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“We didn’t—He didn’t—” Yasmin waved the handkerchief. “There was a condom.”

“Excellent!” Cleo cried. “A woman after my own heart.”

A flood of sadness welled up inside Yasmin’s chest. “He doesn’t like me.”

“Jake decided I was an upstart English witch,” Cleo said, wrapping an arm around Yasmin’s shoulder. “He told Merry that I had a witchy chin.”

Yasmin took a shuddering breath. “If Giles found me undesirable, this would be easier. I want him so much, but . . .”

“Take him,” Cleo advised. “You can work everything else out later.”

“He’s very private. I blurted out that thing that happened with Lydia.”

“I collect that his sister had an amorous encounter with Turing. What a squabby little libertine that man is.”

“I promised not to tell.”

“You didn’t tell. Lydia did,” Cleo said firmly. “Everyone knows Turing is a loose fish. I shall not be at home to Mrs. Turing or Lady Dunlap in the future. While I pity Mrs. Turing, she shows a lack of refinement and a contemptible disregard for good manners.”

Yasmin had twisted her handkerchief so tightly that its delicate lace border would never be the same. “She merely doesn’t want her son to marry Lydia. Or me, obviously.”

“She should be so lucky,” Cleo snorted. “You would be the making of that man.”

“No, I wouldn’t. Because I don’t like Turing and I don’t want him either.”

Cleo frowned. “I should hope not. I suggest you tell Lilford the truth, just in case Lydia embroiders her story, accusing you of God knows what. She’s clearly a loose cannon. I could do it, if you wish.”

“No, please don’t.” Yasmin shuddered at the thought of her friend clashing with Giles. Cleo didn’t suffer fools, not that Giles was a fool, but—

“I’d like to tell him a thing or two,” Cleo said moodily. “I don’t care for the way he looks at you with distaste, given that any fool could tell he’s in love with you.”

“Not love, desire,” Yasmin corrected.

Cleo rolled her eyes. “Once a man becomes so obsessed that he can’t look aside, the words don’t matter. Do you think that Jake started out thinking that he loved me? He spent a good amount of time telling himself that all we shared was lust. As,” she added fairly, “did I.”

“I do have to tell Giles what just happened,” Yasmin said.

“You can offer a counterbalance to the lovely Lydia’s account.” Cleo’s arm tightened. “His sister alone is a good reason not to marry the man, Yasmin. Can you imagine Christmas dinners with her for years and years to come?”

“I’m not going to marry Giles,” Yasmin said tonelessly. “I’m going to give him proof that I’m as bird-witted as he already believes. Lydia thinks that I can’t stop myself from tattling, but that’s not true.”

One tear escaped and slid down her cheek. “I’m so tired, Cleo.”

“Tell the earl tomorrow. Another day,” her friend said, kissing her cheek. “You are the most intelligent, exquisite lady in all London, Yasmin, and if that idiot doesn’t know it, he’s the bird-witted fool, not you. You are loyal and loving, and I couldn’t wish for a better friend.”

Yasmin gave her a wavering smile. “Thank you. I think . . . I’ll go home and send him a message.”

“Instruct him to pay you a call tomorrow, when you’ve had a chance to sleep.”

Chapter Eighteen

Giles looked up when his butler entered his study. “No interruptions, Duckworthy.” He could scarcely concentrate as it was, and he was due to give a speech in Parliament the following morning.

“A missive has arrived that you would wish to read immediately,” his butler announced, presenting a silver tray.

Giles had never seen Yasmin’s handwriting, yet he knew instantly whose it was. Elegant copperplate in dark blue ink, rather than customary black. He ripped the folded sheet open.

She wished to see him tomorrow morning or perhaps the next day, whenever he had time to spare.