“I did not think I should be caught,” she muttered.
“You wore a moustache.”
“A very fine one.”
Morleigh’s gaze flicked to her upper lip. “Debatable.”
Lottie leant back against the squabs and shut one eye, as that made the carriage contain fewer dukes. “I was hardly dancing upon tables.”
“No,” Theo said. “You were in Bellamy’s. Disguised as a man. Gambling with titled gentlemen. In the company of Deverell, who, might I add, ought to have had one sensible thought in his head and evidently did not.”
“It was a game.”
“It was a private gentlemen’s club,” Morleigh said, quietly. “Had you been exposed, the whole room would have had your reputation in its hands by breakfast.”
Oh, would they never be quiet?
“Everyone is always so terribly interested in my reputation,” she muttered. “I wish it joy of itself.”
The duke turned his head slowly. “I have now had the honour of retrieving you from moments of near-ruin not once, not twice, butthrice,Miss Charlotte Tolliver. Forgive us if our patience is somewhat diminished.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered. Her cheeks were burning. Was it the brandy? Or the port? “That is not fair.”
“It is entirely fair,” Theo returned.
“It was only meant to be a lark. Jasper helped me, and—”
“Jasper?” Morleigh repeated.
Lottie closed both eyes this time.Damnation.
Theo pressed his fingers to his temples. “I swear to God, I shall strangle Deverell before sunrise.”
“Do allow me to assist,” the duke murmured. “I find myself more than willing.”
“No,” Lottie managed, feeling like the port—or brandy, or both—was going to come back up. “He was not at fault. Marchmont was at fault. Jasper is not Marchmont.”
There was silence, so long and pitying that Lottie would have almost preferred a lecture. “I’m not a child,” she hiccupped.
“Are you going to tell Mama?” she asked, when neither man replied.
“No,” Theo said grimly. “We are going to tell Hetty and Georgiana.”
She groaned and let her head fall back against the seat. Bad idea. The carriage lurched, or her head did, or all of London had taken to rotating.
“Georgiana will faint.”
“Undoubtedly,” Morleigh said. “And then attempt to devise a counter-scheme.”
“And Hetty?” Theo rubbed a hand over his face. “Hetty is due to give birth within weeks and weeps at malformed gooseberries. If I tell her this, she may expire entirely.”
“I am sorry,” Lottie mumbled.
“You should be.”
“I am not sorry about the moustache.”
“Charlotte.”
