Elizabeth shook her head, frowning. "I don't like this. She never takes naps. She always says it's unnatural."
James flashed her a grin, preparing to tease her yet again, but he held back when he saw the deep concern in her dark blue eyes. "Elizabeth," he said softly, "what is it you really fear?''
She let out a long sigh. “She might be ill. When people suddenly grow tired…" She swallowed. "It can be a sign of illness."
He held silent for several moments before quietly asking, "Were your parents ill before they passed on?"
Her eyes flew to his, and he realized that she had been completely surprised by his question. "No," she said, blinking. "My mother was killed in a carriage accident, and my father…" She paused and looked away, her expression growing heartbreakingly strained until she finally said, "He wasn't ill."
More than anything he wanted to question her further, to find out why she wouldn't discuss her father's death. In a shocking flash, he realized he wanted to know everything about her.
He wanted to know her past, her present, and her future. He wanted to know if she spoke French, and did she like chocolates, and had she ever read Moliere.
Most of all, he wanted to know the secrets behind every tiny smile that crossed her face.
James almost took a step back at that. Never had he felt this kind of burning need to reach into the farthest corners of a woman's soul.
Elizabeth filled the awkward silence by asking, "Are your parents still living?''
"No," James replied. "My father died quite suddenly, actually. The doctor said it was his heart." He shrugged. "Or the lack thereof."
"Oh, dear," she blurted out.
"It's nothing," he said with a dismissive twist of his hand. "He wasn't a good man. I don't miss him and I don't mourn him."
The corners of her mouth tightened, but he thought he saw a hint of something-perhaps empathy?-in her eyes.
"My mother died when I was quite young," he added abruptly, not entirely certain why he was telling her this. "I barely remember her."
"I'm sorry," Elizabeth said softly. "I do hope it wasn't painful."
James feared that he hadn't been successful in keeping the answer from his eyes, because she just swallowed and said, "I'm sorry," again. He nodded in recognition of her sympathy but didn't say anything.
Elizabeth's eyes caught his for a. brief moment, and then she craned her neck to take another look at Lady Danbury. "It would kill me if Lady D were in pain. I just know she would never tell anyone. She can be insufferably proud. She'd never recognize affection and concern for what they are. All she'd see is pity."
James watched her watch his aunt and was suddenly struck by how petite Elizabeth was. The fields of Danbury Park stretched out behind her in an endless patchwork of green, and she seemed terribly small and alone against the vast expanse of land. The summer breeze lifted silky strands of blond hair from her bun, and without thinking James reached out and caught one, tucking it behind her ear.
Her breath caught, and she immediately raised a hand. Her fingers brushed against his knuckles, and he fought the most insane desire to clasp her hand in his. It would only take the tiniest movement of his fingers, and it was so exquisitely tempting, but he pulled his hand back and murmured, "Forgive me. The wind blew your hair."
Her eyes widened and her lips parted as if to say something, but in the end, she just pulled away. “Lady Danbury has been very good to me," she said, her voice catching. “There is no way I could ever repay her many kindnesses."
James had never before heard his gruff, outspoken aunt referred to as kind. The ton respected her, feared her, even laughed at her cutting jokes, but never before had he seen the love he felt for the woman who had quite possibly saved his soul reflected in another's eyes.
And then his body became completely foreign to him and he felt himself moving forward. He wasn't controlling the motion; it was almost as if some higher power had entered his form, causing his hand to reach out and cup the back of Elizabeth's head, his fingers sliding into the silk of her hair as he pulled her to him, closer, closer, and then…
And then his lips were on hers, and whatever mesmerizing force had caused him to kiss her fled, and all that was left was him-him and an overpowering need to possess her in every way a man could possess a woman.
As one hand sank ever deeper into her hair, the other snaked around her, settling into the delicate curve at the small of her back. He could feel her beginning to respond to him. She was a total innocent, but she was softening, and her heart was beginning to beat faster, and then his heart started to pound.
"My God, Elizabeth," he gasped, moving his mouth to her cheek, and then to her ear. "I want… I want…"
His voice must have woken up something within her, because she stiffened, and he heard her whisper, "Oh, no."
James wanted to hold on to her. He wanted to slide her to the ground and kiss her until she had lost all reason, but he must have been more honorable than he'd ever imagined, because he let her go the instant she began to pull away.
She stood across from him for several seconds, looking more shocked than anything else. One tiny hand was clasped over her mouth, and her eyes were wide and unblinking. "I never thought…" she murmured into her hand. "I can't believe…"
"You can't believe what?"
She shook her head. "Oh, this is awful."
That was a bit more than his ego could bear. "Well, now, I wouldn't say-"
But she had already run off.
Chapter 7
Elizabeth arrived at Danbury House the following morning with one overriding goal in mind: to stay as far away from James Siddons as humanly possible.
He had kissed her. He had actually kissed her. Worse, she had let him. And even worse, she had run off like a coward-all the way home. Only once in all her years as Lady Danbury "s companion had she ever cried off work early, and that was when she'd had a lung fever. Even then, she had tried to remain at her post, leaving only when Lady Danbury had threatened to care for her herself.
But this time all it took was one kiss from one handsome man, and she was sniveling like a ninny. Elizabeth had been so mortified by her actions that she'd sent Lucas back to Danbury House with a note for Lady D explaining that she was feeling quite ill. It wasn't entirely a lie, Elizabeth reasoned. She'd been hot and flushed, and her stomach had felt altogether queer.
Besides, the alternative to lying was death by mortification. All in all, it took Elizabeth very little time to decide that her little fib was entirely justified.
She'd spent the evening holed up in her room, obsessively poring over HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS. There weren't too many references to kissing. Mrs. Seeton obviously thought that anyone who'd been smart enough to purchase her book was smart enough to know that one was not supposed to kiss a gentleman to whom one did not have a deep and potentially lasting connection.
And one certainly shouldn't enjoy it.
Elizabeth groaned, remembering all this. So far the day was progressing like any other, except for the fact that she had looked over her shoulder so many times that Lady Danbury had asked if she had developed a nervous tic.
Embarrassment forced her to stop twisting her neck, but she still jumped a little every time she heard footsteps.
She tried to tell herself that it shouldn't be terribly difficult to avoid him. Mr. Siddons must have a thousand duties as estate manager, nine hundred of which required his presence outside. So if Elizabeth just barricaded herself in Danbury House, she ought to be safe. And if he decided to pursue the odd task that took him indoors… well, then, she was certain she could find some reason to leave the house and enjoy the warm English sunshine.
And then it started to rain.
Elizabeth's forehead fell against the glass of the sitting room window with a dull thud. "This can't be happening," she muttered. "This simply cannot be happening."