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Yasmin knew full well that her grandfather would dig in his heels at the idea of departing London before the Regent’s reception. His Grace was determined to prove that England’s monarchs were more intelligent and forgiving than those of France. Or at least, than Empress Joséphine had been.

Why, why had she fallen in love with a man who wanted her but didn’t like her? Why had she been so stupid? An idea struck her, and she blurted it out. “Do you think I agreed to marry you because it’s not enough to be my mother’s daughter and have a scandal in my past? You said I dress to flout society’s opinion that I’m a strumpet. Did I promise to marry you in order to punish myself?” Her voice shook.

Giles’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her against his warm, naked body. “No, Yasmin. No.”

A sob pressed the back of her throat, but she fought against it, stepping backward, pulling free of his embrace. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of making a scene.”

“Yasmin!”

“I do hope that you manage to convince Lord Pettigrew to walk up the aisle.”

Giles flinched.

“It will probably be as good a marriage as any,” Yasmin said dryly. “I don’t hold out much hope for fidelity.” She wished she had snatched back the words but it was too late.

His eyes hardened. “My sister will be loyal to her husband. She has always been loyal to family. Don’t you see? She played that trick with Napoleon’s hat because she is convinced that you are the wrong wife for me. Convinced that you will sully the family name, but even more, that you will make me unhappy. She’s just trying to protect me.”

“It must be nice.”

“What?”

“To have a sibling to defend oneself.” Yasmin managed a faint smile. “We can look forward to marvelous Christmases.”

“Once we are married, Lydia will behave.”

“Actually, I intend to rethink our betrothal while in the country,” Yasmin said. “I deserve someone who will love me as I am.” She was proud of her assertive, calm tone.

Did Giles pale? No.

She couldn’t fool herself that he looked particularly distressed, perhaps no more distressed than any man whose mistress decides to leave his side.

“Please don’t do that. Don’t leave London.”

“Tell me it won’t be easier for you if I am nowhere to be seen? If men aren’t clustering around me and asking me to dance?”

“Easier for me?”

Yasmin folded her arms over her breasts. “Easier for you. You needn’t lean against the walls and rage inwardly about your uncouth fiancée flirting with men.”

His jaw tightened, but he came out with the truth. “Perhaps.”

“Marvelous,” Yasmin said, hearing the flatness in her own voice. “We are in agreement, then.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“You have had rather too much of what you want, Giles. You’ll likely have your scandalous countess back in the fall. I don’t think my grandfather would agree to a broken engagement, given the rashness of our behavior under his roof.”

“My reluctant countess,” Giles said, his lips twisting.

“That too. I would be grateful if you would leave now.” She walked over to the door and stood there, waiting for him to dress.

Giles pulled on his clothes, walked to her, and stopped. After a long moment, he bowed over her hand.

“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow at Carlton House.”

After his footsteps went down the stairs, Yasmin sank to the floor, her back against the door.

Chapter Twenty-Seven