Harry set his teacup down. “Just how many brothers do you have, my lady?”

“Three.”

“Hell.”

“YOUR LAND STEWARD, GEORGIE?” Oscar picked up an iced bun from the tray Cook had prepared. “It’s just not the thing, darling. I mean”—he waved the bun—“either one should choose someone from one’s own class or go all the way and seduce a brawny young stable hand.”

Oscar grinned at George, his treacle-brown eyes crinkling devilishly at the corners. His hair was darker than Tony’s, almost black. Only when he stood in sunlight could you sometimes make out the red highlights.

“You aren’t helping.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb.

“Yes, Oscar,” Ralph, the youngest Maitland brother, put in his two pence. Gangly and large-boned, his frame was just beginning to show the bulk of manhood. “Georgina couldn’t seduce anyone. She’s not married. He must have seduced her, the bounder.”

Oscar and Tony stared at Ralph for a moment, apparently stunned into silence by his recitation of the obvious.

George sighed, and not for the first time since entering her library. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. At first sight of Oscar’s carriage she should’ve tucked her tail between her legs and made a run for the hills. They might not have found her for days; weeks, if she’d been lucky. She could’ve slept under the stars and lived on wild strawberries and dew—never mind that strawberries didn’t fruit in September. Instead, she’d meekly dressed in her most demure gown and presented herself to her three younger brothers.

Who were all now glaring at her. “Actually, I believe it was a mutual seduction, if that’s important.”

Ralph looked puzzled, Tony groaned, and Oscar laughed, nearly choking on a mouthful of his bun.

“No, that’s not important,” Tony said. “What is important—”

“Is that you break it off at once.” Oscar finished for him. He started to shake a finger at George and realized he still held the bun. He looked around for a plate and set his bun down. “Now, after you have married a suitable gentleman, then you may take up with whoever—”

“I think not!” Ralph jumped to his feet, an effective move, since he was the tallest. “Georgina isn’t like the macaronis and libertines and whores you hang about with. She’s—”

“I have never, ever, in my entire life, consorted with macaronis.” Oscar arched an awful eyebrow at his younger brother.

“Gentlemen, please,” Tony said. “Save your teasing for later. George, what do you plan to do with your land steward? Do you want to marry him?”

“I say!”

“But, Tony!” Both Oscar and Ralph started.

Tony held up a hand, silencing them. “George?”

George blinked. What did she want from Harry? To be close to him, she knew, but beyond that, matters became complicated. Why, oh why, couldn’t she muddle along as she always had?