She opened and then closed her mouth, grinning. “You would ask me such a question and expect a response, Matteo.” Her hand rose to her mouth. “Comte Durand.”

“I love the sound of my name on your lips. Please, call me Matteo.”

She nodded. “And you may call me Your Highness.”

He opened his mouth and then shut it again, narrowing his eyes at her.

She burst into the beautiful song that was her laughter, waving her hands around in a most unladylike manner. “I cannot help it, what with you being a new prince and everything. If we are to pass out royal lineage to all and sundry, then I would like to also benefit.” She paused and looked at him through her lashes. “Although, the title is much more fitting for you.”

He stood up and reached for her hand. “I am no more prince than Buckley the butler is, and you know it as should anyone else with any sense. The Durand bloodline is centuries old.” Secretly amused that she received so much enjoyment from teasing him, he pulled her to her feet. “Now come, let us go for a walk. I am getting restless.”

“As you wish, my Prince Legitime.”

He groaned. “Can I not dissuade you?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Word will leak out, and we will soon be overcome with visitors of the female variety, all hoping to win themselves a handsome French prince.”

“Handsome?” He raised his eyebrows a couple of times. “So, I’m handsome?” He tucked her hand into his arm as they began to walk. “Am I charming also? Well-spoken?”

She sighed, her eyes bewildered and almost . . . sad. “You are everything a man should be.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Why the forlorn sigh?”

She met his eyes, and for a moment, he thought she might express something hidden in their depths. The secret flickered and lingered there in the vibrant green, but then she blinked it away, closing him out. Instead, she stopped and put her hands on her hips, a coy smile on her face. “Well.”

He grinned, facing the rarity before him, taking in her stance—refreshing, distinctive. She emanated a vibrancy that crackled in the air around them. “Yes?”

“I just don’t know what to do with you, that is all.”

“I can think of a few things.”

She blushed again. “Sir, have you no sense of propriety?”

“To what are you referring, my fair lady? I was thinking of draughts and a stirring game of croquet.”

She laughed and put her hand again on his arm. They began walking through her rose garden. “Look at us. It has been but a week with you living here on the estate and here we are, the most comfortable pair, taking breakfast together. We argue over who gets to read the post.”