'You sound exactly like Lady Danbury. In fact, she says that very same phrase.'
'Is that so?' James coughed, then cleared his throat. Damn, but he was slipping up. Something about Elizabeth and those angel-blue eyes of hers made him forget that he was working undercover. He should never have used one of Aunt Agatha's favorite maxims. They'd been drummed into his head so frequently as a child that they were now his maxims as well.
He'd forgotten that he was talking to the one person who knew every single one of Agatha's quirks as well as he did. 'I'm certain it's just a coincidence,' he said, keeping his tone firm. It was his experience that people tended to believe whatever he said as long as he sounded as if he knew what he was talking about.
But not, apparently, Elizabeth. 'She says it at least once a week.'
'Well, then, I'm sure I must have heard her at some point.'
She seemed to accept that explanation, for she let the matter drop and instead said, 'You were saying something about lesson plans…'
“Right. I will need the afternoon to plan, but perhaps we might meet when you are done with Lady Danbury. I will walk you home, and we can begin en route.'
She smiled weakly. 'Very well. I shall meet you at the front gate at thirty-five minutes past four. I am dismissed at half four,' she explained, 'but it will take me five minutes to walk to the gate.'
'Can we not simply meet here?'
She shook her head. “Not unless you want every gossip at Danbury House talking about us.'
'An excellent point. The front gate it is, then.'
Elizabeth nodded and left the room, her wobbly legs just managing to make it back to the cushioned bench. Dear Lord, what on earth had she gotten herself into?
Meow.
She looked down. Malcolm the demon cat was sitting at her feet, staring at her as if she were a kitchen rat.
'What do you want?'
The cat shrugged. Elizabeth hadn't known that a cat could shrug, but then again, she hadn't thought she'd ever find herself sitting in Danbury House's great hall, talking to her feline nemesis.
'You think I'm ridiculous, don't you?'
Malcolm yawned.
'I've agreed to let Mr. Siddons train me to find a husband.'
The cat's ears perked forward.
'Yes, I know you like him better than me. You like everyone better than me.'
The cat shrugged again, clearly unwilling to contradict her statement.
'You think I can't do it, don't you?'
Malcolm made a rolling motion with his tail. Elizabeth was at a complete loss to translate this, but given the cat's well-documented distaste for her, she tended to believe it meant, “I have a better chance of finding a husband than you do.'
'Elizabeth?'
She turned beet-red and jerked her head to the side. James had poked his head through the library door and was regarding her quizzically.
'Are you talking to the cat?'
'No.'
'I could have sworn I heard you talking to the cat.'
'Well, I'm not.'
'Oh.'
'Why would I talk to the cat? He hates me.'
His lips twitched. 'Yes. So you said.'
She tried to pretend she didn't realize that her cheeks were burning. 'Don't you have something to do?'
'Ah, yes, the lesson plans. I shall see you a bit after half four.'
Elizabeth waited until she heard the library door click shut. 'Dear God,' she breathed. 'I have gone insane. Completely insane.'
Adding insult to injury, the cat nodded.
Chapter 10
James arrived at the front gate at a quarter past four, knowing he was ridiculously early, but somehow unable to stop his feet from carrying him to the appointed meeting site. He had felt restless all afternoon, constantly drumming his fingers on tables and pacing across rooms. He had tried to sit down and write out the lesson plan he had bragged about, but the words would not come.
He had no experience in training a young lady for society. The only young lady he really knew was the wife of his best friend, Blake Ravenscroft. And Caroline hadn't precisely been trained for society herself. As for all of his other female acquaintances-they were just the sort Mrs. Seeton was trying to mold Elizabeth into. Just the sort that had prompted his overwhelming relief at leaving London.
What was it he wanted in a woman? His quest to help Elizabeth seemed to beg the question. What was it he wanted in a wife? He had to marry; there was no arguing fate in that respect. But it had been so damned hard to imagine spending the rest of his life with a shy flower who was afraid to express an opinion.
Or worse, a shy flower who didn't even possess an opinion.
And the final twist of the bayonet was that those opinionless young ladies invariably came with extremely opinionated mothers.
He wasn't being fair, he forced himself to concede. He'd met a few young ladies who were interesting. Not many, but a few. One or two of them he even could have married without fearing that he was ruining his life. It wouldn't have been a love match, and there would have been no grand passion, but he could have been passably content.
So what was it these ladies-the ones who had fleetingly caught his attention-had possessed? It was a certain joie de vivre, a love for life, a smile that seemed real, a light in the eyes. James was fairly certain he wasn't the only man who had seen these things-all of the young ladies in question had been quickly snapped up into marriage, usually by men whom he liked and respected.
Love for life. Maybe that was what this was all about. He'd spent the morning reading HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS, and with each edict, he'd pictured a little bit more of that incomparable sapphire light melting away from Elizabeth's eyes.
He didn't want her molded into some predetermined ideal of young English womanhood. He didn't want her walking with her eyes downcast, trying to be mysterious and demure. He just wanted her to be herself.
Elizabeth shut the door to Danbury House behind her and set off down the main drive. Her heart was racing, her hands were clammy, and while she didn't feel precisely embarrassed that James had discovered her desperate secret, she was as nervous as could be.
She had spent all afternoon berating herself for accepting his offer. Hadn't she spent the previous night sobbing herself to sleep, all because she thought she could love him-a man she could never marry? And now she was purposely putting herself in his company, allowing him to tease her, to flirt with her, and-
Good God, what if he wanted to kiss her again? He said he was going to train her to attract other men. Did that entail kissing? And if it did, should she let him do it?
She groaned. As if she'd be able to stop him. Every time they were in the same room together, her eyes wandered to his mouth, and she remembered what it felt like to have those lips on hers. And God help her, she wanted that again.
A final glimpse of bliss. Maybe that was what this was all about. She was going to have to marry someone she didn't love, maybe even someone she didn't much like. Was it so wrong to want a few last days of laughter, of secret glances, of that heady tingle of newborn desire?
As she walked toward the front gate she suspected that she was courting heartbreak by agreeing to meet
