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“How horrible for her,” Yasmin said.

Giles cleared his throat. “She boasted of making the brothers of those girls come at the lift of her finger. She is toying with them, like a cat with mice.”

Yasmin could understand Lydia’s wish for revenge, but the girl would only harm herself if she continued in this mad fashion. “I’m sure that she is still in the house. I’ll check the ladies’ retiring room first. After that, we’ll have to ask the butler.”

She ran up the marble steps to the first floor. Merry had designated a pleasant room for the use of ladies who needed to rest their feet or to ask a maid to mend a ripped hem. The maid had likely been reassigned to help with supper, because the room was empty. Yasmin even peeped into the adjoining water closet, outfitted with a Lewis commode, but Lydia was nowhere to be seen.

Leaving the room, she saw Giles waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. Did he have to be so broad shouldered? She had never imagined a man with such a deep lower lip. And he was so protective about his wretched sister, making him fifty times more desirable to her, which was stupid, stupid, stupid.

She ran back down the stairs. “There is no sign of her. Perhaps she is in one of the parlors.”

“Lydia wouldn’t—”

“Yet, you think she might have eloped?” Yasmin asked, cutting him off. Just then the butler emerged from the dining room, so she walked to meet him. “Peters, Lord Lilford is concerned about his sister, Lady Lydia. I wonder if you have seen her.”

The butler’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes did.

“To make certain that she is safe,” Yasmin added.

Peters cleared his throat. “If the young lady felt faint, she may have taken refuge in the library or a smaller drawing room.”

“He knows,” Giles said as they walked down the marble passage. “He knows where she is and with whom.” Then he muttered, “Damn it.”

“Butlers know everything,” Yasmin said. “Here’s the library.”

She turned the doorknob and walked in. The library was lined with books, of course, with an imposing desk positioned straight ahead. But what caught Yasmin’s eyes was a hairy male bottom, breeches down around his knees.

A flood of embarrassment went over her. The man in question was vigorously tupping a woman in a garish crimson gown, unquestionably the one worn by Mrs. Dyne. The lady’s spouse was considerably older than this energetic fellow.

She whipped around. “It’s not Lydia!” she whispered frantically, pushing Giles backward.

Chapter Eight

Giles only caught a brief glance of the room before Lady Yasmin turned and pushed him back into the corridor.

“It wasn’t your sister!” she whispered, pulling the door shut behind them. Her cheeks had stained rosy pink, and she didn’t meet his eyes.

Giles felt a pang of guilt for having placed her in such an invidious position. He hadn’t glimpsed more than a man’s hairy arse, but no lady wanted to see that. “I apologize for placing you in a situation in which you witnessed something abhorrent. Shall we return to the dining room?”

He knew perfectly well he could investigate these rooms by himself. But if he let her go, she’d return to sitting next to Silvester.

“Nonsense,” Lady Yasmin said, raising her chin in a decisive fashion. “Once you’ve come across your mother kissing an emperor, nothing else can disturb you.”

Giles didn’t think that was true, given the hectic color in her cheeks. It made him wonder how much of the lady’s sophisticated manner was genuine, and how much was pretense. It also made him want to kiss Lady Yasmin until she lost the vaguely horrified look in her eyes.

“You’re certain that my sister was not in the room?”

“Indeed.” She cast him a narrow-eyed look. “Do not ask me for the names of that couple, Lord Lilford. You may believe what you wish about me, but I do not gossip about extramarital dalliances.”

She rapped on the next door, but before she could open it, Giles nudged her. “I’ll enter first this time.”

He walked into the room. Since it was empty, he moved to the side so that Lady Yasmin could join him. The chamber was lit only by a large candelabra on the mantelpiece, its light amplified by a gilded mirror. The room was apparently used by their hostess for informal moments with her family, given the books stacked on the floor, the toy elephant lying on its side, and the unfinished sampler on a side table next to a huge bowl of plump roses. Comfortable chairs covered in purple velvet clustered before a matching sofa with its back to them.

“Une belle chambre,” Lady Yasmin murmured.

Giles felt a bolt of lust at her husky voice that went straight down his limbs. “I’ve never heard you speak French.”

“I try to speak English as much as I can. Last Season I kept slipping into French, but I am better at English now.”