“Your cousin wouldn’t call you out, my love,” Mrs. Beresford said. “What a notion!”

“Which one of you?” St. Clare asked again.

For the first time, Lionel seemed to falter. He looked a trifle white about the mouth.

Mrs. Beresford had gone a bit pale herself, but she was quick to rally. “I may have mentioned an incident or two I observed at the ball. There’s no harm in talk. Not when facts, properly presented, can so easily disprove the rumors.”

Some of the tension in Lionel’s expression eased. “Just as Madre says,” he agreed. “People will talk, you know. And if it should become cumbersome—these rumors about your legitimacy—you’ve only to produce your papers. That’s not so much to ask, is it? The way you’re behaving now, you’d think I’d done you an irreparable harm.”

St. Clare turned on him. “Was it you, then?”

“He misspoke,” Mrs. Beresford said hastily. “I already admitted it was I who talked to the paper. My son is blameless.”

St. Clare didn’t believe her for a minute. “What manner of man are you,” he asked his cousin, “to hide behind the skirts of your mother?”

Lionel’s cheeks flushed. “This from a man who has no mother at all. No mother anyone’s ever heard of.” He jutted his chin. “I’ll not be lectured to by you, sir. If you mean to call me out—”

“No one is calling anyone out today.” The Earl of Allendale’s voice rang out.

St. Clare’s head jerked to the drawing room doorway just in time to see his grandfather walk into the room. He came to a halt at St. Clare’s side, giving him a sharp look of warning.

“Lord Allendale!” Mrs. Beresford leapt to her feet again, executing another curtsy. Her son rose to stand beside her. “What a surprise this is. That is to say, an honor. You never came to call before, not even when invited. And now, here you are—you and Lord St. Clare both—within minutes of each other. One can hardly countenance—”

“Enough of your forked-tongue pleasantries, Lavinia,” Allendale said. “There’s nothing I despise more than a serpent who walks upright.”

Mrs. Beresford’s mouth opened and closed and opened again. “Well! I never—”

“You’ve done enough damage with your infernal gossip. And you too, sir.” Allendale glared at Lionel. “Your scheming stops today. Do you hear me? I’ll have no more of it.”

Mrs. Beresford drew herself up. “Really, Allendale, if you continue in this manner, I will have to ask you to leave.”

“And if you continue,” Allendale said, “you will see how I deal with snakes. Even those who bear the name of Beresford.”

“And what of my cousin?” Lionel asked. “If we must be classed as serpents, how would you class him? He’s no Beresford.”