"Overindulged?" she echoed, sounding outraged. Employing a series of unladylike but nonetheless effective movements, she scrambled to her feet. Planting her hands on her hips, she jutted out her chin at an unmistakably belligerent angle. "I have not indulged over or otherwise, sir. I merely tripped."

Any response he may have considered making died on his lips as he took in her appearance.

She was remarkably attractive.

And an utter mess.

Her coiffure, which he surmised had started out as a topknot, now listed precariously to the left. Leaves and twigs clung to the shiny auburn strands and several curls stuck up at odd angles. The entire affair resembled a lopsided bird's nest.

A slash of dirt marred her chin, and a blade of grass clung to her lower lip-a very lush lower lip, he noted. His gaze traveled slowly downward, observing that her pastel gown bore an unfortunate mass of wrinkles and grass stains, and was further decorated with clumps of dirt. The ruffled flounce around her hem drooped in the back, clearly the result of the tearing noise. And it appeared she was missing a shoe.

He wasn't sure if he was more shocked or amused by her appearance. Who on earth was this disheveled woman, and how had she come to be a guest in his home? Caroline and his mother had made up the guest list for the party, so clearly they knew her. Why didn't he?

And as she'd called him "sir," it appeared she didn't know him either, a fact that stunned him. It seemed as if every breathing female in England dogged his steps, intent upon gaining his favor.

But apparently not this woman. She was spearing him with an expression that clearly stated I wish you'd go away, which both irritated him and piqued his interest.

"Perhaps you'd care to tell me why you were lurking in the bushes, Miss…?" he asked still suspicious of her sudden arrival. Were her mother and a posse of outraged chaperones about to leap from the hedges and claim he'd ruined her?