“I look like I’ve been scooped up from the wildlands.” He nodded his agreement. “Even so.” He tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. “It’s best to keep you like this, I think,” he said, as he led us toward the door to the garden. His gaze smoldered as it skipped over my hair, my mouth, the scoop of my neckline. “If I am made a fool by you like this, I’d be incapacitated to see you dressed as you should be.” His attention forced a smile to my lips. “And how should I be dressed?” “In a crown.”
