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on her face. She was going to charm this man until—until—well, until he was charmed.
She opened her mouth to slay him with something utterly witty and sophisticated, but before she could form even a sound, he leaned in closer, his eyes warm and dangerous, and said, “I find myself unbearably curious about that smile.”
She blinked. If she didn’t know better, she’d think that he was trying to charm her.
No, she thought with a mental shake of her head. That was impossible. He barely knew her, and while she wasn’t the ugliest girl in all of Surrey, she was certainly no siren.
“I do apologize, Mr. Siddons,” she said prettily. “Like you, I am prone to getting lost in my own thoughts. And I certainly did not mean to be rude.”
He shook his head. “You weren’t rude.”
“But, you see…” What was that Susan had read to her from the book? Always invite a man to talk about himself. Men were basically self-absorbed.
“Miss Hotchkiss?”
She cleared her throat and affixed yet another smile on her face. “Right. Well, you see, I was actually wondering about you.”
There was a brief pause, and then he said, “Me?”
“Of course. It’s not every day we have a new person here at Danbury House. Where are you from?”
“Here and there,” he evaded. “Most lately, London.”
“How exciting,” she replied, trying to keep her voice suitably excited. She hated London. It was dirty and smelly and crowded. “And have you always been an estate manager?”
“Nooo,” he said slowly. “There aren’t many large country estates in London.”
“Oh, yes,” she muttered. “Of course.”
He cocked his head and gazed down at her warmly. “Have you always lived here?”
Elizabeth nodded. “My entire life. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. There’s really nothing as lovely as the English countryside when the flowers bloom. And one certainly can’t—” She cut herself off. She wasn’t supposed to be talking about herself.
James’s instincts leaped to attention. What had she been about to say?
She fluttered her lashes. “But you don’t want to know about me.”
“Oh, but I do,” he replied, gifting her with his most intensely heated stare. Women loved that stare.
Not this woman, apparently. She jerked her head back and coughed.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head quickly, but she looked as if she had just swallowed a spider. Then—and this made no sense, but he could swear he saw it—she steeled her shoulders as if preparing for some hideous task, and said with impossible sweetness, “I’m certain you have led a much more interesting life than I, Mr. Siddons.”
“Oh, but I’m sure that’s not true.”
Elizabeth cleared her throat, ready to stamp her foot in frustration. This wasn’t working at all. Gentlemen were supposed to want to talk about themselves, and all he was doing was asking about her. She had the oddest impression that he was playing some sort of game with her.
“Mr. Siddons,” she said, hoping that she had been able to eliminate all traces of frustration from her voice, “I have lived in Surrey since I was born. How could my life possibly be more interesting than yours?”
He reached out and touched her chin. “Somehow, Miss Hotchkiss, I have a feeling that you could fascinate me endlessly if you so chose.”
Elizabeth gasped and then stopped breathing altogether. No man had ever touched her so, and she was probably the worst sort of harlot for thinking so, but there was something almost hypnotic about the warmth of his hand.
“Don’t you think?” he whispered.
Elizabeth swayed toward him for the barest of seconds, and then she heard Mrs. Seeton—who, by the way, sounded remarkably like Susan—in her head.
