by Julia Quinn
He had been intrigued with her the day before. He didn’t realize just how much until he saw her just now leaning over his copy of Francis Bacon’s ESSAYS.
Francis Bacon? For a burglar, the chit had rather highbrow reading tastes.
Watching her was almost hypnotic. Her face was in profile, and her nose scrunched up in the most amusing manner as she examined the book. Silky tendrils of flaxen hair had escaped her bun and curled along the back of her neck.
Her skin looked warm.
James sucked in his breath, trying to ignore the heat that was curling in his belly.
He leaned in as close to the doorframe as he could without revealing himself. What the devil was the girl saying? He forced himself to concentrate on her voice, which wasn’t easy, since his eyes kept swaying to the gentle curve of her breasts, and that spot on the back of her neck where—
He pinched himself. Pain usually acted as decent antidote to one’s baser needs.
Miss Hotchkiss was muttering something, and she sounded rather annoyed.
“…stupid…”
He’d agree with that. Sneaking into his rooms during the light of day was not a smart move on her part.
“…Mrs. Seeton…”
Who the hell was that?
“Ow!”
James peered at her more closely. She was shaking her hand and glaring at his lamp. He had to smile. She looked so furious that he wouldn’t have been surprised if the lamp had spontaneously burst into flame.
And she was letting out little mewls of pain that did strange things to his stomach.
His first instinct was to rush to help her. He was still a gentleman, after all, beneath any disguise he chose to don. And a gentleman always came to the aid of a woman in pain. But he hesitated. She wasn’t in that much pain, after all, and what the devil was she doing in his cottage, anyway?
Could she be the blackmailer?
And if so, how could she have known that he was here to investigate? Because if she weren’t investigating him, why would she rifle through his belongings? Nice girls—the sort that acted as companions to aging countesses—didn’t do that sort of thing.
Of course she might be nothing more than a petty thief, hoping that the new estate manager might be a down-on-his-luck gentleman with a few family heirlooms in his possession. A watch, a piece of jewelry of his mother’s—the type of thing a man might be loath to part with, even if his circumstances had forced him to seek employment.
She closed her eyes and sighed, turning around as she did so. “I am the clumsiest girl in all England, the biggest nodcock in all Britain—”
He moved in closer, arching his neck as he tried to catch all of her words.
Crunch.
“Damn,” James mouthed, moving quickly so that his back was pressed up against the outside wall of the cottage. It had been years since he’d taken such a careless step.
“Who’s there?” she called out.
He couldn’t see her any longer; he’d moved too far away from the door for that. But she sounded panicked. As if she were going to run outside at any moment.
He scooted away, quickly positioning himself between the stables and the cottage. When he heard Aunt Agatha’s companion leave the building he would stroll out into the open, looking for all the world as if he’d just arrived on the scene.
Sure enough, he heard the front door to his cottage click shut a few seconds later. Footsteps followed, and then James made his move.
“Good day, Miss Hotchkiss,” he called out, his long strides taking him right into her path.
“Oh!” she yelped, jumping a foot. “I didn’t see you.”
He smiled. “I apologize if I gave you a fright.”
She shook her head, her cheeks beginning to turn pink.
James pressed a finger against his mouth to hide a triumphant smile. She was guilty of something. A blush like that didn’t come about for no reason.
“No, no, it’s all right,” she stammered. “I—ah—I really must learn to watch where I’m going.”
“What brings you out this way?” he asked. “It was my impression that most of your duties required your presence in the house.”
“I do. I mean, they do. But actually, I was sent to find you. Lady Danbury would like to speak with you.”
James’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t disbelieve the girl; she was obviously too intelligent to lie about something that could be so easily disproved. But why, then, would she have sneaked into his rooms?
The chit was up to something. And for his aunt’s sake, he had to find out what. He’d had to question women before, and he had always been able to get them to tell him what he needed to know. In fact, his superiors at the War Office had often laughed that he had perfected the art of questioning women.
Women, he’d long since realized, were a somewhat different breed from men. They were basically self-absorbed. All one had to do was ask a woman about herself, and she was likely to spill all of her secrets. There were one or two exceptions to this rule, of course, Lady Danbury for instance being one, but—
“Is something amiss?” Miss Hotchkiss asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You were so silent,” she pointed out, then bit her lip.
“Merely woolgathering,” he lied. “I confess I cannot think of why Lady Danbury should require my presence. I saw her just this morning.”
She opened her mouth, but had no answer. “I do not know,” she finally said. “I have found it best not to question Lady Danbury’s motives. It’s far too taxing on the brain to try to understand how her mind works.”
James chuckled despite himself. He didn’t want to like this girl, but she seemed to approach life with rare grace and humor. And she had certainly figured out the best way to deal with his aunt. Indulge her and do what you liked—it had always worked for him.
He held out his arm, prepared to charm her until she revealed all of her secrets. “Will you accompany me back to the house? Provided, of course, that you have no further business outside?”
“No.”
He raised his brows.
“I mean no, I have no further business.” She smiled weakly. “And yes, I would be happy to accompany you.”
