by Julia Quinn
“I do.”
“Very well.” With barely a moment for either of them to prepare, she drew back and let fly. Before James had any idea what was happening, he was sprawled on the ground, and his right eye socket was throbbing.
Elizabeth, rather than displaying any sort of worry or concern over his health, was jumping up and down, squealing with glee. “I did it! I really did it! Did you see it? Did you see it?”
“No,” he muttered, “but I felt it.”
She planted her hands on her hips and beamed, looking as if she had just been crowned queen of the world. “Oh, that was brilliant! Let’s do it again.”
“Let’s not,” he grumbled.
She stopped grinning and leaned down. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“Not at all,” he lied.
“I didn’t?” She sounded disappointed.
“Well, maybe just a little bit.”
“Oh, good, I—” She choked back whatever it was she was planning to say. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I swear. I don’t want you to be injured, but I did put all of my strength into that punch, and—”
“I shall be showing the effects tomorrow, have no fear.”
She gasped with gleeful horror. “I gave you a black eye?”
“I thought you didn’t want me to be injured.”
“I don’t,” she said quickly, “but I must confess I’ve never done anything remotely like this before, and it’s rather satisfying to have done it right.”
James didn’t think his eye was going to sport quite as splendid a bruise as she obviously hoped, but he was rather irritated with himself nonetheless for so seriously underestimating her. She was such a tiny thing; he’d never dreamed she’d get it right on the first punch. And even then, he’d figured she couldn’t possibly possess enough strength to do more than stun her opponent. All he’d really been hoping for was to teach her enough to temporarily disarm a man while she made her escape.
But, he thought ruefully, giving his eye a gingerly pat, it appeared that her punches were anything but temporary. He looked up at her; she looked so damned proud of herself he had to smile and say, “I have created a monster.”
“Do you think?” Her face lit up even more, which James hadn’t thought possible. It was as if the very sun were pouring from her eyes.
Elizabeth started jabbing her fists in the air. “Perhaps you could teach me some advanced techniques.”
“You’re quite advanced enough, thank you.”
She stopped jumping about, her face sobering. “Should we put something on that eye? It might not swell and bruise if we put something cooling on it.”
James almost refused. His eye truly wasn’t that bad off—it had been surprise more than anything that had knocked him to the ground. But Elizabeth had just invited him into her home, and this was an opportunity not to be missed. “Something cooling would be just the thing,” he murmured.
“Follow me, then. Do you need a hand?”
James regarded her outstretched hand with a bit of chagrin. How feeble-bodied did she think he was? “You punched me in the eye,” he said in a dry voice. “The rest of me works quite well, thank you.”
She pulled her hand back. “I had merely thought—You did hit the ground rather hard, after all.”
Damn. Another opportunity lost. His pride was getting deuced annoying. He could have leaned on her the entire way home. “Why don’t I try it on my own and we’ll see how it goes?” he suggested. Maybe he could sprain an ankle in twenty yards or so.
“That sounds a good idea. But be careful not to overtax yourself.”
James took a few careful steps, trying to remember which side it was that had hit the ground. It wouldn’t do to limp on the wrong side.
“Are you sure you’re not in pain?
He had to be a complete cad to take advantage of the concern in her eyes, but clearly his conscience had departed for destinations unknown, because James sighed and said, “I think it’s my hip.”
She glanced down at his hip, which caused other, nearby regions to feel a bit of pain. “Is it bruised?”
“That is all I can think,” he replied. “I’m sure it’s nothing but—”
“But it hurts to walk,” she said with a maternal nod. “You’ll probably feel better by morning, but it does seem silly to overexert yourself.” She scrunched her brow in thought. “Perhaps it would be best if you simply returned to Danbury House. If you walk to my cottage, you’d have to walk back, and—”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s not as bad as that,” he said quickly. “And I did say I would walk you home.”
“James, I do walk home by myself every day.”
“Nonetheless, I must keep my promises.”
“I’m happy to release you from this one. After all, you could hardly have expected to be knocked to the ground.”
“Truly, it’s not that painful. I just cannot walk with my usual speed.”
She looked uncertain.
“Besides,” he added, thinking that he needed to reinforce his position, “we still have much to discuss concerning Lady Danbury’s garden party on Saturday.”
“Very well,” she said reluctantly. “But you must promise to tell me if the pain becomes overwhelming.”
A promise easily kept, since he wasn’t in any pain at all. Well, not of the sort to which she referred.
They’d taken only a few steps before Elizabeth turned to him and asked, “Are you all right?”
“Perfectly,” he assured her. “But now that you have mastered the art of self-defense, I do think we should move on to other aspects of your education.”
She blushed. “You mean…”
“Precisely.”
“Don’t you think it would be wise to begin with flirting?”
“Elizabeth, I don’t think you have anything to worry about on that score.”
“But I haven’t the slightest clue how to go about it!”
“I can only say that you are a natural.”
“No!” she said forcefully. “I’m not. I haven’t the faintest idea what to say to men.”
“You seemed to know what to say to me. That is,” he amended, “when you weren’t trying to adhere to Mrs. Seeton’s edicts.”
