“Thank you very much, Carson,” Yasmin said. “I didn’t have a chance to ask this morning, but how is your nephew faring? Becky told me that you had a letter yesterday.” She turned to Giles and explained, “Carson’s nephew is serving in the army, stationed near Paris at the moment. We’re all very proud of him.”

“He is doing well,” the old butler said, smiling broadly. “His letter asked for stockings because it’s perishingly wet in France. Mrs. Carson started on a new pair last night.”

“Excellent,” Yasmin said. “His Lordship and I are going to Covent Garden after tea, and we shall buy some yarn. We’d like to do our part in supporting His Majesty’s troops, wouldn’t we, Giles?”

Giles was thinking about the fact that his family considered servants to be employees worthy of their hire. He had been taught to be respectful—but affectionate? His mother would have been perturbed by Yasmin’s friendliness.

Yasmin’s elbow hit his ribs. “Wouldn’t we, Giles?”

“Of course,” he said, having no idea what he had agreed to.

“We shall buy yarn in Covent Garden this afternoon for Mrs. Carson’s knitting project,” she informed him.

“You’ll want to take something more than that light shawl, my lady,” Carson said. “It’s coming on to rain. I can feel it in my joints.” He glanced over the table with the eye of an expert, then nodded to the footman. “That’ll do. Ring if you want more tea.”

“That’ll do?” Yasmin laughed. “You’ve given us five desserts, Carson. We will make ourselves ill if we sample all of them.”

“What are they?” Giles asked. “I love cakes,” he added untruthfully.

Carson pointed to a cake that looked like a bishop’s hat. “Nougat almond cake. Scones, of course. Apples à la Parisienne, Blancmange à la Vanille, and chocolate delight.”

“Excellent,” Giles said. “I’ll have a piece of each.”

Yasmin blinked at him. “You like sweets?”

“Why would I say it if not? I fully intend to have second helpings.” He looked down at the plates Carson was arranging before him—the pieces so large that the butler offered five pieces of china—and felt ill already.

Yasmin laughed. “I’ll wager you don’t! Our cook is French, as you likely noticed. She puts cream in everything. Even after growing up in Paris, I can’t manage more than one piece.”

Ladies don’t place wagers.

He dismissed the thought and put a huge bite of nougat into his mouth. His palate tried to reject it: thick, overly sweet, with an odd texture, but he swallowed it. “I’ll take that wager.”

“What could you possibly win, except to prove that you are a glutton?”

Carson was ushering the footmen out the door, leaving them alone.

“A kiss,” Giles said flatly. He eyed the nougat and decided he would try something else before forcing down a second bite.

“I’m sorry?” Yasmin said.

“I would like to kiss you again.”

Something suspicious, even hurt, went through her eyes.

Giles managed to swallow the silky sweet bite he’d put in his mouth and said, “Not because of the contents of your purse. Because of this.” He drew her close, slowly enough so that she could easily resist—but she didn’t. He bent his head, putting his lips on hers in the world’s most awkward kiss.