Cursing his inability to simply walk away, he asked, "Are you all right?"

She gasped and jerked her head up. Her gaze locked on his black formal breeches for several seconds, then she lowered her head back onto the grass. "Why, oh why did someone have to see this?"

"Are you all right?" he repeated, fighting his growing impatience.

"Yes, of course I am. My health has always been of a most robust nature. Thank you for inquiring."

"May I offer you some assistance?"

"No, thank you. Pride demands I extricate myself from this, my latest in an endless series of embarrassments." She didn't move. A heavy pause filled the air.

"Are you going to get up?"

"No, I don't think I shall. But thank you again for asking."

Austin clenched his teeth until his jaw ached and he wondered how much champagne the chit had swallowed. "Are you foxed?"

She raised her head several inches. "I don't know. I suppose it is possible. What does foxed mean?"

Her distinctive accent pierced through his annoyance. Closing his eyes, he barely suppressed a groan. "American?"

"Oh, for the love of heaven! I swear if one more person asks me that-" She broke off and glared at his knees. "Obviously I'm American. Everyone knows that an Englishwoman would never be caught dead sprawled on the grass in such an undignified fashion. Heaven forbid."

"Actually it wasn't your present position on the lawn, but your accent that gave you away," Austin said, staring down at the top of her head, surprise mingling with his annoyance. The chit was impertinent as hell. "For those unacquainted with English cant, foxed means to have overindulged in strong spirits."