“You don’t count.”
He coughed. “And why not?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a little shake of her head, “you just don’t. You’re different.”
He coughed again. “Not so very different from the other members of my gender.”
“If you must know, you’re much easier to talk to.”
James considered that. Prior to meeting Elizabeth, he’d prided himself on being able to render sniveling debutantes and their grasping mamas utterly speechless with one well-placed stare. It had always been a most effective tool—one of the only truly useful things he had ever learned from his father.
Out of curiosity, he fixed his most supercilious, I-am-the-Marquis-of-Riverdale stare on her—the one that routinely sent grown men scurrying into corners—and said, “What if I looked upon you like this?”
She burst out laughing. “Oh, stop! Stop! You look ridiculous.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Stop, James. Oh, you must. You look like a little boy pretending to be a duke. I know, because my younger brother tries the same stunt on me all the time.”
Pride stung, he said, “And how old is your brother?”
“He’s eight, but—” Whatever she had meant to say was lost in her laughter.
James couldn’t remember the last time someone had laughed at him, and he didn’t particularly enjoy being compared to an eight-year-old boy. “I can assure you,” he said, his voice pure ice, “that—”
“Don’t say any more,” she said, laughing. “Really, James, one shouldn’t strut like an aristocrat if one cannot carry it off.”
Never, in his entire career as an agent for the War Office, had he been more tempted to reveal his identity. He was itching to grab
her and shake her and yell, “I’m a damned marquis, you little fool! I can be a perfectly good snob when I’ve a mind for it.”
But on the other hand, there was something rather charming about her artless laughter. And when she turned to him and said, “Oh, please don’t be insulted, James. It’s a compliment, really. You’re far too nice a person to be an aristocrat,” he decided that this might actually be the most enchanting moment of his life.
His gaze was fixed upon an unremarkable patch of dirt, so she had to duck to move herself to his line of vision. “Forgive me?” she teased.
“I might find it in my heart.…”
“If you don’t forgive me, then I might have to practice my pugilism again.”
He winced. “In that case, I definitely forgive you.”
“I thought you might. Let’s go home.”
And he wondered why, when she said the word “home,” he actually thought it might apply to him as well.
Chapter 11
Elizabeth was surprised how unconcerned she was about the state of her home when she and James arrived at her doorstep. The green damask drapes were faded, and the moldings in need of a new coat of paint. The furniture was well-made but well-worn, with pillows strategically placed over the areas most in need of recovering. All in all, the house had a slightly spare look. There were precious few knickknacks; anything of any value had already made its way to pawnbroker or traveling peddler.
Usually she felt the need to explain how her family had fallen on hard times, and to make it clear that they had lived in a much bigger house before her parents died. Lucas was a baronet, after all, and it was embarrassing that they should be reduced to such circumstances.
But with James she simply opened her door with a smile, certain he would see her little cottage the way she did—as a warm, comfortable home. He’d alluded to a well-born background himself, but he’d also said that his family had lost whatever fortunes they had once possessed, so he would understand her inability to purchase new things, her need to economize.
The house was—thankfully!—tidy, and the air smelled of warm biscuits. “You’re in luck today,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “Susan must have decided to do some baking.”
“It smells delicious,” James said.
“Ginger biscuits. Here, why don’t you follow me into the kitchen? We’re terribly informal here, I’m afraid.” She pushed open the door to the kitchen and ushered him in. When he didn’t immediately seat himself, she scolded him and said, “You mustn’t stand on attention on my account. Your hip is bruised and must pain you terribly. Besides, it’s silly for you to stand there while I prepare tea.”
He pulled out a chair and sat down, then asked, “Are those your siblings in the garden?”
Elizabeth pushed aside a curtain and peered out the window. “Yes, those are Lucas and Jane. I’m not certain where Susan is, although she must have been here recently. These biscuits are still warm.” With a smile, she deposited a plateful in front of him. “I’ll call Lucas and Jane. I’m sure they will want to meet you.”
James watched with interest as she knocked three times on the windowpane. Within seconds, the kitchen door flew open and two little urchins appeared.
“Oh, it’s you, Elizabeth,” the little boy said. “I thought you were Susan.”
“No, it’s just me, I’m afraid. Have you any idea where she’s gone off to?”
“She went to the market,” the little boy replied. “With any luck someone will give us some meat for those turnips.”
“Pity is more like it,” the little girl muttered. “Why anyone would give up a perfectly good piece of meat for a perfectly wretched turnip is quite beyond me.”
“I hate turnips,” James said.
All three Hotchkisses turned their blond heads in his direction.
He added, “A friend of mine once told me that one can learn quite a bit about diligence from a turnip, but I never could figure out what she meant.”
Elizabeth started choking on air.
“That sounds like a lot of rubbish to me,” the little girl said.
“Lucas, Jane,” Elizabeth interrupted loudly. “I would like you to meet Mr. Siddons. He is my friend, and he also works at Danbury House. He is Lady Danbury’s new estate manager.”
James stood and shook Lucas’s hand with all the gravity he would afford the prime minister. He then turned to Jane and kissed her hand. Her entire face lit up, but more importantly, when he looked up at Elizabeth for approval, she was beaming.
