"You're trying to change the subject," he scolded, "but just for the record, I had already decided you weren't the blackmailer. It is true that you were the initial suspect-after all, you do have rather free access into Lady Danbury's belongings-but one doesn't require very much time in your company to make an accurate assessment of your character."

"How thoughtful of you," she said acerbically.

"Get off the book, Elizabeth," he ordered.

"No."

"Get off the book."

She groaned audibly. Her life couldn't have possibly come to this. "Mortification" couldn't even begin to describe the state of her mind. And "beet" couldn't begin to describe the state of her cheeks.

"You're only making it worse." He reached down, and somehow managed to grab the corner of the book.

She immediately hunkered down. "I'm not moving."

He leered at her and wiggled his fingers. "I'm not moving my hand."

"You lecher," she breathed. "Fondling a lady's backside."

He leaned in. "If I were fondling your backside, you'd be wearing a decidedly different facial expression."

She smacked him on the shoulder. It was probably no less than he deserved, James thought, but he was damned if he was leaving the library without getting a good look at her little red book.

"You can insult me all you want," she said in a lofty voice, "but it will have no effect. I am not moving."

"Elizabeth, you resemble nothing so much as a hen trying to hatch a book."

“If you were any kind of a gentleman-''

"Ah, but there's a time and place for gentlemanly behavior, and this isn't one of them." He jammed his fingers farther under her, getting a few more inches of the book under his hand. One more shove, and he ought to be able to hook his thumb around the edge of the book, and then it would be his!

Her jaw clenched. "Get your hand out from under me," she ground out.

He did the opposite, lurching his fingers forward yet another half inch. "A remarkable feat, really, saying all that between your teeth."

"James!"

He held up his free hand. “Just one moment, if you will. I'm concentrating."

As she glared at him, he hooked his thumb around the top edge of the book. His mouth spread into a lethal smile. "You're sunk now, Miss Hotchkiss."

"What do you- Aaaaaaaaccccccck!"

With one big heave, he yanked the book out from under her, sending her sprawling.

"Nooooooooooo!" she yelled, sounding as if the very fate of the world rested in her ability to retrieve her book.

James raced across the room, triumphantly holding the book high in the air. Elizabeth was a full foot shorter than he was; she'd never be able to reach.

"James, please," she begged.

He shook his head, wishing he didn't feel like quite so much of a cad; the expression on her face was rather heart wrenching. But he'd been wondering about her book for days, and he'd come this far, so he twisted his head up, turned over the book, and read the title.

How To MARRY A MARQUIS

He blinked. Surely she didn't know… no, she couldn't possibly know his true identity.

"Why did you do that?" she said in a choked voice. "Why did you have to do that?"

He tilted his head toward her. "What's this?"

"What does it look like?" she snapped.

"I… ah… I don't know." Still holding the book aloft, he opened it up and flipped through a few pages. "It looks rather like a guidebook, actually."

"Then that's what it is," she shot back. "Now please give it back. I have to return this to Lady Danbury."

"This belongs to my-to Lady Danbury?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes! Now give it back."

James shook his head, looking back up at the book, then returning his gaze to Elizabeth. “But why would she need a book like this?''

"I don't know," she nearly wailed. "It's old. Maybe she purchased it before she married Lord Danbury. But please, let me just put it back on the shelf before she comes back from breakfast."

"In a moment." He turned another page and read:

YOU MUST NEVER SEPARATE YOUR LIPS WHEN YOU SMILE. A CLOSE-LIPPED SMILE IS INFINITELY MORE MYSTERIOUS, AND YOUR JOB IS TO FASCINATE YOUR MARQUIS.

"Is that why they always do that?" he murmured. He glanced over at Elizabeth. "Edict Number Twelve explains a lot."

"The book," she growled, holding out her hand.

"Just in case you're interested," he said with an expansive wave of his hand, “I myself prefer a woman who knows how to smile. This"-he stretched his lips out in a tight mockery of a smile-"is really quite unbecoming."

"I don't think Mrs. Seeton meant for you to do this." She returned his strained expression with one of her own. "I think you're supposed to do this." This time she curved her lips into a delicate half-smile, one that sent a shiver down his spine right to his-

"Yes," he said with a cough, "that's considerably more effective."

