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And of course it hadn’t been enough. It hadn’t been nearly enough. He’d managed to fake nonchalance fairly well the previous afternoon—with the help of her pot of well-aimed water, which had certainly taken the edge off of his need.
But the night had left him all alone with his imagination. And James had a vivid imagination.
“I am in a temper,” he finally answered her, avoiding an outright lie by adding, “because I did not sleep well last night.”
“Oh.” She seemed surprised by the simplicity of his answer. She opened her mouth as if to interrogate him further, then closed it.
Good for her, he thought harshly. If she expressed so much as a vague interest in why he didn’t sleep well, he swore he’d tell her. He’d describe his dreams in every last explicit detail.
“I’m sorry that you suffer insomnia,” she finally said, “but I do think we need to discuss your offer to aid me in finding a husband. I’m sure you realize that it is highly irregular.”
“I thought we had decided that we weren’t going to let that guide our actions.”
She ignored him. “I need a certain measure of stability in my life, Mr. Siddons.”
“James.”
“James.” She repeated his name, the word coming out on a sigh. “I cannot be constantly on my guard, watching for you to pounce on me at any second.”
“Pounce?” One corner of his mouth tilted up in a hint of a smile. He rather liked the image pouncing brought to mind.
“And it certainly cannot be beneficial for us to be so, ah…”
“Intimate?” he supplied, just to annoy her.
It worked. The look she threw at him could have shattered a window. “The point is,” she said loudly, as if that could drown out his interference, “our aim is to find me a husband, and—”
“Don’t worry,” he said grimly. “We’ll find you a husband.” But even as he said the words, he became vaguely aware of a strange distaste in his mouth. He could picture his tutoring lessons with Elizabeth—picture each and every perfect little minute—but the thought of her actually achieving her stated goal of marriage left him slightly sick.
“This brings me to another point,” she said.
James crossed his arms. One more point and he might have to muzzle her.
“About this work, and your willingness to help me find a husband—I’m not sure I’m comfortable being in your debt.”
“You won’t be.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said firmly, “I will. And I insist upon paying you back.”
The smile he gave her was so potently masculine it turned her ankles to water. “And how,” he drawled, “do you intend to pay me back?”
“Blackmail.”
He blinked in surprise. She took a little pride in that. “Blackmail?” he echoed.
“Lady Danbury told me that you are helping to uncover her blackmailer. I should like to assist you.”
“No.”
“But—”
“I said no.”
She glared at him, and then, when he didn’t say anything further, she said, “Why not?”
“Because it might be dangerous, that’s why not.”
“You’re doing it.”
