James flexed her wrist gently. She made no reaction until he gingerly bent her hand back. "Oh!" she blurted out, clearly irritated with herself for showing her pain.

"It didn't hurt very much," she said quickly. "I'm sure it isn't sprained."

"I'm certain you're right," he agreed. There was no indication of swelling. "But you ought to favor the other one for a day or so. And you might want to go back to the house and get some ice or a cold piece of meat to put on it."

"I haven't time," she said briskly, rising to her feet. "I must check on Lady Danbury."

“If she is indeed, as you worry, taking a nap, then I tend to think your fears for her escape are somewhat exaggerated."

Elizabeth glared at him.

"In other words," he said, as gently as he could, “there is no need for you to risk your own life and limb by rushing."

He could see her weighing her words, but she finally just shook her head and said, “You are free to make your own decisions." Then she turned on her heel and dashed away.

James let out a groan, trying to remember why he was tagging along after her, anyway. Aunt Agatha, he reminded himself. This was all about Aunt Agatha. He needed to find out if Elizabeth was the blackmailer.

His gut was telling him that she was not-anyone who exhibited the sort of concern she did for an overbearing and more often than not vastly annoying old lady surely wouldn't blackmail her.

Yet James had no other suspects, and so he trotted along after her. As she rounded another corner, he lost sight of her, but his long strides soon found her standing utterly straight and perfectly still, her back to the hedge, with her head twisted so that she could look over her shoulder.

"What do you see?" he asked.

"Nothing," she admitted, "but I do seem to have developed the most awful crick in my neck."

James held down the smile he felt bubbling up within him and kept his tone serious as he said, "Would you like me to take a look?"

She turned her head back to the front and then, with an uncomfortable grimace, tilted it to the side and back up. James winced as he heard a loud cracking sound.

She rubbed her neck. "Do you think you can do it without being seen?''

Images of his past missions-in France, in Spain, and right here in England-flew through his mind. James was an expert at not being seen. "Oh," he said offhandedly, "I think I might manage it."

"Very well." She stepped back. "But if you suspect- even for a second-that she can see you, draw back."

James grinned and saluted her. "You're the general."

In that moment, Elizabeth forgot everything.

She forgot that she had no idea how she was going to support her younger siblings.

She forgot that Lady Danbury was acting very strangely and that she feared her employer might be terribly ill.

She even forgot every blasted edict in Mrs. Seeton's little book, and most of all, she forgot that this man made her stomach flip every time he raised his eyebrows.

She forgot everything but the levity of the moment and the rascally smile on James Siddons's face. With a little laugh, she reached forward and swatted him playfully on the shoulder.

"Oh, stop," she said, barely recognizing her own voice.

"Stop what?" he asked, his expression almost ludicrously innocent.

She mimicked his salute.

“You have been issuing orders with great facility and frequency," he pointed out. "It is only natural that I might compare you to-"

"Just check on Lady Danbury," she interrupted.

James smiled knowingly and crept around the corner of the hedge.

"Do you see anything?" Elizabeth whispered.

He ducked back. "I see Lady Danbury."

"That's all?"

"I didn't think you were interested in the cat."

"Malcolm?"

"He's on her lap."

"I don't care what the cat is doing."

His chin dipped down as he shot her a vaguely condescending look. "I didn't think you were."

"What is Lady Danbury doing?" Elizabeth ground out.

"Sleeping."

“Sleeping?''

"That is what she said she'd be doing, isn't it?"

She scowled at him. "I meant, is she sleeping normally? Is her breathing fitful? Does she seem to be moving about?"

"In her sleep?" he asked doubtfully.

"Don't be a nodcock. People move about in their sleep all the-" Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you smiling?"

James coughed to try to cover up his traitorous lips, and tried to remember the last time a woman had called him a nodcock. The ladies he'd met on his recent jaunt to London had been the simpering sort, complimenting him on his clothing, his face, his form. When one had actually gone so far as to compliment the slope of his forehead, he knew it was time to get away.

He'd never guessed, however, just how amusing it would be to be insulted by Elizabeth Hotchkiss.

"Why are you smiling?" she repeated impatiently.

"Was I smiling?"

"You know you were."

He leaned in far enough to cause her to catch her breath. "Do you want the truth?"

"Er, yes. The truth is almost always preferable."

"Almost?"

"Well, if the other choice is to needlessly hurt another's feelings," she explained, "then- Wait a moment! You're supposed to be answering my question."

"Ah, yes, the smile," he said. "It was the nodcock comment, actually."

"You're smiling because I insulted you?"

He shrugged and held out his hands in what he hoped was a rather charming gesture. "I'm not often insulted by women."

"Then you've been keeping company with the wrong sort of women," she muttered.

James let out a hoot of laughter.

"Be quiet," she hissed, yanking him away from the hedge. "She'll hear you."

"She's snoring loudly enough to summon a herd of sheep," he replied. "I doubt our little antics are going to rouse her."

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…