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“You’re ruined,” said Mrs. Coleman, pulling a handkerchief out of her sleeve. “Even without your mother’s reputation, no one would ever believe that you hadn’t been complicit in this tête-à-tête. What will I tell your father?”

Ina opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead, she looked helplessly at Gavin. His shoulders sagged at the realization that he might be prepared to give her the world but, if she was compromised, he could do nothing for her.

“I don’t know, Ina,” he said, his heart clenching as defeat broke over her face.

But then Mrs. Sullivan stepped forward. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

Moira Sullivan had seen her share of scandal—a lady didn’t reach the age of fifty-two without drama washing up on her doorstep. Considering she was Edinburgh’s finest matchmaker and general solver of problems great and small, she was often the woman tasked with cleaning up the aftermath of impropriety.

This, however, was a first for her.

“Everyone sit,” she said. When no one moved, her tone sharpened. “Sit. Now.”

Each of them scrambled into a seat, even Mr. Barrett, although he kept a close eye on Sir Kier, no doubt ready to strangle him again if the man put even one foot out of place.

“Tell me exactly what happened here,” said Moira. “Do not leave out details.”

Miss Duncan swallowed, but Sir Kier was faster.

“The chit practically dragged me away from the drawing room. I tried to stop her but—”

“There are three things in life I cannot abide, Sir Kier,” she said sternly. “Being lied to is one of them.”

“What are the others?” Miss Duncan asked, her eyes curious despite the gravity of the situation.

“Infidelity and”—Moira smiled—“cucumbers.”

Miss Duncan snorted, earning her a look of reprimand from her aunt.

“Cucumbers?” Mr. Barrett asked. “Who objects to cucumbers?”

“There’s something about the texture I can’t stand,” said Moira.

“Oh, who cares about cucumbers at a time like this?” cried Mrs. Coleman, her hand clenching creases into the handkerchief she always carried. “Ina, did you go with Sir Kier?”

“No!” the young lady protested. “He was here when I arrived.”

“But you did leave the drawing room unchaperoned,” her aunt said.

Miss Duncan nodded. “Yes, I left the drawing room unchaperoned. I apologize, Mrs. Sullivan. I realize that it was unwise and impolite.”

“Oh, Ina,” said Mrs. Coleman, dabbing at the corner of her eye with her handkerchief.

“There are far worse transgressions in this life than seeking out a painting during a party. What happened next?” asked Moira.

“I was looking at the Carriera, and then Sir Kier made himself known. I felt trapped, as though I couldn’t just leave,” she said, shuddering at the memory. “He tried to grab at me, and he threatened to . . . to ruin me.”

Mr. Barrett’s lips curled up in a snarl. “I should kill you.”

Very interesting . . . A plan had begun to form in Moira’s mind the moment she saw the way Mr. Barrett defended Miss Duncan’s honor, and now she was more sure of its success than ever.

“I’d prefer if we could dispense with any notions of killing tonight, tempting though they might be.” Moira fixed Sir Kier with a glare. “You realize you’ve exposed Miss Duncan’s reputation to untold damage?”

“Damned if I care,” said Sir Kier.

“You should care. There’s a young woman’s reputation at stake,” she said.

“And your continued bachelorhood as well,” said Miss Duncan.