She was quite entranced by the society pages—not, mind you, that she had a clue who they were talking about, except, possibly, for the “Dashing and Dangerous Lord R—” who Caroline was beginning to suspect might be her new friend James, when the marquis himself walked into the room.
“You have been gone quite a while,” she said. “Would you like a pastry?”
James looked around the room with undisguised curiosity. “Have we arranged for another feast without my knowledge?”
“Perriwick merely wanted to make certain I was comfortable,” Caroline explained.
“Ah, yes. The servants do seem rather besotted with you.”
“It is driving Blake mad.”
“Good.” James picked up a pastry off a plate and said, “Guess what I found?”
“I couldn't possibly.”
He held up a sheet of paper. “You.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your guardian appears to be looking for you.”
“Well, I'm not surprised,” she commented, taking the notice and looking down at it. “I'm worth quite a bit of money to him. Oh, this is funny.”
“What?”
“This.” Caroline pointed to the drawing of her, which was situated underneath a headline reading: MISSING GIRL. “Percy drew this.”
“Percy?”
“Yes, I should have known Oliver would have Percy do it. He is far too tightfisted to spend money on a proper artist.”
James cocked his head and looked at the drawing a bit more carefully. “It's not a very good likeness.”
“No, it's not, but I expect Percy did that on purpose. He's actually quite handy with pen and paper. But remember, he doesn't want me to be found any more than I do.”
“Silly boy,” James murmured.
Caroline looked up in surprise, certain that she must have misheard. “I beg your pardon?”
“Percy. It's quite clear to me from what you've said that he isn't likely to do any better than you. If I were he, I would certainly not have complained about my father's choice of bride.”
“If you were Percy,” Caroline said wryly, “Percy would be a much finer man.”
James chuckled.
“Besides,” she continued. “Percy thinks I am highly unattractive, morbidly interested in books, and he never ceases to complain that I cannot sit still.”
“Well, you can't.”
“Sit still?”
“Yes. Just look at your ankle.”
“That has nothing to do with—”
“It has everything to do with—”
“My, my,” drawled a voice from the doorway. “Aren't we cozy?”
James looked up. “Oh, good day, Ravenscroft.”
“And where did you disappear to this morning?”
James held up the posted bill he'd brought back from town. “I went out to investigate our Miss Trent.”
“She isn't our Miss Tr—”
“Forgive me,” James said with a wicked smile. “Your Miss Trent.”
Caroline immediately took offense. “I'm not—”
“This is an exceedingly asinine conversation,” Blake cut in.
“My thoughts exactly,” Caroline muttered. Then she pointed to the notice about her and said, “Look what the marquis brought back.”
“I thought I told you to call me James,” James said.
“‘The marquis’ is just fine,” Blake grumbled. “And what the hell is this?”
James handed him the paper.
Blake dismissed it immediately. “This looks nothing like her.”
“You don't think so?” James asked, his expression positively angelic.
“No. Any fool could see that the artist put her eyes a bit too close together, and the mouth is all wrong. If the artist really wanted to capture her on paper, he should have shown her smiling.”
“Do you think so?” Caroline asked, delighted.
Blake scowled, clearly irritated with himself. “I wouldn't worry that anyone is going to find you based on this. And besides, no one knows you're here, and I'm not expecting any guests.”
“True,” James murmured.
“And,” Blake added, “why would anyone care? There is no mention of a reward.”
“No reward?” Caroline exclaimed. “Why that cheap little—”
James laughed out loud, and even Blake, grumpy as he was, had to crack a smile.
“Well, I don't care,” she announced. “I just don't care that he isn't offering a reward. In fact, I'm glad. I'm much happier here than I was with any of my guardians.”
“I would be, too,” Blake said wryly, “if Perriwick and Mrs. Mickle treated me this way.”
Caroline turned to him with a wicked smile, the urge to tease him too strong to ignore. “Now, now, don't get snippy because your servants like me best.”
Blake started to say something, then just laughed. Caroline felt an instant happy satisfaction spreading within her, as if her heart recognized that she had done something very good in making this man laugh. She needed Blake, and the shelter of his home, but she sensed that maybe he needed her just a little bit, too.
His was a wounded soul, far more so even than her own. She smiled up into his eyes and murmured, “I wish you'd laugh more often.”
“Yes,” he said gruffly, “you've said as much.”
“I'm right about this.” On impulse, she patted his hand. “I'll allow that I'm wrong about a great deal, but I'm sure that I'm right about this. A body can't go as long without laughing as you have.”