“How do you do?” he murmured.
“Very well, thank you,” Lucas said.
Jane didn’t say anything. She was too busy gazing at the hand he’d kissed.
“I have invited Mr. Siddons for tea and biscuits,” Elizabeth said. “Would the two of you like to join us?”
Normally James would have regretted the loss of this time alone with Elizabeth, but there was something positively heartwarming about sitting here in the kitchen with this little threesome who so obviously knew what it meant to be a family.
Elizabeth handed a biscuit to each of her siblings and asked, “What did you two do all day? Did you finish the lessons I laid out for you?”
Jane nodded. “I helped Lucas with his arithmetic.”
“You did not!” Lucas sputtered, crumbs flying from his mouth. “I can do it all by myself.”
“Maybe you can,” Jane said with a superior shrug, “but you didn’t.”
“Elizabeth!” Lucas protested. “Did you hear what she said to me?”
But Elizabeth ignored the question, instead sniffing the air with obvious distaste. “What on earth is that smell?”
“I went fishing again,” Lucas replied.
“You must go wash yourself immediately. Mr. Siddons is our guest, and it isn’t polite to—”
“I don’t mind a bit of a fishy smell,” James interrupted. “Did you catch anything?”
“I almost had one that was thiiiiiissss big,” Lucas said, spreading his arms nearly as wide as they would go, “but he got away.”
“Isn’t that always the case,” James murmured sympathetically.
“I did catch two medium-sized ones, though. I left them in a bucket outside.”
“They’re quite disgusting,” Jane put in, having lost interest in her hand.
Lucas turned on her in an instant. “You don’t say that when you get to eat them for supper.”
“When I eat them for supper,” she shot back, “they don’t have eyes.”
“That’s because Lizzie chops off their heads, you nod-cock.”
“Lucas,” Elizabeth said loudly, “I really think you should go outside and wash off some of that smell.”
“But Mr. Siddons—”
“—was just being polite,” Elizabeth cut in. “Do it now, and change your clothing while you’re about it.”
Lucas grumbled, but he did as he was told.
“He’s such a trial sometimes,” Jane said with a world-weary sigh.
James had to cough to keep from laughing.
Jane took this as agreement and further explained, “He is only eight.”
“And how old are you?”
“Nine,” she replied, as if that made all the difference in the world.
“Jane,” Elizabeth said from over at the hearth, where she was putting water on for tea, “may I speak with you for a moment?”
Jane politely excused herself and moved to her sister’s side. James pretended not to watch as Elizabeth leaned down and whispered something in her sister’s ear. Jane nodded and ran off.
“What was that all about?” he had to ask.
“I thought she might do with a washing up as well, but I didn’t want to embarrass her by asking in front of you.”
He cocked his head. “Do you really think she would have been embarrassed by that?”
“James, she’s a nine-year-old girl who thinks she’s fifteen. You’re a handsome man. Of course she’d be embarrassed.”
“Well, you would know better than I,” he replied, trying not to let his pleasure show at her having complimented his looks.
Elizabeth motioned to the plate of biscuits. “Aren’t you going to try one?”
He took one and bit into it. “Delicious.”
“Aren’t they? I don’t know what Susan does with them. I’ve never managed to make mine come out as nice.” She took one and bit into it.
James stared up at her, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of her nibbling away. Her tongue darted out to catch an errant crumb, and—
“I’m back!”
He sighed. One of life’s most unexpected erotic moments, interrupted by an eight-year-old boy.
Lucas grinned up at him. “Do you like to fish?”
“It’s one of my favorite sports.”
“I should like to hunt, but Elizabeth won’t let me.”
“Your sister is a very wise woman. A boy your age should not handle a gun without the proper supervision.”
Lucas pulled a face. “I know, but that’s not why she doesn’t let me do it. It’s because she’s too softhearted.”
“If not wanting to watch you mangle a poor, innocent rabbit,” Elizabeth cut in, “means that I am too softhearted, then—”
“But you eat rabbit,” Lucas argued. “I’ve seen you.”
Elizabeth crossed her arms and grumbled, “It’s different when it has ears.”
James laughed. “You sound like young Jane with her aversion to fish eyes.”
“No, no, no,” Elizabeth insisted, “it’s entirely different. If you recall, I am the one who always cuts off the fish heads. So clearly I am not squeamish.”
“Then what’s the difference?” he prodded.
“Yes,” Lucas said, crossing his arms and cocking his head in a perfect imitation of James, “what’s the difference?”
“I don’t have to answer this!”
James turned to Lucas and said behind his hand, “She knows she hasn’t a leg to stand on.”
“I heard that!”
Lucas just giggled.
James exchanged a very male glance with the little boy. “Women do tend to get annoyingly sentimental when it comes to small, furry creatures.”
Elizabeth kept her eyes on the stove, pretending to fix the tea. It had been so long since Lucas had met a man he could look up to and admire. She worried constantly that she was depriving him of something important by raising him herself, with only sisters for company. If she’d allowed any of her relations to take him in, he still wouldn’t have had a father, but at least he would have had an adult male in his life.