“What has he done to make him unacceptable to the jades, rakes, and rogues who populate the ton?”

Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Lady Dell says he murdered his first wife after he found her in the arms of her true love. He is said to have shot her in the head, but missed when he tried to murder her lover.”

“Truly? How fascinating! He must be a terribly emotional and uncontrolled man if he didn’t tolerate his wife having an inamorato. I thought that sort of behavior was de rigueur in the ton.”

Gillian and Charlotte slipped past small groups of elegantly clad people and paused before the double doors leading to the ballroom. The heat generated by so many people inhabiting the confined space left the room stifling and airless.

Charlotte fanned herself vigorously as she continued to tell Gillian what she knew of the infamous earl. “He doesn’t wear anything but black—’tis said to be a sign of his guilt that he’s never been out of mourning even though he killed his wife more than five years ago. She cursed him, you know, and that’s another reason he wears black. And then there are rumors of a child…”

Charlotte’s voice dropped to an intimate whisper that Gillian had a hard time hearing above the noise of several chattering matrons standing nearby. “…and was born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

“Someone is a bastard?” Gillian asked, confused.

“Gillian!” Charlotte shrieked and, with an appalled look toward the matrons, pulled her cousin closer to the ballroom doors. “God’s teeth, you’re as uncivilized as a Red Indian. It must be living among them as you did that makes you so unconventional. Do try to curb your tongue!”

Gillian muttered an insincere apology and prodded her cousin. “Who is illegitimate? The earl?”

“Gilly, really! Don’t be such an idiot. How can he be illegitimate and an earl? Make an effort to pay attention, do—I was just telling you how Lord Weston murdered his first wife because she refused to bear him a son and turned to her lover for comfort. Isn’t that thrilling? It’s said she pleaded with him to give her a divorce so she could marry her lover, but he told her that if he could not have her, no man would. Then he shot her while her lover looked on.” She sighed. “It’s so romantic.”

“Your idea of romantic and mine are most definitely not the same,” Gillian said, looking around at the dandies, macaronis, fops, elderly gentlemen in silk breeches, and other assorted members of that small, elite group who possessed the combination of fortune, rank, and reputation to admit them as members of the ton. “And this man is here tonight? Which one is he? Does he look evil? Does he have a hump on his back and a squint and walk with a limp? Will he ogle the ladies?”

Charlotte frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gilly. The earl is not a monster; at least, not to look at. He is quite handsome if you like large, brooding men, which I most definitely do. When they’re earls, of course. And perhaps viscounts. But nothing lower than a viscount, you understand.” She forestalled Gillian’s questions by turning toward the doors. “Come stand with me and we will watch to see if the rumor is true.”