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“But what would we do in the interim?” Yasmin objected.

His eyes suddenly gleamed under heavy lids. She blinked. She must have misinterpreted what came to his mind.

“We should attempt to win,” she said quickly. “The dowager duchess has gone to a great deal of trouble. To win we would merely need to go from Covent Garden Market to my grandfather’s residence.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Number three,” Yasmin said, pointing. “A hat worn by Napoleon, the erstwhile Emperor of France.”

“That’s right. You have one of his hats,” Giles said, frowning.

“Exactly,” Yasmin said, smiling. “My mother owns three. She gave me one when my father threatened to throw them on the rubbish heap. She is convinced that someday there will be whole societies devoted to the study of Napoleon and his campaigns. Academic congresses that do nothing but discuss him, the way they do Aristotle.”

Giles snorted. “I doubt that very much.”

“Yes, so do I,” Yasmin said.

They waited in silence until Silvester’s butler produced their outer garments.

“Lady Yasmin, do you wish for a chaperone?” the butler asked.

Only five maids waited in the entry although a chattering line of guests remained. The chance that Giles would bother to compromise her was approximately one thousand to one. She was about to assure the man that they would be fine without a maid when the butler spoke again.

“We are running out of chaperones, and I want to make certain that all . . . younger ladies are accompanied.” The butler’s eyes darted to her bodice and away. His implication was clear: a debauched woman such as herself had no need for a chaperone.

A gleeful thought shot into Yasmin’s mind: if she married Silvester, one of her first actions would be to dismiss the butler.

“That was an extremely ill-advised comment,” Giles said, his voice rock hard. “Apparently, you don’t realize that you may be speaking to the future Duchess of Huntington? His Grace’s attentions have been extremely marked of late.”

The butler’s narrow mouth closed. He hadn’t had any idea.

“Lady Yasmin is as vulnerable as any of those ladies. You offer her a tremendous insult.”

“I had no intention of offending Her Ladyship,” the butler said with a gulp. “Please accept my sincere apologies.”

Yasmin was torn between pleasure that Giles was defending her, and surprise that he considered her Silvester’s future bride. No wonder he had declared they shouldn’t have kissed.

“We can do without a maid,” she said. “Your name is Wickford, isn’t it? Never mind, Wickford. I realize that you are in a difficult spot. The earl and I will contrive to engage in the hunt without improprieties.”

“No, no,” Wickford said, stammering.

“Now you offer me an insult,” Giles said unpleasantly.

Wickford bowed so low that he folded in half like a sheet of parchment.

“That was not an insult,” Yasmin said to Giles. “The truth is that I am perfectly capable of defending myself, whereas a younger woman may not be.”

Giles did not reply, but he took her shawl away from Wickford and helped her put it on. “Is this all you have to wear?”

“It’s a warm spring day,” Yasmin said, looping the shawl around her shoulders in an elegant fashion that allowed the ends to drape almost to her knees.

“Please tell me if you feel a chill.”

Yasmin looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Much though I enjoyed the moment when you removed your coat, Lord Lilford, I hardly think that the weather will have changed to that extent.”

She caught sight of the butler’s expression—no longer apologetic but smirking—and sighed inwardly. Another nail in the coffin of her reputation.

He would spread it far and wide that Yasmin had watched Giles undress.