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Elizabeth tried not to think of James as she scooted past his cozy little cottage. She wasn’t successful, of course, but at least she didn’t have to worry about stumbling over him this afternoon. He was back in the sitting room, presumably laughing over the way she’d fled the scene.
No, she admitted to herself, he wasn’t laughing at her. It would make things so much easier if he were. Then she could hate him.
As if the day weren’t bad enough, Malcolm had apparently decided that torturing Elizabeth was more fun than listening to Lady Danbury lecture the Corbishleys, and the immense cat was presently trotting alongside her, hissing at regular intervals.
“Is this truly necessary?” Elizabeth demanded. “To follow me out just to hiss at me?”
Malcolm’s reply was another hiss.
“Beast. No one believes you hiss at me, you know. You only do it when we’re alone.”
The cat smirked. Elizabeth would swear to it.
She was still arguing with the blasted cat when she drew alongside the stables. Malcolm was growling and hissing with complete abandon, and Elizabeth was jabbing her finger at him and demanding silence, which was probably why she did not hear the approaching footsteps.
“Miss Hotchkiss.”
Her head jerked up. Sir Bertram Fellport—the blond Adonis with the face of an angel—was standing in front of her. Rather too close, in her opinion. “Oh, good day, sir.” She took a discreet and, she hoped, inoffensive step back.
He smiled, and Elizabeth half expected a gaggle of cherubs to appear about his head, singing of angels on high. “I am Fellport,” he said.
She nodded. She knew that already, but she saw no reason to inform him of this. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Did you find your notebook?”
He must have been listening to her conversation with Lady Danbury. “No,” she replied, “I did not. But I am certain it shall turn up. These things always do.”
“Yes,” he murmured, his sky-blue eyes regarding her with uncomfortable intensity. “Have you worked for Lady Danbury long?”
Elizabeth inched back another baby step. “Five years.”
He reached out and stroked her cheek. “It must be a lonely existence.”
“Not at all,” she said stiffly. “If you’ll excuse me.”
His hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist with painful force. “I don’t excuse you.”
“Sir Bertram,” she said, somehow keeping her voice even over the pounding of her heart, “may I remind you that you are a guest in Lady Danbury’s home?”
He tugged on her wrist, forcing her to move closer to him. “And may I remind you that you are in Lady Danbury’s employ, and thus obligated to see to her guests’ comfort?”
Elizabeth looked up at those stunningly blue eyes and saw something very ugly and cold. Her stomach knotted, and she realized that she had to get away now. He was pulling her toward the stables, and once he had her out of sight, there would be no escape.
She let out a scream, but it was cut short by the vicious clamping of his hand over her mouth. “You’re going to do what I say,” he hissed in her ear, “and afterward, you’re going to say, ‘Thank you.’”
And then all of Elizabeth’s worst fears were realized as she felt herself being dragged into the stables.
Chapter 15
James had his hands shoved in his pockets as he made his way to the stables. He was indulging in a rare fit of sulkiness; it wasn’t often that he had to deny himself anything he truly wanted, and putting off his pursuit of Elizabeth had left him in a bad mood.
The fresh air hadn’t helped much, so he decided to take that idea to the next level and go for a ride. A breakneck, hell-for-leather, wind-whipping-one’s-hair-into-knots-and-tangles sort of ride. As Agatha’s estate manager he had free run of the stables, and if it was irregular for such a person to be galloping about like a wild man—well, James intended to be moving far too fast for anyone to recognize him.
But when he arrived at the stables, Malcolm was on his hind legs, clawing madly at the door and screeching like a banshee.
“Good God, cat. What has gotten into you?”
Malcolm howled, backed up a few steps, and head-butted the door.
