Michael lifted a brow, but said nothing.

Her cheeks bloomed red, her lips pressed in irritation, though she hid it almost immediately behind a forced smile. “I’m Miss Lydia Latham. We met at Lady MacLean’s soiree.”

Michael stared as Miss Latham held out her hand expectantly.

Mary jabbed her elbow into his side.

With a grimace, Michael took the girl’s hand, holding it the minimal time required by politeness.

Miss Latham beamed. “I knew you’d remember me! We spoke at length about the Rosetta stone.”

“Did we?” he asked in a bored tone.

“Oh, yes! I’ve read every word you’ve ever written.”

“I doubt that, unless, of course, you’ve managed to sneak into my bedchamber and procure my diaries. I’m fairly sure no one but me has read those.”

Miss Latham’s face turned several shades pinker and she tittered nervously. “Oh, no! I would never sneak into a man’s bedchamber.”

“More’s the pit—”

“What my brother means to say,” Mary said hurriedly, “is that The Morning Post serial is but a small portion of his writings. He’s the author of many scientific treatises on artifacts and ruins that he’s unearthed, and—”

“And my diaries,” he interjected smoothly.

One of the other girls clasped her hands together and said in a soulful tone, “I’ve never known a man to keep a diary.”

“And just how many men do you know?” Michael asked, irritated to be placed upon a pedestal for the most mundane of things.

Mary glared at him as if she were fighting the urge to smack his head, as she had when they were children. “No one will invite you anywhere if you continue like this,” she hissed.

“Nonsense. They are too silly to know any better.”

As if to prove his point, a girl with brown hair and a protruding chin said brazenly, as if every word were a challenge that he wouldn’t be able to resist, “Mr. Hurst, I daresay our petty little parties bore you to death.”

“Yes, they do.”

Not realizing he found the ball boring because of inane comments like hers, she sent her companions a triumphant glance over her shoulder. “Of course! This must seem so dull after your adventures on the Nile. Especially after wrestling crocodiles, and—”

“I beg your pardon,” Michael interrupted. “Did you say ‘wrestling’ and ‘crocodiles’?”

The girl blinked. “W-why, yes. You wrote that you were forced to do so last January, during mating season when they’re at their most fierce.”

Michael crossed his arms and glared at his sister. “Mary?”

She blushed, a bit of desperation in her tone as she said, “I daresay you’ll remember it quite clearly once you’ve had some refreshment.” Mary curtsied to the small group. “I hope you’ll excuse us, but my poor brother needs some nourishment. If you don’t mind, we’ll make our way to the refreshment table.” Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed his arm and burrowed through the crowd.

At the table she quickly took two glasses and a small plate with a tiny piece of stale cake on it. With an air of determination, she found an alcove safely hidden from prying eyes.