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“Let’s start there.”

His face filled her entire field of vision.

She couldn’t form complete thoughts. Better not to speak. But if she didn’t speak, what would she do with her mouth?

He was looking at it, at her mouth.

Her breath caught—the blow, probably, to the solar plexus. She hadn’t recovered.

“They’re not—” she began, with an embarrassing croak. “They’re not difficult for you to follow?”

“Not usually. I’m very disciplined.” He was smiling faintly. “And you? Are you disciplined?”

Disciplined. She could work at her easel until her paintbrushes went bald. Jack had seen to that.

“Exceptionally,” she said.

“We have that in common, then.” His eyes glinted. Slowly, he raised his arm, searching in his hair for Fritz’s paws. “Fyodor, however, is conspicuously lacking in discipline.”

“Fritz,” she said. “His name is Fritz.” Her breath hitched again. “No one listens to me.”

“Oh?” His eyes narrowed fractionally. “Who do you want to listen?”

“What?” She’d hardly been listening to herself. Her fingers kept brushing nervously at his coat.

“Is there someone in particular?”

“No. It’s just—” She sighed. What had possessed her to say such a thing? “If you’re a person like me, you’re often ignored.”

“A person like you. A woman, you mean.”

“A woman.” She made a face. There were as many differences between types of women as between women and men. “A woman in service,” she elaborated. “People listen to the queen.”

“And if you were the queen? What would you say?”

“Me? The queen?” She shook her head, amazed. Her senses were swimming. The scent of bergamot and clove teased her nose, and his torso felt warm and hard against hers. She could scarcely think, much less muster an answer to a patently ridiculous question. But he was watching her intently, waiting for her to speak.

He’d listened to her, in the duke’s garden, as the words had tumbled out, about Hensthorpe and her pastry shop. He’d listen to her now.

Her fingers stilled, even as her pulse sped up. “I suppose I’d tell all the aristos to buy my Victoria sponge.”

The corner of his mouth tilted. “You’re practical rather than political.”

“Was that a test?” She flushed and took her hand from his shoulder. “Should I have used the opportunity to promote a cause? I can’t vouch for any causes. I can vouch for my Victoria sponge. Besides, the scepter isn’t a magic wand. The queen isn’t all-powerful. It wouldn’t do any good, demanding the moon.”

“Like I said, practical.” He was making fun of her.

She glared. “What if you were the queen?”

“I’m very glad I’m not.” The slant of his smile was sardonic. “Her Majesty and I don’t get on.”

Nina bit her lip. Of course he knew the queen!

“As many people listen to you as her,” she muttered.

“Hardly.”

“Close enough,” she insisted. “There’s more said about her. But you say more, in the papers, and people go around repeating it. Do you enjoy the attention?”