“You can’t walk into the house like that. I’d have to fire every footman we’ve got, and Jenkins would not be happy. He’s just trained them.”

His fingers brushed her chin as he fastened the coat up the front. The gesture was so quixotic, so unlike Greyley, that Anna neither moved nor protested.

He fastened the last button, then chucked her under the chin as if she were a child of six. “There you are, sweet. That should get you indoors without too much of a bustle.”

“How chivalrous,” she said, then moved to step away, but Greyley’s notion of chivalry included imprisonment, for he gripped her shoulders and held her fast. She scowled. “Let me go.”

He smiled then, that indolent smile that was all his. The smile that crinkled his eyes and made her heart flutter in the most uncomfortable way. “Miss Thraxton, your hair is incredibly fetching when wet. I had no notion it was so long.”

She wondered warily what he was up to now. “I daresay I look well slathered with mud, too.”

His gaze traveled from her face to her throat. “I believe you’d look fetching no matter what you did, or did not, wear. There are few women who can say that with any measure of truth.”

His voice rumbled low and intimate, almost hypnotic. Truly, the man was a conundrum—one moment insulting her, and the next complimenting her like a courtier. Her confusion must have shown in her face, for he grinned and then turned her toward the house and gave her a little push, as if she were a recalcitrant child. “Go and don some dry clothes. We will meet in the morning for our ride.”

Lord help her, but when had Greyley turned into such a captivating man? She caught sight of his bare feet. “How can you ride without boots?”

His gaze followed hers. “I’ll borrow my brother’s while I send to London for some new ones. Never fear, I’ll be properly clothed when we go for our ride.”

Anna met his warm brown gaze with a sinking feeling. She didn’t dare ride alone with him, for her own safety as well as his. Gathering her rumpled composure, she turned and marched toward the house, all too aware of Greyley’s silent company as he followed behind. She could almost feel his gaze on her shoulders, her hips, her legs.

She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, yet when she caught his gaze just as she reached the house where Jenkins stood waiting, she thought she detected a surprising blaze of warmth. A look so fraught with promise that she barely managed to curtsy before she mumbled a disjointed thank you and then unceremoniously fled.

Later, dressed in a fresh gown, drying her hair before the fire in the nursery while the children wrote their apology letters, Anna remembered in vivid detail her conversation with the earl. Something had changed. He was no longer chasing after the elusive schedule, but her. She could see it in his eyes, in the way he watched her. Some part of her thrilled at the thought. He was incredibly handsome. And she was beginning to realize that there was more to him than she’d thought—the way he took such care of the children, for instance.