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was decorated in cream and blue, and she didn't dare sit on anything. "I don't think mere towels are going to be sufficient, my lord," she said. She didn't even want to step on the carpet.
    Not with the way her skirts were dripping.
    Charles surveyed her thoughtfully. "I fear you are correct. Would you like a change of clothing? My sister is married and now lives in Surrey, but she keeps some dresses here. I'd wager she is about your size."
    Ellie didn't like the idea of taking someone's clothing without asking permission, but her other option was coming down with a raging case of lung fever. She looked down at her fingers, which were shaking from the cold and damp, and nodded her head.
    Charles rang the bellpull, and a maid entered the room within the minute. Charles gave her instructions to show Ellie to his sister's room. Feeling as if she had somehow lost control of her destiny, Ellie followed the maid out.
    Charles sat down on a comfortable sofa, let out a long sigh of relief, then sent up a silent thanks to whomever it was who was responsible for her arriving on his doorstep. He had started to fear that he was going to have to go to London and marry one of those awful debutantes his family kept throwing his way.
    He whistled to himself as he waited for tea and Miss Lyndon. What had made her come? He'd been still a bit past tipsy when he'd blurted out that bizarre proposal the day before, but he hadn't been so drunk that he had not been able to gauge her feelings.
    He'd thought she would refuse. He'd been almost certain of it.
    She was a sensible sort. That much was obvious even after such a brief acquaintance. What would make her give her hand in marriage to a man she barely knew?
    There were the usual reasons, of course. He had money and a title, and if she married him, she'd have money and a title as well. But Charles didn't think that was it. He had seen the look of desperation in her eyes when she'd—
    He frowned, then laughed as he got up to look out the window. Miss Lyndon had attacked him. Right there in the hall. There really wasn't any other word for it.
    Tea arrived a few minutes later, and Charles instructed the maid to leave it in the pot to steep. He liked his tea strong.
    A few minutes after that, a hesitant knock sounded at the door. He turned around, surprised at the sound since the maid had left the door open.
    Ellie was standing in the doorway, her hand raised to knock again. "I thought you didn't hear me," she said.
    "The door was open. There was no need to knock."
    She shrugged. "I didn't want to intrude."
    Charles motioned for her to come in, watching her with an appraising eye as she crossed the room. His sister's dress was a shade too long for her, and she had to hold up the pale green skirts as she walked. That was when he noticed she wasn't wearing any shoes. Funny how the sight of a foot could cause his midsection to tingle this way ...
    Ellie caught him looking at her feet and blushed. "Your sister has tiny feet," she said, "and my own shoes were soaked through."
    He blinked, as if he were lost in thought, then shook his head slightly and looked her in the eye. "No matter," he said, then let his gaze fall to her feet again.
    Ellie dropped her skirts, wondering what the devil was so interesting about her feet.
    "You look quite fetching in mint," he said, hobbling over to her side. "You should wear it more often."
    "All my dresses are dark and serviceable," she said, her voice containing equal parts irony and wistfulness.
    "Pity. I'll have to buy you new ones once we're married."
    "Now, see here!" Ellie protested. "I have not accepted your proposal. I am merely here to—" She broke off when she realized she was yelling and continued in a softer tone. "I am merely here to discuss it with you."
    He smiled slowly. "What do you want to know?"
    Ellie exhaled, wishing that she'd been able to approach this interview with a bit more composure. Not that that would have helped much, she thought ruefully,