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Elizabeth looked up suddenly, and the expression in her eyes was heartbreaking. “Surely you know that I would never have done anything to harm Lady Danbury.”
“Of course not. Your devotion to her is obvious. But the fact remains that you are not experienced in such matters, and—”
“And I suppose you are?” she asked, her sarcasm evident but not obnoxious.
“Elizabeth, I have spent most of the last decade of my life working for the War Office.”
“The gun,” she whispered. “The way you attacked Fellport. I knew something was not right.”
James swore under his breath. “My altercation with Fellport had nothing to do with my experience in the War Office. For God’s sake, Elizabeth, the man had attacked you.”
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“Yes,” she replied, “but you seemed far too familiar with violence. It was too easy for you. The way you drew your gun…You’d had far too much experience with it.”
He leaned forward, his eyes burning into hers. “What I felt in that moment was far from familiar. It was rage, Elizabeth, pure and primitive, and quite unlike anything that’s ever before coursed through my veins.”
“You’ve—you’ve never felt rage before?”
He shook his head slowly. “Not like that. Fellport dared to attack what was mine. He’s lucky I let him live.”
“I’m not yours,” she whispered. But her voice lacked confidence.
“Aren’t you?”
From across the room, Caroline sighed.
“James,” Elizabeth said. “I can’t forgive you. I just can’t.”
“What the hell can’t you forgive me for?” he snapped. “For not telling you I had a bloody title? I thought you said you didn’t want a damned marquis.”
She pulled back from his anger, whispering, “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you remember? It was in this very room. You were holding the book, and—”
“Don’t mention that book,” she said, her voice low and furious. “Don’t you ever mention it.”
“Why not?” he taunted, his anger and pain making him mean. “Because you don’t want to be reminded of how desperate you’d become? Of how grasping and greedy?”
“James!” Caroline exclaimed. “Stop it.”
But he was too hurt, too far gone. “You’re no better than me, Elizabeth Hotchkiss. You preach about honesty, but you were going to trap some poor, unsuspecting fool into marriage.”
“I was not! I would never have married someone without making sure he knew my situation first. You know that.”
“Do I? I don’t recall your mentioning such noble principles. In fact, all I recall is your practicing your wiles upon me.”
“You asked me to!”
“James Siddons, estate manager, was good enough to be teased,” he sneered, “but not good enough to marry. Was that it?”
“I loved James Siddons!” she burst out. And then, horrified by what she’d said, she jumped to her feet and raced for the door.
But James was too quick. He blocked her path, whispering. “You loved me?”
“I loved him,” she cried out. “I don’t know who you are.”
“I am the same man.”
