She glanced up at him, raising her eyebrows into a guileless expression.

“Surely you can allow the chit her pride at having outsmarted you,” James said.

This time Caroline didn't even try to hide her smile.

“Get on with your story,” Blake growled at her. She acquiesced, and he read each line of her history with grim anger, disgusted by the way Oliver Prewitt had treated her. She may have frustrated the hell out of him during the past few days, both intellectually and physically, but he couldn't deny a grudging measure of respect for this girl who had managed to thwart him at every turn. That the man who was supposed to be her guardian would treat her so abominably—it made him shake with fury.

“What do you suggest we do with you?” he asked when she finally stopped scribbling her life story.

“For the love of God, Ravenscroft,” the marquis said. “Get the girl some tea. Can't you see she can't speak?”

“You get her some tea.”

“I'm not leaving you alone with her. It wouldn't be proper.”

“Oh, and I suppose it would be proper for you to remain with her?” Blake scoffed. “Your reputation is blacker than the Death.”

“Of course, but—”

“Out!” Caroline croaked. “Both of you.”

They turned to face her, seemingly having forgotten that the subject of their argument was still in the room.

“I beg your pardon,” the marquis said.

I would like a few moments alone, she wrote down, shoving the paper in his face. Then she hastily scrawled, my lord.

“Call me James,” he replied. “All of my friends do.”

She shot him a wry look, clearly doubtful that their bizarre predicament qualified as friendship.

“And he is Blake,” James added. “I gather the two of you are on a first name basis?”

I didn't even know his name until just now, she wrote.

“Shame on you, Blake,” James said. “Such manners.”

“I'm going to forget you said that,” Blake growled, “because if I don't, I will have to kill you.”

Caroline chuckled despite herself. Say what you will about the enigmatic man who'd abducted her, he did have a sense of humor to match her own. She glanced at him again, this time doubtfully. At least she hoped he was joking.

She shot him another worried glance. The glare he was sending the marquis would have felled Napoleon. Or at the very least delivered an extremely painful injury.

“Pay him no mind,” James said cheerfully. “He has the devil's own temper. Always has.”

“I beg your pardon,” Blake replied, sounding very irritated.

“I've known him since we were twelve,” James said. “We roomed together at Eton.”

“Did you?” she said hoarsely, testing her voice out again. “How nice for you both.”

James chuckled. “The unspoken portion of that sentence, of course, being that we deserve each other. Come along, Ravenscroft, let us leave the poor girl to her privacy. I'm sure she'll want to dress and wash and do all that stuff females like to do.”