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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?”
