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Quickly, she cleaned up the mess, her mind racing as she tried to think of what to do next, before Tom the footman re-entered the room and saw the chaos.

“You’re cheating!” the gentleman with the burgundy coat suddenly roared, springing to his feet and overturning the table. Cards, counters, and the dealer’s faro box flew through the air, scattering across the room. Wine glasses toppled with a sharp crash, their contents spilling as glass shattered on the floor.

For a moment, there was stunned silence.

“Me, cheating? How dare you accuse me!” Her brother rose from his seat, his face flushed.

“Come now, Albington, what’s all this talk of cheating?” The man with the toupee attempted to placate him, but Albington shoved his arm away.

“He’s as drunk as a wheelbarrow. Pay him no mind,” another gentleman, who’d been watching them, muttered.

While the gentlemen continued to argue, Anna hurried forward. Tom was already mopping up the spilled wine, but shards of broken glass still littered the floor, and guests were dangerously close to stepping on them.

“Take him out, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” said someone, and two gentlemen took the drunken man by the arms and manoeuvred him out of the room.

Kneeling down, Anna began carefully gathering the glass shards onto her tray, her heart racing as the argument behind her grew louder. Just as she collected the last piece, the toupeed gentleman shoved Jules, causing him to stumble into her.

“Diable!” her brother cursed.

Anna lost her balance, her tray slipping from her grasp as she fell forward. In her attempt to steady herself, her hand came down on the floor hard, right into a pile of sharp glass.

A sharp sting shot through her hand, and she gasped as blood began to flow from the deep cut. The blood dripped on the floor and onto the expensive Persian carpet.

In her desperation, Anna grabbed the rag she’d been using for cleaning and pressed it to her palm to stem the bleeding.

“Don’t do that, it’s filthy,” a calm, deep voice said above her. “Besides, you’re pressing the shards deeper into the wound. Here, let me help.” A strong hand reached down and took hers and gently but firmly removed the pieces of glass that were stuck in her palm.

She inhaled sharply as he pulled out the larger shard.

St John. Where had he come from? Had he been watching her the entire time? She winced as he pulled another glass piece out of her skin and then dabbed a clean napkin over the wound.

“Anna. Are you hurt?” Her brother loomed above them.

“Of course she is hurt,” St John snapped. “She has a deep laceration that requires stitching.”

“And who the devil are you?” her brother demanded.

“Jules,” Anna groaned. “Can’t you just⁠—”

“St John,” he replied, not even looking up. “I am a surgeon. And you, I take it, must be the scapegrace of a brother she’s been trying to save.”

“How—how did you know?” Anna stammered.

“It doesn’t take much to put two and two together. Besides, the resemblance between you two is remarkable. Twins, I gather. When you wear men’s garments, like you do now, you look like identical copies of each other.”

Jules opened his mouth; his brows furrowed in confusion. “Who did you say you were, again?”

St John ignored him. “There is no time for talk. This needs to be stitched right now.” He stood and helped her to her feet. Beckoning Tom, he said, “Fetch me my surgical kit from the cloakroom. It appears I was wise to bring it tonight.”

Before Anna could open her mouth, St John guided her to the door.

Jules’s face flushed with anger as he turned to the toupeed man. “You not only insulted me, but you also insulted my sister and she has been hurt.”

“Jules,” Anna groaned, attempting to turn, but St John held her arm firmly and steered her towards the door.

“Sister?” The entire room fell silent, the other gentlemen turning to stare at her and Jules, their expressions ranging from shock to curiosity.

“I demand satisfaction,” her brother grated.