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“Exactly.”

Chapter Twenty-One

The next evening, Yasmin dressed for a dinner party at the Addisons’ house with particular care. Lydia, Giles, and Lord Pettigrew were also invited, part of the celebrations that followed the announcement of Lydia’s betrothal.

Yasmin was determined to drive Giles wild with desire. He had been entirely in control after the church service, driving her to embarrassing emotions—on a tomb. A little growl broke from her throat at the thought.

Not acceptable.

These days, he was like a big game cat, stalking her, deciding when he would corner her for a few kisses, leaving her raging with desire while he sauntered away.

She didn’t have to accept that. She could fight back.

“The new round robe of blossom-colored crepe,” she told her maid. A half hour later, she looked at herself with satisfaction. The bodice fit like a glove, with a narrow skirt and a demi-train gathered in the back.

“The neckline is uncommonly low,” her maid observed. “Would you like to tuck a fichu into the bodice, my lady?”

“No, thank you,” Yasmin said. “Where is that crimson lip color that I purchased in Fitzroy Market?”

Giles, for his part, had impatiently thrown on evening wear and was ranging around his drawing room, nursing a glass of sherry while waiting for Lydia to descend and Pettigrew to join them.

His future brother-in-law seemed to have no idea how challenging life with his future wife might become. Thankfully, his mother took after him, never noticing Lydia rolling her eyes. Giles had brought it up over breakfast.

Of course, Lydia had flared up. “What about you? You always look as if you have a toothache. Like a bad novel, where the author describes someone as having a brow that’s dark with displeasure. That’s you.”

“I will endeavor to look more cheerful,” Giles had said. “I would appreciate it if you could be more respectful to your future mother-in-law.”

“I am polite! Last night I didn’t say a word when she went on and on about the English Channel. She needs to pluck her eyebrows. They are far too heavy. But I didn’t say that, did I?”

Giles ground his teeth. “Your future husband will not take it well if you offered grooming suggestions to his mother.”

“I heard of a tincture called Liquid Bloom of Roses,” Lydia snapped. “Perhaps I shall give it to her for Christmas. That way I could make a point without being insulting.” She had marched off.

Luckily, Pettigrew seemed to like Lydia, though Giles suspected that the man was far more interested in the bloodhounds born earlier that week than his fiancée.

They were late to the Addisons’ house. As the butler took their outer garments, Jake Addison wandered into the entry, bowed, and then slapped Giles on the back in an American way that Giles ought to despise but somehow didn’t.

“Good to see you,” Jake said.

Lydia took Lord Pettigrew’s arm and they disappeared into the drawing room.

Giles bowed. “It is always a pleasure.”

“My wife tells me that you’re winning the contest between yourself and the Duke of Huntington. Likely you know, but Viscount Templeton is topping the bets at White’s.”

I’ve won, Giles thought.

He kept his mouth shut. He’d always believed that jealousy was experienced by mediocre minds. Unfortunately, from his first meeting with Yasmin, he’d learned of his own mediocrity: jealousy was his daily companion.

“Yasmin means a good deal to myself and my wife,” Jake said.

Giles suddenly realized that the American didn’t have a carefree look in his eye. In fact, he seemed rather dangerous. “Are you threatening me?” he asked, curious. They both boxed in Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon, but they’d never engaged in a bout.

“I was simply informing you how very, very fond Cleo is of Lady Yasmin. We wouldn’t want to see Yasmin’s heart broken. Or her spirit crushed.”

“I would never do such a thing,” Giles stated.

“She does not have an ascetic temperament,” Jake said. “Like yours.”