“Damned if I know, but half the ham is missing, so I imagine she's come and gone.”

James whistled. “Mrs. Mickle certainly outdid herself this morning, didn't she? You should have had Caroline move in sooner.”

Blake shot him an irritated glance.

“Well, you must admit that your housekeeper has never gone to such lengths to keep you so well-fed.”

Blake liked to think that he would have responded with something utterly wry and cutting, but before he could think of anything the least bit witty, they heard a tremendous crash, followed by a feminine shriek of—was it surprise? Or was it pain? Whatever it was, it definitely came from Caroline, and Blake's heart pounded in his chest as he dashed toward the library and threw open the door.

He'd thought he'd been shocked by his dug-up garden the day before. This was worse.

“What the hell?” he whispered, too shocked to manage a normal speaking voice.

“What happened?” James demanded, skidding to a halt behind him. “Oh my good Lord. What on earth?”

Caroline was sitting in the center of the library, surrounded by books. Or perhaps it would have been more accurate to say that she was sprawled on the library floor, covered with books. An over-turned stepstool lay next to her, and tall piles of books were stacked up on every table and a good portion of the rug.

In fact, not a single volume remained on the shelves. It looked as if Blake's houseguest had somehow managed to conjure a whirlwind for the sole purpose of tearing his library to pieces.

Caroline looked up at them and blinked. “I suppose you're both a bit curious.”

“Er…yes,” Blake replied, thinking that he ought to be yelling at her about something, but not sure what, and still a bit too surprised to come up with a good tirade.

“I thought to put your books in order.”

“Yes,” he said slowly, trying to take in the scope of the mess. “They look very well-ordered.”

Behind him, James let out a snort of laughter, and Caroline planted her hands on her hips and said, “Don't tease!”

“Ravenscroft here wouldn't dream of teasing you,” James said. “Would he?”

Blake shook his head. “Wouldn't dream of it.”

Caroline scowled at them both. “One of you might offer to help me up.”

Blake was about to move aside to let Riverdale pass, but the marquis shoved him forward until he had to lend the girl his hand or seem insufferably rude.

“Thank you,” she said, awkwardly rising to her feet. “I'm sorry about the—Ow!” She pitched forward into Blake's arms, and for a moment he was able to forget who he was, and what he'd done, and simply savor the feel of her.

“Are you hurt?” he asked gruffly, oddly reluctant to let her go.

“My ankle. I must have twisted it when I fell.”

He looked down at her with an amused expression. “This isn't another ill-conceived attempt to force us to let you remain here, now is it?”

“Of course not!” she replied, clearly offended. “As if I would deliberately injure myself to—” She looked up sheepishly. “Oh, yes, I did quite destroy my throat the other day, didn't I?”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth quivering toward a smile.

“Yes, well, I had a very good reason…Oh, you were teasing me, weren't you?”

He nodded again.

“It's hard to tell, you know.”

“Hard to tell what?”

“When you're teasing,” she replied. “You're very serious most of the time.”

“You're going to have to stay off of that ankle,” Blake said abruptly. “At least until the swelling subsides.”

Her voice was soft when she said, “You didn't answer my question.”

“You didn't ask a question.”

“Didn't I? I suppose I didn't. But you did change the subject.”

“A gentleman doesn't like to talk about how serious he is.”

“Yes, I know.” She sighed. “You like to talk of cards and hounds and horses and how much money you lost at the faro table the night before. I've yet to meet a truly responsible gentleman. Aside from my dear father, of course.”

“We're not all so bad as that,” he said, turning around to press James to help defend their gender. But James had disappeared.

“What happened to the marquis?” Caroline inquired, craning her neck.

“Damned if I know.” His face colored as he remembered his manners. “Pardon my language.”

“You didn't seem to have a problem cursing in front of Carlotta De Leon.”

“The real Carlotta De Leon, I imagine, could teach me a thing or two about cursing.”

“I'm not as delicate as I look,” she said with a shrug. “My ears aren't going to burn up at the occasional use of the word damn. Lord knows my tongue hasn't fallen off for saying it.”

His lips reluctantly curved into an honest smile. “Are you saying, Miss Caroline Trent, that you are not every inch a lady?”

“Not at all,” she said archly. “I am very much a lady. Simply one who…ah…occasionally uses less than proper language.”

He burst out in unexpected laughter.

“My guardians weren't always the most circumspect of men,” she explained.

“I see.”

She cocked her head and stared at him thoughtfully. “You should laugh more often.”

“There are a lot of things I should do,” he said simply.

Caroline didn't know what to make of that comment. “Er…should we try to find the marquis?”