He seemed to enjoy kissing her, but he'd probably enjoy kissing any woman, save for Mrs. Foxglove. And he had clearly spelled out to her the main reason why he wanted to consummate the marriage. What was that he'd said? A man in his position must beget an heir.

“You look rather serious,” Charles commented, causing her to look up at him and blink several times.

She coughed and touched her head in a reflexive manner. “Oh, dear!” she suddenly burst out. “I've forgotten my bonnet.”

“Leave it,” Charles instructed.

“I cannot go out without one.”

“No one will see you. We are only going to the meadow.”

“But—”

“But what?”

She let out an irritated exhale. “I shall freckle.”

“That doesn't bother me,” he said with a shrug.

“It bothers me!”

“Don't worry. They'll be on your own face, so you won't have to see them.”

Ellie gaped at him, astounded by his illogic.

“The simple fact is,” he continued, “that I like to see your hair.”

“But it's—”

“Red,” he finished for her. “I know. I wish you'd cease persisting in calling it that common color when it's really so much more than that.”

“Really, my lord, it's only hair.”

“Is it?” he murmured.

Ellie rolled her eyes, deciding that it must be time for a change of subject. Something, perhaps, that obeyed ordinary rules of logic. “How does your ankle fare? I noticed you are no longer using the cane.”

“Very well. I've still a bit of pain, and I do find myself limping, but I don't appear to be any worse for having fallen out of a tree.”

She pursed her lips waspishly. “You shouldn't climb trees on a stomach full of whiskey.”

“Sounding like a wife already,” Charles murmured, helping her up into the curricle.

“One must practice, mustn't one?” she returned, determined not to let him get the last word, even if her own last words were less than inspired.

“I suppose.” He looked down his nose and pretended to inspect his ankle, then hopped up into the curricle. “No, the fall doesn't seem to have done any permanent damage. Although,” he added wickedly, “the rest of me is quite black and blue from my altercation yesterday.”

“Altercation?” Ellie's lips parted in concerned surprise. “What happened? Are you quite all right?”

He shrugged and sighed in mock resignation as he snapped the reins and set the horses in motion. “I was tackled to the carpet by a wet, red-haired virago.”

“Oh.” She swallowed uncomfortably and looked out the side, watching as the village of Bellfield rolled by. “I beg your pardon. I was not myself.”

“Really? I'd say you were precisely yourself.”

“I beg your pardon.”

He smiled. “Have you noticed that you always say, ‘I beg your pardon’ when you don't know what to say?”

Ellie stopped herself a split second before she said, “I beg your pardon,” again.

“You're not usually at a loss for words, are you?” He didn't give her time to reply before he said, “It's rather fun befuddling you.”