“Not when she particularly loves a food.”
“Her manners are appalling.” His gaze strayed from the hound to Miss Fox.
It didn’t matter how many times he looked upon her. Each time, he felt a sudden rush of awareness and appreciation that only grew stronger with the days that passed.
Miss Fox smiled at him. “Her judgment is occasionally lacking where certain matters are concerned. Matters such as who she favors.”
Lion couldn’t quell his laugh. “In that regard, I’m persuaded that her judgment is nothing short of impeccable.”
“You would.”
They stared at each other. Despite the cold, he found warmth spreading through him. Miss Adelia Fox was wrong for him in every way. She was boisterous, ridiculous, and spoiled. He was reasonably certain she was incapable of reserve. She most certainly had none of the polish to be expected in a duchess. And besides all that, she was an American. A wayward hoyden who may or may not have kissed her way out of a Swiss finishing school.
He cleared his throat. “We should go inside. Surely you and the little mongrel are cold.”
“You know she isn’t a mongrel,” Miss Fox huffed just as he had known she would. “She is?—”
“Born of the finest bloodlines in Paris, et cetera, et cetera,” he interrupted. “We ought to make haste before the snow begins to fall in truth.”
“Do you know what I dearly loved to do whenever it snowed when I was a girl?” Miss Fox asked.
“Vex your governesses until they ran from their posts, wailing and gnashing their teeth?” he guessed uncharitably.
She gave him a chastising look. “Of course not. My governess adored me. I was the most well-behaved girl ever in her charge.”
He chortled. “Were you then also theonlygirl ever in her charge?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Of course not, Your Graceship.”
Suddenly, Dandy, who had been behaving beautifully in hopes of more pocket cheese, barked and ran off down the path, sending snow flying in her wake as her paws dashed through the snow.
“Dandy! Come back here, you naughty girl.” Miss Fox made to chase after her dog.
Lion stopped her, laying a gloved hand on her sleeve. “I’ll go. I have pocket cheese.”
Without awaiting her response, he chased after Dandy, who was apparently experiencing yet another of herhappy bouts, bounding through the snow with frenzied enthusiasm as she panted and her tongue lolled.
“Dandy, cheese,” he called.
The hound spun about so quickly that she rolled in the snow. The moment she was on all four paws again, she rushed back to him, anticipating her prize.
“Manners,” he cautioned.
Dandy sat, having spent the past week learning various new commands from him. He had enjoyed himself far more than he could bear to admit.
Lion tossed Dandy her scrap of cheese, and he was about to encourage her to follow him back to where they had come from when a lump of snow suddenly smacked him in the arm. He stared down at the white coating his sleeve, then looked up to find a grinning Miss Fox. She had snow on her gloves.
The minx had thrown a snowball at him.
“You never let me finish telling you what I loved to do when I was a girl,” she said, as if that explained her actions.
It didn’t. At least, not to Lion.
He blinked, his mind struggling to make sense of the woman.
“Snowball fights,” she elaborated. “I loved having snowball fights in the gardens whenever it snowed. Of course, then I grew older, and Mama told me it wasn’t ladylike to throw snow at anyone.”
“I can see that you heeded her sage advice.”
