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slightly tinged with embarrassment—of course not, that would be far too easy. No, now the heat from extreme humiliation spread up from her neck and behind her ears as she drank in the handsome sight of the dream—er, man—standing over her and witnessing what should have been her own private humiliation. Though why the sight of this man should make her more embarrassed than before was a mystery. It’s not like she wasn’t used to public embarrassment. Though admittedly it wasn’t something one ever really got used to either.
    So maybe gasping aloud was not the recommended method of laughing off an acutely embarrassing demonstration of inelegance either, but then it was not every day that one encounters eyes. Er, or green eyes. Or. Oh, this was definitely turning out to be one of her finer moments. She couldn’t even talk to herself with any semblance of sanity.
    She was so lost between her jumbled thoughts and the depth of those eyes, she didn’t immediately realize those eyes, or more pointedly, the man attached to them, were verbally addressing her until the words “Ahem” finally (finally!) penetrated the fog in her brain—which, unfortunately, brought her attention to his mouth.
    Two full lips registered in her mind—both slightly hitched to the side as if in a half-smile. The bottom lip just begging to be nibbled.
    Nibbled? Ugh.
    Now where had that ridiculous thought come from? Perhaps she should consider breaking her fast before taking a morning walk from now on? She hadn’t felt hungry before…
    Well, damn.
    She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. Slowly and deeply. In and out. Out and in. She counted to ten. She needed to reign in her runaway mind so she could address the state of affairs at hand. She was not (mental foot stamp) a silly, scatter-brained chit. And that mouth most likely belonged to someone important to Aunt Mary.
    Grace’s eyes flew open with that realization. What would Aunt Mary do if she discovered…?
    The thought was too alarming to complete. Grace now made a herculean effort to pull herself together (and not curse), confident she would be laughing off the memory. Later. Perhaps tomorrow. Or the next day.
    “Excuse me, my lord? I am afraid the mud might be hardening and whilst I love gardens, I do not want to become a permanent fixture in this one.”
    There. This is good. My brain is functioning again, albeit a bit impertinently.
    She let slip a light chuckle, hoping to further diffuse the awkwardness of the situation. Who doesn’t appreciate a little self-deprecating humor to smooth over an uncomfortable state of affairs?
    “Of course…May I ask? Does this sort of thing…happen…often?”
    Apparently, not this man. His voice was harsh, and he had a stern countenance upon his face, and for just a teeny, tiny minute, she imagined sticking her tongue out at him whilst dumping a nice fat mud pie directly onto his head. She certainly had plenty to share. Of mud, that is. Really, did he think she plopped down in the mud on purpose?
    So acutely was she staring at this man whilst contemplating some type of mischief to wipe away the scowl etched on his face, she only vaguely noticed he had pulled her up to stand. Without saying a word. Certainly, without any form of introduction. As was normal. And proper.
    She shivered when his hands grazed the sides of her arms as he tested to see whether or not she was steady before letting go. Goose bumps broke out across both arms. Was she coming down with an ague?
    She forced herself to return her attention to the conversation at hand.
    “Why ever would you think that, er, my lord?”
    She decided to stow away her thoughts of mischief and recall that she was (honest) a gentlewoman, despite the mud caked up the backside of her skirt. She didn’t know who this man was, which, again, was rude, so she played it safe with a generic ‘my lord’. The title would cover anything unless he was…
    “Stonebridge.” Mr. Green Eyes' eyes