"Lady Danbury," Elizabeth announced without lifting her head, "this cat is a monster."
"Don't be ridiculous. Malcolm is nature's perfect kitty, and you know it."
"Malcolm," Elizabeth muttered, "is the spawn of the devil."
"Elizabeth Hotchkiss!"
"It's true."
"Just last week you said he was a wonderful cat."
"Last week he was being nice to me. If I recall, you called him a traitor."
Lady Danbury sniffed as she watched Elizabeth try to grab the cat again. "He is clearly overset because those beastly children were chasing him around the house."
That was it! Elizabeth hauled herself to her feet, fixed a deadly stare in Lady Danbury's direction, and growled, "No one calls Lucas and Jane beasts but me!"
What ensued wasn't quite utter silence. Blake was audibly laughing under his hand, and Lady Danbury was sputtering about, making strange gurgling noises, and blinking so hard that Elizabeth would swear she could hear her eyelids clamp shut.
But nothing would have prepared her for the sound of slow clapping coming from behind her. Elizabeth turned slowly around, twisting to face the doorway.
James. Standing there with an impressed half-smile and an arched eyebrow. He cocked his head at his aunt, saying, “I can't remember the last tune I heard anyone speak to you that way, Aunt."
"Except you!" Lady D retorted. Then, realizing he'd just called her "aunt," she started sputtering anew, jerking her head in Elizabeth's direction.
"It's all right," James said. "She knows everything."
"Since when?"
"Since last night."
Lady Danbury turned to Elizabeth and snapped, “And you didn't tell me?"
"You didn't ask!" Then Elizabeth turned back to James and growled, "How long have you been standing there?"
"I saw you crawling under the cabinet, if that's what you're asking."
Elizabeth fought an inner groan. She'd managed to grab hold of Jane and beg her to stall James, and she'd been hoping that Jane would have kept him in the hall at least until she'd managed to return the blooming cat to Lady Danbury.
She hadn't really wanted James's first view of her after last night's debacle to be of her swishing behind.
When she got her hands on that cat…
"Why," Lady Danbury shrilled, "did no one inform me of the change in James's public identity?"
"Blake," Caroline said, tugging on her husband's arm, "this might be our cue to leave."
He shook his head. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."
"Well, you're going to have to," James said forcefully. He crossed the room and grabbed hold of Elizabeth's hand. "You are all welcome to stay and enjoy your tea, but Elizabeth and I are leaving."
"Wait a moment," she protested, making an unsuccessful attempt to retrieve her hand. "You can't do this."
He stared at her blankly. "I can't do what?"
"This!" she retorted. "You have no rights over me-"
"I will," he said, flashing her a very confident, very male smile.
"Bad strategy on his part," Caroline whispered to Blake.
Elizabeth clawed her hands, trying desperately to contain her anger. "This is my house," she ground out. "If anyone is going to invite my guests to enjoy themselves, it will be I."
"Then do it," James returned.
"And you cannot order me to leave with you."
"I didn't. I told your assorted guests-all of whom I gather were uninvited-that we were leaving."
"He's bungling this badly," Caroline whispered to Blake.
Elizabeth crossed her arms. "I'm not going anywhere."
James's expression became positively menacing.
"If he'd only asked her nicely…" Caroline whispered to Blake.
"Blake," James said, "muzzle your wife."
Blake laughed, which earned him a rather solid punch in the arm from his wife.
"And you," James said to Elizabeth. "I've had all that my patience will allow. We need to talk. We can either do it outside or do it here, in front of my aunt, your siblings, and"-here he jerked a hand toward Caroline and Blake-"these two."
Elizabeth swallowed nervously, frozen with indecision.
James leaned in closer. "You decide, Elizabeth."
She did nothing, strangely unable to make her mouth form words.
"Very well, then," James snapped. "I'll decide for you." And then, without further ado, he grabbed Elizabeth around the waist, threw her over his shoulder, and hauled her out of the room.
Blake, who had been watching the unfolding drama with an amused smile on his face, turned to his wife and said, "Actually, darling, I'd have to disagree. All things considered, I think he handled that rather well."
Chapter 21
By the time James had her out the front door, she was wiggling like an eel. An angry eel. But James had been modest when he'd described his pugilistic pursuits; his experience was extensive, and he'd had considerably more than a "few lessons." When in London, he made daily excursions to Gentleman Jackson's Boxing Establishment, and when out of London, he frequently alarmed and amused his servants by hopping gracefully from foot to foot and punching at bales of hay. As a result, his arm was strong, his body was hard, and Elizabeth, for all her squirming, wasn't going anywhere.
"Put me down!" she squealed.
He saw no reason to reply.
"My lord!" she said in protest.
"James," he snapped, widening their distance from the cottage with long, purposeful strides. "You've used my given name often enough."
"That was when I thought you were Mr. Siddons," she shot back. "And put me down."
James kept walking, his arm a vise under her ribs.
"James!"
He grunted. "That's more like it."
Elizabeth bucked a little harder, forcing him to wrap a second arm around her. She stilled almost immediately.
“You finally realize that escape is impossible?'' James asked mildly.
She scowled at him.
"I'll interpret that as a yes."
Finally, after another minute of silent journey, he set her down near an enormous tree. Her back was to the trunk, and her feet were boxed in by thick, gnarled roots. James stood in front of her, his stance wide and his arms crossed.
Elizabeth glared up at him and crossed her arms in return. She was perched on the raised ground that sloped into the tree trunk, so the difference between their heights was not as great as usual.
James shifted his weight slightly but did not say anything.
Elizabeth jutted her chin forward and tightened her jaw.
James raised a brow.
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Elizabeth burst out. "Just say what you came here to say."
"Yesterday," he said, "I asked you to marry me."
She swallowed. "Yesterday I refused."
"And today?"
It was on the tip of her tongue to say, "You haven't asked me today," but the words died before they could cross her lips. That was the sort of remark she might have made to the man she'd known as James Siddons. This man-this marquis-was someone else entirely, and she had no idea how she was meant to act around him. It wasn't that she was unfamiliar with the idiosyncrasies of the nobility; she'd spent years in the company of Lady Danbury, after all.
She felt as if she were trapped in some strange little farce, and she didn't know the rules. All her life she'd been taught how to behave; every gently bred English girl was taught such things. But no one had ever told her what to do when one fell in love with a man who changed identities the way other people changed their clothes.
After a long minute of silence, she said, "You shouldn't have sent that bank draft."
He winced. "It arrived?"
"Last night."
He swore under his breath, muttering something about "bloody bad timing."
Elizabeth blinked back the moisture forming in her eyes. "Why would you do such a thing? Did you think I wanted charity? That I was some pathetic, helpless-"
"I thought," he cut in forcefully, "that it was a crime you should have to marry some gout-ridden old lecher to support your siblings. Furthermore, it nearly broke my heart watching you bend over backwards to try to live up to Mrs. Seeton's vision of womanhood."