubled, you might need to spend some time with him. Besides”—she paused as she reached the doorway and turned around—“it’s not as if you’ve graced the table with your illustrious presence these past few days, anyway.”
A cutting comeback would spoil her magnificent exit, so James just smiled wryly and watched her walk slowly down the hall, her cane thumping softly in time with her footsteps. He’d long since learned that everyone was happier if Agatha got to have the last word at least half the time.
James walked slowly back into the library, picked up the whiskey glass, and tossed contents through the open window. Setting the glass back down on the table, he glanced around the room, and his eyes fell upon the little red book that had been haunting him for days.
He strode to the bookshelf and picked it up, tossing the slim volume from hand to hand. It weighed almost nothing, which seemed ironic, since it had done so much to change his life. And then, in a split-second decision he would never quite understand, he slipped it into his coat pocket.
Much as he detested the book, it somehow made him feel closer to her.
Chapter 22
As Elizabeth approached the late Lord Danbury’s hunting lodge, she chewed nervously on her lower lip, and paused to reread Lady Danbury’s unexpected missive.
Elizabeth—
As you are aware, I am being blackmailed. I believe you might have information that will unearth the villain who has chosen me as his target. Please meet me at Lord Danbury’s hunting lodge at eight this evening.
Yrs,
Agatha, Lady Danbury
Elizabeth couldn’t imagine why Lady Danbury would think she possessed any pertinent information, but she had no reason to be suspicious of the note’s authenticity. She knew Lady D’s handwriting as well as her own, and this was no forgery.
She purposefully had not shared the note with her younger siblings, preferring to tell them that Lady Danbury needed to see her and leave it at that. They knew nothing of the blackmail plots, and Elizabeth hadn’t wanted to worry them, especially since Lady D wanted to meet at such a late hour. It was still quite light out at eight, but unless the countess could conduct her business in mere minutes it would be dark when Elizabeth had to return home.
Elizabeth paused with her hand on the doorknob. There was no carriage in sight, and Lady Danbury’s health did not allow her to walk such distances. If the countess had not yet arrived, then the door was probably locked, and…
The knob turned in her hand.
“How odd,” she murmured, and entered the house.
There was a fire blazing in the hearth, and an elegant supper was laid on the table. Elizabeth walked farther into the room, turning in a slow circle as she took in the preparations. Why would Lady Danbury…
“Lady Danbury?” she called out. “Are you here?”
Elizabeth sensed a presence in a doorway behind her and whirled around.
“No,” James said. “Only me.”
Elizabeth’s hand flew to her mouth. “What are you doing here?” she gasped.
His smile was lopsided. “The same as you, I imagine. Did you receive a note from your brother?”
“Lucas?” she asked, startled. “No, from your aunt.”
“Ah. Then they are all conspiring against us. Here…” He held out a crumpled piece of paper. “Read this.”
Elizabeth unfolded the note and read:
My lord—
Before you leave the district, I beg of you to grant me an audience. There is a matter of some sensitivity about which I should like to ask your advice. It is not something a man would like to discuss with his sisters.
Unless I hear otherwise, I shall expect to meet you at Lord Danbury’s hunting lodge at eight this evening.
Sincerely,
Sir Lucas Hotchkiss
Elizabeth barely stifled a horrified giggle. “It’s Lucas’s handwriting, but the words are straight from Susan’s mouth.”
James smiled. “I thought it sounded a touch precocious.”
“He is very bright, of course—”
“Of course.”
“—but I cannot quite hear him use the phrase ‘matter of some sensitivity.’”
“Not to mention,” James added, “that at the age of eight, it is unlikely that he should even have a matter of some sensitivity.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Oh! I’m sure you shall want to read this.” She handed him the letter she’d received from Lady Danbury.
He scanned it, then said, “I’m not surprised. I arrived a few minutes before you did and found these.” He held out two envelopes, one marked, Read immediately and one marked Read after you’ve reconciled.
Elizabeth choked back horrified laughter.
“My reaction precisely,” he murmured, “although I doubt I looked half so fetching.”
Her eyes flew to his face. He was staring at her with a quiet, burning intensity that robbed her of breath. And then, without diverting his gaze from hers, even for a second, he asked, “Shall we open them?”
It took Elizabeth a few moments to realize what he was talking about. “Oh, the envelopes. Yes, yes.” She licked her lips, which had gone quite dry. “But both?”
He held up the one marked Read after you’ve reconciled and shook it slightly in the air. “I can save it, if you think we will have cause to read it shortly.”
She swallowed convulsively and avoided the question by saying, “Why don’t we open the other one and see what it says?”
“Very well.” He nodded graciously and slid his finger under the envelope flap. He slipped a card out, and together they bent their heads down and read:
To the both of you—
Try, if you might, not to be complete idiots.
The note was unsigned, but there was no doubt who wrote it. The long, graceful handwriting was familiar to them both, but it was the words that definitively declared Lady Danbury the author. No one else could possibly be so delightfully rude.
James cocked his head to the side. “Ah, my loving aunt.”
“I cannot believe she tricked me like this,” Elizabeth grumbled.
“You can’t?” he asked doubtfully.
“Well, yes, of course I can believe that. I just can’t believe she would use the blackmail plot as bait. I was quite terrified for her.”
“Ah, yes, the blackmail.” James regarded the unopened envelope, the one marked Read after you’ve reconciled. “I have a sneaking suspicion we’ll find something about that in here.”
<
br /> Elizabeth gasped. “Do you think she was making it up?”
“She certainly never seemed overly concerned by my lack of progress in solving the crime.”
“Open it,” Elizabeth ordered. “Immediately. Sooner than immediately.”
James started to, then stopped and shook his head. “No,” he said in a lazy voice, “I think I’ll wait.”
“You want to wait?”
He smiled down at her, slow and sensual. “We’re not yet reconciled.”
“James…” she said, in a voice that was half warning and half longing.
“You know me,” he said. “You know more of my soul than any other person alive, maybe even myself. If at first you didn’t know my name…well, all I can say is that you know why I didn’t reveal myself to you right away. I had obligations to my aunt, and I owe her more than I could ever repay.”
He waited for her to say something, and when she didn’t, his voice grew more impatient. “You know me,” he repeated, “and I think you know me well enough to know that I would never do anything to hurt or humiliate you.” His hands landed heavily on her shoulders, and he fought the urge to shake her until she agreed. “Because if you don’t, then there is no hope for us.”
Her lips parted in surprise, and James caught a glimpse of the beguiling tip of her tongue. And somehow, as he stared at the face that had haunted him for weeks, he knew exactly what he needed to do.
Before she had a chance to react, he reached out and took her hand in his. “Do you feel this?” he whispered, placing it against his heart. “It beats for you.”
“Do you feel these?” he echoed, raising her hand to his lips. “They breathe for you.
“And my eyes—they see for you. My legs walk for you. My voice speaks for you, and my arms—”
“Stop,” she choked out, overcome. “Stop.”
“My arms…” he said, his voice grown hoarse with emotion. “They ache to hold you.”
She took a step forward—just an inch or two—and he could see that she was close, her heart was so close to admitting the inevitable.