“Excellent,” he said smoothly. “I cannot wait to further our acquaintance.”
Elizabeth let out a long breath as she slid her arm through his. She had botched her last statement, but other than that, she thought she was holding fast to Mrs. Seeton’s rules with admirable diligence. She had even managed to make Mr. Siddons laugh, which had to be in those edicts somewhere. And if it wasn’t, it should have been. Surely men appreciated women who knew how to form a witty turn of phrase.
She wrinkled her brow. Perhaps that fell under the bit about being unique.…
“You look rather serious,” he said.
Elizabeth started. Drat. She had to keep her mind focused on this gentleman. Wasn’t there something in the book about giving gentlemen one’s full attention? That would have to be during the five minutes before one cut off the conversation, of course.
“Almost,” he continued, “as if you’re concentrating a bit too hard on something.”
Elizabeth almost moaned out loud. So much for her charm appearing effortless. She wasn’t precisely certain how it applied to the present situation, but she was fairly sure that one was not supposed to actually appear as if one were following a guidebook.
“Of course,” Mr. Siddons continued, clearly oblivious to her distress, “I have always found serious women to be most intriguing.”
She could do this. She knew she could. She was a Hotchkiss, damn it, and she could do anything she set her mind to. She had to find a husband, but more importantly she first had to learn how to find a husband. And as for Mr. Siddons, well, he was right here, and maybe it was a little heartless to use him as some sort of test case, but a woman had to do what a woman had to do. And she was one desperate woman.
She turned, pasting a brilliant smile
on her face. She was going to charm this man until—until—well, until he was charmed.
She opened her mouth to slay him with something utterly witty and sophisticated, but before she could form even a sound, he leaned in closer, his eyes warm and dangerous, and said, “I find myself unbearably curious about that smile.”
She blinked. If she didn’t know better, she’d think that he was trying to charm her.
No, she thought with a mental shake of her head. That was impossible. He barely knew her, and while she wasn’t the ugliest girl in all of Surrey, she was certainly no siren.
“I do apologize, Mr. Siddons,” she said prettily. “Like you, I am prone to getting lost in my own thoughts. And I certainly did not mean to be rude.”
He shook his head. “You weren’t rude.”
“But, you see…” What was that Susan had read to her from the book? Always invite a man to talk about himself. Men were basically self-absorbed.
“Miss Hotchkiss?”
She cleared her throat and affixed yet another smile on her face. “Right. Well, you see, I was actually wondering about you.”
There was a brief pause, and then he said, “Me?”
“Of course. It’s not every day we have a new person here at Danbury House. Where are you from?”
“Here and there,” he evaded. “Most lately, London.”
“How exciting,” she replied, trying to keep her voice suitably excited. She hated London. It was dirty and smelly and crowded. “And have you always been an estate manager?”
“Nooo,” he said slowly. “There aren’t many large country estates in London.”
“Oh, yes,” she muttered. “Of course.”
He cocked his head and gazed down at her warmly. “Have you always lived here?”
Elizabeth nodded. “My entire life. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. There’s really nothing as lovely as the English countryside when the flowers bloom. And one certainly can’t—” She cut herself off. She wasn’t supposed to be talking about herself.
James’s instincts leaped to attention. What had she been about to say?
She fluttered her lashes. “But you don’t want to know about me.”
“Oh, but I do,” he replied, gifting her with his most intensely heated stare. Women loved that stare.
Not this woman, apparently. She jerked her head back and coughed.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head quickly, but she looked as if she had just swallowed a spider. Then—and this made no sense, but he could swear he saw it—she steeled her shoulders as if preparing for some hideous task, and said with impossible sweetness, “I’m certain you have led a much more interesting life than I, Mr. Siddons.”
“Oh, but I’m sure that’s not true.”
Elizabeth cleared her throat, ready to stamp her foot in frustration. This wasn’t working at all. Gentlemen were supposed to want to talk about themselves, and all he was doing was asking about her. She had the oddest impression that he was playing some sort of game with her.
“Mr. Siddons,” she said, hoping that she had been able to eliminate all traces of frustration from her voice, “I have lived in Surrey since I was born. How could my life possibly be more interesting than yours?”
He reached out and touched her chin. “Somehow, Miss Hotchkiss, I have a feeling that you could fascinate me endlessly if you so chose.”
Elizabeth gasped and then stopped breathing altogether. No man had ever touched her so, and she was probably the worst sort of harlot for thinking so, but there was something almost hypnotic about the warmth of his hand.
“Don’t you think?” he whispered.
Elizabeth swayed toward him for the barest of seconds, and then she heard Mrs. Seeton—who, by the way, sounded remarkably like Susan—in her head.
“If you end the conversation,” Susan’s voice whispered, “he will fantasize over what you might have said next.”
And then Elizabeth, who had never felt the heady bliss of knowing a man was interested, forced the iron back into her spine for the second time that morning and said with remarkable steadiness, “I really must go, Mr. Siddons.”
