“No!”

“Yes?” Warm lips traced a path down her neck.

“No.” Charlotte pulled herself from Alex’s grasp, smiling up at him. “You are a wicked reprobate,” she informed him. “Just think what Sophie’s mama is thinking about us. You know how strict the marchioness is.”

“She’s thinking the same thing she always thought,” Alex said, looking pensive. “That you’re a wild rackety thing who led me astray, and then did the same to Sophie … and if she knew that you had plans to derail this fine marriage she’s managed to talk your Sophie into, she’d flay you alive, m’dear!”

“Well, we aren’t going to tell her.” Charlotte looked pleadingly up at Alex. “I need you to help me, Alex. Don’t you want your twin to be happy?”

“I’m not absolutely sure that Sophie will make Patrick happy,” Alex said. “He hasn’t shown strong inclination to get married.”

“That’s not the point. They are on the verge of falling in love. And if Sophie marries Braddon, and then falls in love with Patrick—”

“I see your point.” Alex rubbed his chin.

“Or what if Patrick marries the wrong person, out of pique because Sophie rejected him?”

Alex knew all about the perils of marrying the wrong person. He tucked his countess’s arm under his and turned back toward the door.

“What do you want me to do?” He cast her a conspiratorial grin.

“Get Braddon out of the way,” Charlotte shot back quickly.

The earl and countess walked back into the drawing room as if nothing had happened, as if earls always carried their countesses from the room without a by-your-leave.

Patrick was leaning on the piano. Daphne Boch was looking up at him with melting eyes as she played a languorous air.

Charlotte pinched her husband. “You see?”

Alex looked at her, eyes warmly black under his lashes. “Your every wish is my command, Countess.” Then he added wickedly, “As always.”

A pink flush crept up Charlotte’s cheeks as her husband strolled toward the group at the piano.

As Braddon bowed before Sophie, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Patrick seemed—naturally!—to have engaged Miss went through their paces primly, a more-than-appropriate space between their bodies. Sophie caught her mother’s eye and easily read the gleam of approval there.

They were making their way, rather tediously if the truth be told, toward the bottom of the room, when Braddon executed a quick step, pulling Sophie sharply back and to the right.

“Sorry, Lady Sophie.” He was puffing a bit from the unwonted exercise. “Foakes is a foul dancer, always was.”

Sophie looked curiously over her shoulder. Patrick did seem to have a reckless disregard for the welfare of other dancers. He and Daphne were coming down the dance floor. He was holding Daphne’s hands high in the air. Maybe that was making Daphne’s cheeks rosy, or perhaps it was Patrick’s dancing. Even as she watched he added an improvised series of swinging circles. Around and around they went, Daphne half protesting, until they came to a halt at the bottom of the room, Patrick laughing down at his partner.