She stiffened. “And I had not thought you inclined to be properly dressed, Your Grace.”
His brows rose, amused. “Indeed? Have I committed a grievous error of fashion?”
Her eyes, against her will, fell to his coat. It was neatly cut, as one would expect of a duke, but he had fastened the middle buttons entirely askew, giving him a lopsided air. She almost smiled…almost.
“Your coat,” she said, with a sharp tilt of her head. “It appears you dressed in the dark.”
He looked down and laughed, that deep, untroubled laugh that made her cheeks warm despite herself. “Well observed. And will you, madam, offer your services in correction?”
Matilda hesitated. It was a ridiculous suggestion and altogether improper. Yet he had stepped closer, and the mist in the morning air made the world seem smaller and closer, as though no one else might ever intrude.
She drew herself up. “I would not risk being mistaken for your valet.”
“Then we must both endure the scandal of my disorder,” he replied smoothly. “Unless, of course, you care for others to believe you walked the grounds with a man so slovenly attired. What would people say?”
His eyes glinted with mischief, his dimples betraying the enjoyment he took in her discomfiture. Matilda sighed, exasperated, though her heart gave an unsteady beat.
“Hold still,” she muttered, stepping forward.
Her pale fingers fumbled with the stubborn buttons. He stood perfectly motionless, save for the faintest quirk of his mouth.
The closeness was unbearable. She was too aware of the breadth of his chest beneath the coat, of the warmth radiating from him, of his gaze fixed intently on her downcast face. Her cheeks burned. She fastened the last button quickly and dropped her hands as though the fabric had stung her.
“There,” she said crisply. “Now you may resemble a duke again, rather than a stable boy.”
He inclined his head with exaggerated gravity. “I am indebted to your skill, Lady Matilda. You have saved me from public disgrace.”
She rolled her eyes, turning away before he could see her traitorous smile. “I should think your reputation already beyond saving.”
“And yet,” he called after her, his tone light, “you persist in improving me.”
She did not answer, but her lips curved despite her will as she walked on into the mist.
Matilda had hoped that by quickening her pace she might escape him, but Jasper Everleigh was not a man so easily dismissed. His longer stride soon carried him to her side. He matched her step as though it were his right.
“You did that deliberately,” she said without turning her head.
“What, allow my coat to suffer such indignity? Never. I confess I had not the least idea it was misbuttoned. That discovery belongs solely to you.”
“And yet you seemed to enjoy the correction far too much.”
He chuckled. “I enjoy few things more than watching you scold me, Lady Matilda. You grow very earnest, and it is most diverting.”
She cast him a sharp glance, though her lips twitched despite herself. “Then I must endeavor to be less diverting.”
“Pray do not. It would deprive me of one of my few amusements.”
His easy manner unsettled her. It was intolerable how quickly he broke past her defenses with little more than a laugh. She turned her eyes ahead, willing her composure back into place.
“If you had any sense of decency, you would return the favor. Point out some fault in my attire, for balance.”
He looked at her then, she could feel it; that weight of his gaze running the length of her figure with such deliberation that she faltered.
“I would return the favor,” he said at last, “but I cannot.”
Something in his tone sent a tremor through her chest. She forced herself to ask, lightly, though her throat felt tight. “And why is that, Your Grace?”
“Because you,” he said, his blue eyes holding hers without flinch or jest, “always look so very perfect.”
