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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.”

Her mouth fell open.

“The longing moves through a man like lightning,” he said as if he were describing a sprained ankle. “I throb whenever you laugh, or eat a bite of food, or glance at me. I watch your lips move, and I can’t think of anything else.”

Yasmin couldn’t stop herself from glancing below his waist again. The sight made her oddly proud and mortified at the same time. “That sounds like a most uncomfortable condition. As well as embarrassing.”

“Why have you changed your mind about marrying me, Yasmin?” Giles asked.

“I can only describe what happened in the drawing room yesterday as a fit of madness. In truth, I’m frightfully prudish.”

Had she thought he didn’t have a sense of humor? Apparently, it only made an appearance when she was trying to speak from the heart, because he was clearly amused. Yasmin felt a stab of resentment.

“I did not enjoy our encounter,” she said defiantly. “It led me to decide not to marry you.”

Amusement disappeared from his face as if it had never been.

“I apologize for misleading you,” she continued. “I understand that you believed me a far more interesting woman than I am. That French letter was not mine.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I have decided not to marry,” she added, before he could ask any questions.

“Never?”