“I did not mean it to be taken so.” She strolled toward him. “But I should point out that I have never once seen you with your hair disheveled or your teeth sporting a piece of green onion from breakfast or your perfect white cuffs bearing even the merest dot of a spot of coffee. However do you achieve such perfection?”
“First of all, I don’t drink coffee. I drink tea as every good English man should. Second, I do have a valet who makes sure I don’t leave my bedroom with a hair out of place or food detritus in my teeth.”
She brightened. “I know that word,détritus.It is French!”
“I’m aware,” he said with a lazy smile.
“And it is not your valet who keeps you in good order. Even in the camp, where your clothes were old and … er …”
“Ragged. You can say it.”
“Very well, ‘ragged.’ Even there, you always managed to make sure they were as kempt as clothes could be in such a place.” She tapped her chin. “Oh, dear, is ‘kempt’ a word?”
“I believe that ‘kempt’ was once a word centuries ago, but after it spawned its companion ‘unkempt,’ it retreated from the field forever.”
She laughed. “My point is, you like your appearance just so, which is the true mark of a dandy.”
Once more she must have stepped awry, for he drew himself up, suddenly haughty. “I should hope not a dandy. And again, you make being handsome and ‘kempt’ sound like a character flaw.”
“Is ‘dandy’ a character flaw? I thought it meant ‘gentleman’?”
“No,” he said, his tone softening. “It means a gentleman who is fastidious—méticuleux—to the point of being ludicrous.”
“I see,” she said, though she did not really. “You are notthat,to be sure.”
That seemed to mollify him. But the English certainly had strange ideas sometimes. What was wrong with caring about the neatness and cleanliness of one’s clothing? Although she must admit that when he appeared looking so deliciously perfect, it gave her a strange urge to muss him up, to disorder his hair and perhaps unbutton his coat and waistcoat so she could—
The clock chimed three PM, and thankfully his gaze turned to it, so he did not see her blushing like a silly schoolgirl.
“Shall we go?” he said. “If we are to finish our drive in Hyde Park before it gets dark, we should leave now.”
“Of course.” She retrieved her reticule from the chaise longue. “I am ready.”
“Not quite. It’s warmer than usual for October, but still fairly chilly outside. You should probably bring a winter cloak, if you have one.”
“I do.” She beamed at him for being so considerate. Then she caught herself, and added saucily, “Fortunately for you, it matches this gown.”
“Why fortunately for me? What would happen if it didn’t?”
“I would have to change clothes,” she called back as she hurried to fetch it, “and we would be much later to the park.”
“Ah. Then thank God for matching cloaks,” he told her.
As soon as she had donned it and come back, she asked, “And do you have a greatcoat, sir?”
“My tiger has it, just in case. But I rarely get cold, and certainly not on a day as fine as this.”
She looked at him as she drew on her thick gloves. “Jon claims the same thing. He says it is because of the time he spent at Bitche, when the nights got so cold. He grew used to it.”
“Yes.” Before she could ask him to elaborate, he nodded to Maman and asked in French, “What time do you wish us to return?”
“Whenever you please,” Maman said, then added, “Before sundown, I suppose, to be proper. But we are not slaves to time as you English are.Weprefer to enjoy life at a leisurely pace.”
“Understood,” Heath said, but muttered under his breath in English, “I’m sure your cook justlovesnot knowing when dinner is to be ready.”
Giselle fought to suppress a laugh as he offered her his arm. But as she took it, she could tell he was still somber. As soon as they headed out the door, he said, “Your mother doesn’t like me.”
She sighed. “She does not trust you. She can tell we have secrets, and she does not likethat.”