Yasmin frowned at him. “Are you saying I am too voluptuous for this gown?”

“I can see into your bodice,” he said, the raw hunger in his eyes soothing to her spirits. “Lush breasts, hoisted into the air by your corset.”

“That’s one way to put it,” she said rather dryly.

“I just don’t want other men to enjoy them.”

She sighed. “Since you’ve brought up my clothing several times, Giles, I am assuming that you would like me to attire myself more genteelly. I use that word ‘genteelly’ deliberately, by the way, because those at the top of society have no need to pay attention to the small-minded impulses of the prudish.”

The waltz drew to a close. “May I escort you for a walk in the gardens?” Giles asked.

They had already created a stir, but they needed to talk frankly.

“You want me to be a wallflower,” Yasmin said when they were far enough from the house so that no one could hear them. When he didn’t speak, she threw him a look. “I am not a wallflower. It’s not in me. Frankly, that has nothing to do with my clothing.”

Her fiancé’s face took on the dismissive expression that she hated. “You are exaggerating. I don’t want you to be a wallflower. I’m merely frustrated. The Countess of Lilford will be a leader in society, but that doesn’t mean all the men in the room should be able to imagine her in their bed.”

“I’ve said this repeatedly. I am not a leader,” Yasmin said flatly. “I never will be, except perhaps when it comes to fashion, which I understand better than you do.”

Giles opened his mouth and shut it again.

Yasmin decided to wait. She’d learned that if the silence grew too long, Giles allowed himself to elaborate.

“You are not merely fashionable,” he observed. “Your dresses are regularly the most outrageous in the room.”

“Cleo’s gowns are quite revealing.”

“Mrs. Addison carries herself differently. No man would interpret her clothing as an invitation.”

Yasmin swallowed hard and let her hands curl into fists, creasing her gloves. “I am too—inviting?”

“I dislike having to keep an eye on my future countess to make sure that no one misinterprets her demeanor.”

“Don’t do this,” Yasmin said desperately.

“We’re merely having a conversation,” Giles said patiently. “I would never order you to comply with my wishes. But I do wish that fewer men lusted after my betrothed.”

“That’s not really the problem, is it? You think I welcome their lust, that I want it.”

“I think you enjoy attention.”

Yasmin swallowed. Horrible memories of being labelled a strumpet washed over her. She tried to banish them. She and Giles were going to marry. Marriage involved compromise.

“I suppose I can change my style of dress,” she said reluctantly. “I will go to Quimby’s tomorrow and ask—I will ask them to make me a wallflower.” Her heart hurt, so much that she felt as if her chest was closing in on her.