She walked down the stairs, pulling on her gloves. “Good morning, Lord Lilford,” she said, curtsying at the bottom of the stairs.

Giles bowed and raised her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers. “My lady.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Carson’s knowing twinkle. She withdrew her fingers and gave the butler an admonishing look. “I have time only for the briefest of drives.”

“Certainly,” Giles replied without a flicker of an eyelash. “I am grateful that you are able to accompany me so early. I prefer London streets when they are relatively empty.”

Once they were in the carriage, he distracted her by asking about her button collection, and Yasmin was so relieved not to talk about serious matters that she didn’t notice where they were going until the vehicle drew to a halt.

Giles threw the reins to his groom and walked about the curricle, reaching up for her.

“The mounting block?” she asked, adding a touch of hauteur to her voice.

He gave her a wry smile that was so unusual, and delectable, that she instinctively leaned toward him. His arms closed around her, but he didn’t place her on the ground. Instead, he tipped her to the side and scooped her against his chest. The smell of starched linen and delectable man surrounded her.

Giles began climbing the steps of a large townhouse.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Where are we?”

The front door opened. “My house. Hopefully, your house, once we are married.”

“Your . . . your house? I can’t go into your house! I don’t have a maid with me, so it would be vastly improper.”

“You are my fiancée,” Giles said. He strode into the entry, and a butler closed the door behind him.

A flash of alarm went up Yasmin’s back. “No!” She peered around his arm at the man in black livery. “I am not his fiancée!”

“Just so, my lady,” the butler said. He opened a door to the left.

“Tea for my fiancée,” Giles said, walking through.

“Put me down,” Yasmin said sharply.

“Certainly,” Giles said, placing her on her feet. “Lady Yasmin, may I introduce my butler, Duckworthy? He does an admirable job of running this household as well as the country estate.”

“Lady Yasmin,” Duckworthy said, bowing low.

“Duckworthy,” Yasmin said, politely smiling at him, even though she would never be mistress of the household.

Once the door closed behind the butler, Yasmin frowned at Giles. “Very clever of you to introduce me, thereby cutting off my protests.”

“You are to be his future mistress, so of course I introduced you.”

Yasmin peeled off her gloves, placing them on a side table. Then she walked over to a couch and sat down. “Please join me.” She saw that his rigid tool was outlined by his breeches again. “Not for that.”

Giles bowed. “Certainly not.”

“Doesn’t it hurt to bow, given your condition?” she asked, curious.

“Not at all.” He sat down. “Sometimes it’s uncomfortable if I have to sit next to you for long periods of time. An entire dinner, for example.”