“It's a beautiful day, don't you think?” he inquired, thinking he ought to make conversation.

“Yes,” Ellie agreed, stumbling slightly under the weight of him. “But it is growing late. Is there no way you can move a little bit faster?”

“Even I,” Charles said with an expansive wave of his hand, “am not such a cad that I would feign lameness merely to enjoy the attentions of a beautiful lady.”

“Will you stop waving your arm about! We're losing our balance.”

Charles wasn't sure why, and maybe it was just because he was still decidedly unsober, but he liked the sound of the word we from her lips. There was something about this Miss Lyndon that made him glad she was on his side. Not that he thought she would make a vicious enemy, just that she seemed loyal, level-headed, and fair. And she had a wicked sense of humor. Just the sort of person a man would want standing beside him when he needed support.

He turned his face toward hers. “You smell nice,” he said.

“What?” she screeched.

And she was fun to torture. Had he remembered to add that to his list of attributes? It was always good to surround oneself with people who could take a bit of teasing. He schooled his face into an innocent mask. “You smell nice,” he said again.

“That is not the sort of thing a gentleman says to a lady,” she said primly.

“I'm drunk,” he said with an unrepentant shrug. “I don't know what I'm saying.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I have a feeling you know exactly what you're saying.”

“Why, Miss Lyndon, are you accusing me of trying to seduce you?”

He didn't think it possible, but she turned an even deeper shade of crimson. He wished he could see the color of her hair under that monstrous bonnet. Her eyebrows were blond, and they stood out comically against her blush.

“Stop twisting my words.”

“You twist words very nicely yourself, Miss Lyndon.” When she didn't say anything, he added, “That was a compliment.”

She trudged along the dirt road, pulling him with her. “You baffle me, my lord.”

Charles smiled, thinking that it was great fun to baffle Miss Eleanor Lyndon. He fell silent for a few minutes, and then, as they rounded a corner, asked, “Are we almost there yet?”

“A little more than halfway, I should think.” Ellie squinted at the horizon, watching the sun sink ever lower. “Oh, dear. It is growing late. Papa will have my head.”

“I swear on my father's grave—” Charles was trying to sound serious, but he hiccupped.

Ellie turned toward him so quickly that her nose bumped into his shoulder. “Whatever are you talking about, my lord?”

“I was trying—hic—to swear to you that I am not—hic—deliberately trying to slow you down.”

The corners of her lips twitched. “I don't know why I believe you,” she said, “but I do.”

“It might be because my ankle looks like an overripe pear,” he joked.