He stared at her, wondering if she could possibly be that innocent. “It's not my ankle, Eleanor.”

“You should probably call me Ellie,” she said, “if I'm to call you Charles.”

“You haven't done so yet.”

“I suppose not.” Ellie cleared her throat, thinking that this conversation must be proof that she did not know this man nearly well enough to be his wife. “Charles.”

He smiled. “Ellie. I like that. It suits you.”

“Only my father calls me Eleanor.” Her brow furrowed in thought. “Oh, and Mrs. Foxglove, too, I suppose.”

“Then I shall never call you Eleanor,” he vowed, a smile tugging at his lips.

“You probably will,” she said, “when you're angry with me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Everyone does when they're angry with me.”

“Why are you so certain I will become angry with you?”

She scoffed at that. “Really, my lord, we are to be married for a lifetime. I cannot imagine I will make it that long without incurring your ire at least once.”

“I suppose I should be glad I married a realist.”

“We are the best sorts in the long run,” she replied with a loopy smile. “You'll see.”

“I have no doubt.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Ellie said, “We should go in to breakfast.”

“I suppose we should,” he murmured, reaching out to stroke the underside of her chin.

Ellie lurched backwards. “Don't try that.”

“Don't try what?” He sounded rather amused.

“To kiss me.”

“Why not? That was part of our bargain, wasn't it?”

“Yes,” Ellie hedged. “But you know very well I can't think straight when you do that.” She supposed she probably ought to have kept that fact to herself, but what was the point if he was just as aware of it as she?

Charles's lips spread into a full-fledged grin. “That's the idea, my dear.”

“Perhaps for you,” she retorted. “But I wanted the chance to get to know you better before we entered that…er…phase of our relationship.”

“Very well, what do you want to know?”

Ellie was silent for a moment, having no idea how to answer that. Finally she said, “Anything, I suppose.”

“Anything?”

“Anything that you think might help me to know the Earl of Billington—excuse me, Charles—better.”

He thought for a moment, then smiled and said, “I am a compulsive list-maker. How does that rate for an interesting tidbit?”

Ellie wasn't certain what she'd been expecting him to reveal about himself, but that certainly wasn't it. A compulsive list-maker? That told her more about him than any hobby or pastime ever would. “What sorts of things do you make lists about?” she asked.

“This and that. Everything.”

“Did you make a list about me?”

“Of course.”

Ellie waited for him to elaborate further, then impatiently asked, “What was on it?”

He chuckled at her curiosity. “It was a list of reasons why I thought you should make a good wife. That sort of thing.”

“I see.” Ellie wanted to ask how long this list of good reasons was, but thought that might sound a touch too ill-bred.