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“Your Grace, would you indulge me by telling me of Airdfinnan?” she asked.

“Faith! Why? What would you know about it?”

“What does it look like? Where is it? I have only been to Scotland once, and that was to visit Edinburgh. I did love that city and always wished to see more.”

“Airdfinnan is in the Highlands,” he said. “Filthy weather there. Cold and snow and rain, then heat and sun and rain.” He shivered again. “I endeavor to be there as little as possible.” In truth, of course, Alexander would have been glad to retreat to Airdfinnan and never leave his estate again.

Miss Goodenham was not daunted. “I love the rain in Scotland, and the lush green of the hills. I think it may be the most beautiful place in all the world.”

Alexander spared her a glance, distrusting that they were in such agreement. “Have you seen much of the world?”

She laughed, a delightful sound. “Almost none of it, but what I have seen of Scotland is so pretty that it seems unlikely any place could be finer.”

“Filthy weather,” he repeated.

“But you must have a fine house to provide shelter from the elements.”

Did she mean to assess his wealth? Alexander saw no reason to hide the truth, for Lady North Barrows could tell her all she desired to know and more. “A castle,” he confided. “Built on an island in the river Finnan.”

“How romantic!”

“Damp,” he said flatly, then lied. “I am never warm when I am there.”

“Perhaps you need a wife to keep you warm, Your Grace,” she said, blushing at her own daring comment. Her eyes danced though, as if she invited him to smile with her, and Alexander was sorely tempted to do just that.

If not to kiss her. Her lips were enticing.

“Daphne!” Lady North Barrows snapped. “Such impertinence is unnecessary.”

“I meant only to make a jest. I do apologize, Your Grace, if you thought me rude.”

“Of course not,” he said and was rewarded by her smile. “You cannot have had your first season yet.”

“No, not yet!” Her eyes shone, reminding him of Anthea’s long-ago enthusiasm. “We are going from Castle Keyvnor to London to prepare for it.” She reached out and fleetingly touched his cuff. “Could you perhaps give me some advice as to the best shops and dressmakers, Your Grace? A man of your sartorial flair must know where the most talented needles are to be found.”

Was she flirting with him? It was unthinkable. Eligible women, no matter how ardently their mothers cast them into his path, invariably fled from Alexander in this guise.

“I know little of women’s clothing, to be sure,” he said, laughing loudly so that the food in his mouth was displayed.

“But I love this color,” Daphne said, touching his cuff again and letting her fingers stray to the back of his hand. She flicked a glance at her grandmother who had not noticed her gesture and her eyes were filled with beguiling mischief when she met his gaze again. He did like a little audacity in a woman. “What would you call it, Your Grace?”

“Abricot, of course,” he said, using the French pronunciation.

“Abricot,” she echoed perfectly. “I think I shall have a dress made in this hue, with the green, too.”

“Chartreuse,” he supplied.

“That is what I thought it should be called!” she confessed with delight. “It reminds me of spring, which is a welcome thought at this dreary time of year.” She bit her lip. “I do not think I could carry theazureat the same time, though.”

“Perhaps a Spencer?”

“That is a wonderful notion!” Daphne cleared her throat. “That is, if you would not be insulted to be my inspiration, Your Grace.” She lifted her gaze to his, an invitation in those eyes that fairly stole his breath away.

It had been a long time since a woman had given him such a welcoming look, and none had ever granted him one while he was in disguise.

Alexander swallowed. “Of course not!” he cried, gesturing with his fork. “One must take inspiration where it can be found. I saw a gentleman in Town in these very colors and knew I had to have a suit of similar gaiety.”

“In Town! Oh, I envy you such travels, Your Grace.”