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“I didn’t like the way Lord Wade looked at you.” His mouth was very firm. “It would be advisable to cover your bosom so that he couldn’t ogle you in that manner.”

“You’re serious?”

“Entirely.”

“He would ogle me no matter what I wore,” Yasmin explained. “In his mind, there are two kinds of women, and thus he does not owe me respect.”

“I disagree,” Giles said. “You are a lady and as such, he ought to give you the respect that you deserve.”

Yasmin looked at his stubborn face and couldn’t help a wash of pleasure at his protectiveness. He was a gentleman, a true gentleman.

“I am not responsible for others’ opinion of me,” she said. “That’s a lesson I learned long ago, when I was still a young woman.”

“You are a young woman!”

“When I was a young girl, then. A young fool,” she added with a rueful smile.

“Foolish how?”

“Trusting,” she said lightly. “Eager to be in love and naïve enough to believe men’s promises. At that age, illusions about love are as common as . . . as sawdust in a sawmill.”

He frowned. “Your phrasing is very lively. But what you’re saying is that young girls are vulnerable to lying men. Is that why you left France, Yasmin?”

She didn’t answer.

“Is that why you have paid attention to my sister?”

She didn’t answer that either.

Chapter Eleven

Giles could not take his eyes off the woman seated across from him in the hackney. Lady Yasmin’s walking dress was not as low cut as her evening dresses but even so, the cut and fashion of it signaled that she was as flirtatious as his sister had labeled her—

Except that she was a lady, through and through. Flamboyant dress aside, Lady Yasmin had impeccable manners, charm, and a privileged lineage. She was . . . should have been . . . everything he sought in his future countess.

Yet, the gowns she chose to wear suggested otherwise. Even if his sister’s insults stemmed from petty gossip, Lady Yasmin’s clothing deepened the misgivings he already felt.

A thought darted into his head: The clothing she wore revealed too much of her creamy skin and hourglass figure, turning her into a sensual creature whom no man could call his own. He recoiled from the idea. When did he begin thinking that he could own any woman?

“Giles,” Lady Yasmin said suddenly. “You’re very kind to notice that my reputation is battered around the corners, but it is nothing you should be concerned about.”

He blinked and asked, “Are we on a first-name basis?”

“Why not? You’re hardly going to take advantage of our familiarity, as we already established.”

More than anything he wanted to pull her into his lap and take advantage of any familiarities she would grant him.

“I promise not to address you so intimately when anyone might overhear us,” Yasmin added.

Giles wanted nothing more than for her to call him by his first name in the same teasing, affectionate manner with which she addressed Silvester. Actually, no. He wanted her to call him Giles in a throaty whisper.

He shifted in the seat and clenched his jaw to counter the punch of desire, and the desire to punch. Namely, Silvester.

“I can see that my informality makes you uncomfortable,” she said. “I apologize, Lord Lilford.”

“No,” he said abruptly. “I shall certainly address you as Yasmin. In private.” He should have foregone her title days ago. Certainly after he heard her addressing Silvester by his given name.

He could see her waiting for him to continue, but he didn’t know what to say.