"I cannot believe I'm discussing this with you," she said, more to herself than to him. “Can we please just put the book back?''

"We've at least ten more minutes before Lady Danbury finishes her breakfast. Don't worry." He returned his attention to the little red book. "I'm finding this fascinating."

"I'm not," she ground out.

James turned his attention back to Elizabeth. She was standing as stiff as a board, her hands fisted at her side. Her cheeks were stained with two angry splotches of red. "You're angry with me," he said.

"Your perceptiveness is astounding."

"But I was only poking fun at you. You must know it was never meant to be insulting."

Her eyes grew a little harder. "Do you see me laughing?"

"Elizabeth," he said placatingly, "it was all in good fun. Surely you don't take this book seriously."

She didn't answer. The silence in the room grew thick, and James saw a flash of pain in those sapphire eyes of hers. The corners of her lips quivered, then tightened, and then she looked away. "Oh, God," he breathed, little knives of guilt stabbing at his midsection. "I'm so sorry."

She lifted her chin, but he could see her face working with suppressed emotion as she said, "Can we stop this now?"

Silently, he lowered his arms and handed her the book. She didn't thank him, just took it back and held it close to her chest.

"I didn't realize you were looking for a husband," he said softly.

"You don't know anything about me."

He gestured awkwardly at the book. “Has it been helpful?"

"No."

The flatness in her voice was a punch to his gut. Somehow, James suddenly realized, he was going to have to make this better. He had to take away the dead expression in her eyes, return the lilt to her voice. He had to hear her laugh, to hear himself laugh at some little joke of hers.

He didn't know why. He just knew it was something he had to do.

He cleared his throat and asked, "Is there any way I might be of assistance?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Can I help you in any way?"

She looked at him suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

James's lips parted slightly as he tried to figure out how the devil to reply. “Just that… well, I happen to know a thing or two about finding a husband-or rather, in my case, a wife."

Her eyes bugged out. "You're married?!"

"No!" he said, surprising even himself with the force of his reply.

She relaxed visibly. "Oh, thank goodness. Because you… you…"

"Because I kissed you?"

"Yes," she muttered, her cheeks turning pink around the already present red splotches.

He reached out and tucked his fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "If I were married, Elizabeth, you can be certain I would not dally with another female."

"How… thoughtful of you."

"All I meant to say was that if you are truly looking for a husband, I would be happy to assist you in any way possible."

Elizabeth just stared at him, unable to believe the irony of the moment. Here she was, standing before the man she'd spent the entire previous night crying over, and he was offering to help her find another man to marry? "This can't be happening," she said to herself. "This just can't be happening."

"I don't see why not," he said smoothly. "I consider you a friend, and-"

"How on earth could you possibly help me?" she asked, wondering what devil was possessing her to even pursue the subject. "You're new to the district. You couldn't possibly introduce me to any suitable candidates. And," she added, gesturing toward him, "you clearly are not well-versed in the art of fashion."

He lurched backward. "I beg your pardon!"

"They're perfectly nice clothes, but they are several years past their prime."

"So are yours," he said with a smirk.

"I know," she shot back. "That's why I need help from someone who knows what he's talking about."

James tilted his head tensely to the side and then brought it back up, trying to suppress a retort. The impertinent chit ought to see his closet in London. Clothing galore, all in the first stare of fashion, and none of those ridiculous dandified stripes and frills. "Why are you so keen to marry?'' he asked, deciding that it was more important to assess her situation than it was to defend his attire.

"That's none of your concern.'.'

"I disagree. If I'm to aid you, it must be my concern."

"I haven't agreed to allow you to help me," she retorted.

His eyes fell on the book. “Does it have to be a marquis?"

She blinked, uncomprehending. "I beg your pardon?"

"Does it have to be a marquis?" he repeated. "Must you have a title? Is it so very important?''

She took a step back at his strident tone. "No."

James felt his muscles relax. He hadn't even realized how tense he'd been, or just how important her negative answer was to him. For his entire life, he'd been made painfully aware that it was his position that mattered, not his character. His father had never called him his son, only his heir. The previous marquis hadn't known how to relate to a child; he'd treated James as a miniature adult. Any childhood transgression was viewed as an insult to the title, and James had quickly learned to keep his normally exuberant personality cloaked under a mask of serious obedience-at least when he was in his father's company.