Emily hesitated. Perhaps Lucien wasn’t cut from the same cloth as the lustful Mr. Hislop. Mr. Hislop had also offered to accompany her to various occasions, but only, she was quite sure, so that he could make unwelcome approaches to her in the privacy of his carriage. Recently he had even begun to hint that he would no longer give her information if she didn’t accept one of his invitations.

Lucien was still standing in the center of the room. Now he approached her and bowed. “I would be most honored if you would join me,” he said gently.

Emily could hardly breathe. Men had no right to have eyelashes that long. They had no right to look at one with liquid black eyes and be so…so appealing.

“You are very obliging,” she said finally.

“I would be grateful for the company,” Lucien said. “And I would be most happy if your sister could accompany us, as chaperone.”

“My sister, a chaperone!” Emily almost snorted. Even the suggestion proved that Lucien had not inquired about their situation. He couldn’t know that Louise had been besmirched across all England as a wanton light-skirt. “My sister does not venture into public,” she said tightly.

“In that case, I will ask an acquaintance of mine to accompany us. I would not wish you to feel uncomfortable in my company.”

Emily met Lucien’s eyes and felt ashamed that she had ever wondered whether he was a degenerate like Mr. Hislop. “I would be most pleased to accompany you to the Fester ball,” she said. “I have changed my mind.”

“That is a woman’s privilege,” Lucien said, a smile lighting his eyes. He bowed again. “I am honored.”

“And you needn’t ask an acquaintance to come with us,” Emily added hastily. “I am a widow, after all. Widows do not need chaperones.”

“Yes, of course,” Lucien murmured.

Was there a sardonic note in his eye? Emily nervously touched the little cap she wore.

Lucien could not think of any other reason to waste the lovely Emily’s time, so he had turned about to leave when Sally pushed open the doors and said, rather sharply, “Mr. Hislop is here, missus.” She was in a mood, having been pinched twice on the way down the hall. She gave Hislop a sour look and stamped off.

Bartholomew Bayley Hislop was not a handsome man. Emily noticed in an instant that it was a positive cruelty to put him in a room with Lucien Boch. Lucien stood, slim, dressed in black, his manner and clothing bespeaking his state as a marquis. Or former marquis, Emily reminded herself.