Dipping her chin, she realized with chagrin that her fichu was loose and pulled askew, exposing an expanse of skin that, while not indecent, was certainly far more of her bosom than normally saw the light of day.

She sizzled him with an outraged glare, but his lips curved upward in a patently unrepentant grin. “Didn’t want a choking female on my hands.”

Any gratitude she may have harbored for his assistance evaporated. “I merely felt light-headed, my lord-”

“Happy to hear you admit it.”

“-and as such, it was hardly necessary for you to make so free with my attire.”

“Ah. Then I suppose I shouldn’t have straightened your garters.”

Her eyes goggled, and the ill-mannered lout had the audacity to wink at her.

“I am teasing you, Miss Chilton-Grizedale. I merely wanted to bring some color back into your pale cheeks. I would not dream of touching your garters without your express permission. Probably.”

Heat raced up her neck. This man was beyond insufferable-he was incorrigible. Uncouth. “I can assure you, you shall never receive such permission. And a gentleman would never say such a scandalous thing.”

Again that dimple in his cheek flashed. “I’m certain you are correct.”

Before she could fashion a reply, he rose. Crossing to a ceramic pitcher resting on the desk, he poured water into a crystal tumbler. He moved with lithe grace, and the knowledge that he’d untied and removed her bonnet, loosened her fichu, that his fingers had surely brushed over her throat, touched her hair, rushed heat through her-a fiery warmth that felt like something decidedly more than mere embarrassment.