He shook his head slowly, never taking his eyes off of her face. “What are your interests, Miss Hotchkiss?” he asked. “Your hobbies? Your pursuits? You strike me as an uncommonly intelligent young lady.”
Oh, he was definitely bamming her. He certainly hadn’t known her long enough to form an opinion on her intellect. Her eyes narrowed. He wanted to know about her pursuits, did he? Well, then, she’d tell him.
“What I really like to do,” she said with wide, bright eyes, “is work in my kitchen garden.”
“Your kitchen garden?” he choked.
“Oh, yes. Our primary crop this year is turnips. Lots of turnips. Do you like turnips?”
“Turnips?” he echoed.
She nodded emphatically. “Turnips. Some find them dull, rather bland, really, but a more fascinating tuber you’ll never find.”
James glanced right and left, looking for a means of escape. What the devil was this girl talking about?
“Have you ever grown turnips?”
“Ah…no, I haven’t.”
“That’s a pity,” she said with great feeling. “One can learn quite a lot about life from a turnip.”
James’s head fell a little forward in disbelief. This he had to hear. “Really? And what, pray tell, can one learn?”
“Uh…”
He knew it. She was bamming him. What was she up to? He smiled innocently. “You were saying?”
“Diligence!” she blurted out. “One can learn a great deal about diligence.”
“Really? How is that?”
She sighed dramatically. “Mr. Siddons, if you have to ask, then I’m afraid you would never understand.”
While James was trying to digest that statement, she chirped, “Oh, look, here we are back at Danbury House. Please tell Lady Danbury that I will be in the rose garden should she need me.”
And then, without so much as a farewell, she ran off.
James just stood there for a moment, trying to make sense of what had to be the most bizarre conversation of his life. And that’s when he noticed it—her shadow, hanging alongside the building.
Rose garden, his foot. The blasted chit was lurking around the corner, still spying on him. He’d find out what she was up to if it was the last thing he did.
Ten hours later, Elizabeth dragged her weary feet through the front door of the Hotchkiss cottage. Susan was, not surprisingly, waiting on the bottom step of the stairs, HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS still clutched in her hand.
“What happened?” Susan exclaimed, bounding to her feet. “Tell me everything!”
Elizabeth fought the urge to collapse in a fit of mortified laughter. “Oh, Susan,” she said with a slow shake of her head. “We’ve mastered Edict Number One. He definitely thinks I’m unique.”
Chapter 4
“Isn’t it a beautiful day?”
Elizabeth looked across the breakfast table at her sister’s merry visage. Susan’s smile was outshone only by the sun, which promised yet another day of uncommonly good weather.
“Isn’t it?” Susan persisted.
Elizabeth just ignored her and continued to stab her muffin with a knife.
“If you’re not going to eat that, may I have it?” Lucas asked.
Elizabeth started to push her plate across the table.
“Wait! I’d like some more, too,” Jane chimed.
Elizabeth pulled the plate back, split the brutalized muffin remains in two, and pushed it back out.
“You’re rather grumpy this morning,” Jane said as she grabbed her share.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
As if choreographed, all three younger Hotchkisses drew back and exchanged glances. It was rare for Elizabeth to be struck with ill temper, but when she was…
“I believe I shall go out and play,” Lucas said, standing up so fast he
knocked his chair over.
“And I believe I shall join you,” Jane said, shoving the rest of the muffin in her mouth.
The two children dashed out through the kitchen door. Elizabeth leveled a rather insolent stare in Susan’s direction.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Susan said. “We have too much to discuss.”
“Perhaps you noticed that I am not in a conversational mood?” Elizabeth picked up her tea and took a sip. It was lukewarm. She set it back down and got up to put more water on the stove.
Yesterday had been a total fiasco. Utter disaster. What had she been thinking? She was supposed to have been practicing her social skills and instead she’d been prattling on about turnips.
Turnips!
She hated turnips.
She’d tried to tell herself that she’d had no choice. There was more to Mr. Siddons than met the eye, and he’d clearly been playing some game of his own with her. But turnips? Why did she have to pick turnips? And why had she said they had something to do with diligence? Good Lord, how was she ever to explain that?
He had probably told all of Danbury House about her bizarre fascination with root vegetables. By the time she arrived at work that morning, the story would have probably circulated from the stables to the kitchen and back. Everyone would be laughing at her. And while she didn’t much mind the loss of Mr. Siddons as a “pretend marquis,” she was going to have to work with the man for months—maybe years!—to come. And he probably thought she was insane.
Elizabeth took a step toward the stairs. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Susan exclaimed, skidding around the table and grabbing Elizabeth’s arm. “You are going to Danbury House this morning if it kills you.”
“It is killing me. Trust me.”
Susan planted her free hand on her hip. “I’ve never known you to be a coward, Elizabeth Hotchkiss.”
Elizabeth wrenched her arm free and glared at her sister. “I’m not a coward. I just know when a battle is unwinnable. And believe me, this one has Waterloo written all over it.”
“We won at Waterloo,” Susan pointed out with a smirk.