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She looked surprised. “My cousin Livie and I.”
Of course Daisy wouldn’t have snuck out alone. He should have known that Olive Tyron would have accompanied her; they had grown up together and seemed as close as sisters. He took a breath and controlled his temper. “Where is Miss Tyron?”
“Livie is here somewhere,” Daisy said, glancing about. “She was just behind me, but a press of people entered with us, and I lost her in the crowd. I was looking for her when you pulled me into this waltz. I think she must have gone right when I went left, so likely she’s in that room.” She nodded toward an archway.
Miles’s temper slipped its leash entirely. “You are a pair of idiots,” he said scathingly. “Don’t you know that the House of Lords is investigating your uncle’s supposed treason—an investigation that I will be running? Believe me when I say that Captain Sir Tyron’s case would be negatively impacted by his daughter creating another scandal. He must keep the sympathy and loyalty of his fellow aristocrats in order to beat this charge.”
Daisy missed a step, her mouth rounding with horror. “I had no idea.”
“Not to mention the fact that your cousin might have been accosted by a lecher like the one back there who ‘claimed’ you for the evening.”
She raised her chin. “Livie would never allow herself to be taken advantage of.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. A man could jerk you into his arms and kiss you—or worse—and no one here would bat an eyelash. We must find her immediately.”
“Livie can defend herself,” Daisy snapped.
Thankfully, the waltz was ending, so Miles wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her to the side of the room.
“You are holding me improperly. I am contemplating whether to kick you sharply in the shins or stick you with a hatpin,” Daisy informed him. She pulled a pin from her masquerade hat and waved it proudly.
She was an extraordinary mixture of sophisticated and naïve, old and young. Irritatingly, she fit perfectly in the shelter of his arm. “The next time a man embraces you inappropriately, I suggest that you act rather than air your options.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “It’s only you.”
Miles wasn’t sure how to take that. “What is Miss Tyron wearing?” he asked, as they walked through the archway into the other chamber.
Daisy cleared her throat. He glanced down at her.
“My cousin …” Her voice faltered.
“What?”
“She’s there … over there on that settee.”
Miles looked.
A woman wearing a scarlet domino and a masquerade hat was sitting in a young army officer’s lap, her arms wound around his neck, kissing him enthusiastically.
“Bloody hell,” he growled.
Daisy looked up at him, eyes wide. “Of the two of us, I’m the naughty one.”
What he said next was unrepeatable.
EPISODE NINETY ONE
ELEVEN MONTHS LATER
Eleven Months Later
March 1, 1817
TOWNHOUSE OF LORD AND LADY WHARTON
LONDON
“We must behave as if we are in half-mourning until Christmas at the earliest,” Lady Wharton instructed. “No bouncing around the dancefloor or loud giggling, Daisy. If we display the slightest hint of pleasure, we shall be accused of being unfeeling.”
