Weston snorted, pleased to feel the whiskey burning a path down to his stomach. At least he could still feel that. “Polite society. The day I care about what polite society thinks, Harry, is the day hell will freeze.”

His brows drew together as he watched across the room where Sir Hugh and another man approached the woman who had caught his eye. Tolly was paying far too much attention to the redhead, gazing up into her eyes as if she was the most fascinating woman on earth.

“Looks as if Tolly has cleared the path. Shall we?” Lord Rosse gave his friend an inquiring glance.

“Yes.” Surprised by the sharp bubble of emotion remarkably akin to jealousy, Weston gathered the mantle of boredom he habitually wore and sauntered after his friend across the inlaid wood floor toward the gaggle of tittering misses.

Charlotte’s keen and eager eye, ever on the alert for a titled rake, saw the two men heading toward them from across the room. She was certain after the interested looks the Black Earl had been shooting at Gillian he would claim an introduction and couldn’t decide what attitude to adopt about this unexpected turn of events. A hasty evaluation of the number of suitors gathered around her went far to assuage her plans for reforming the Black Earl, so it was with no sense of pettishness or ill feeling that she turned her mind to plotting the future happiness of her dearest cousin. A quick glance at said cousin showed that Gillian was in her usual state of disarray: her gloves were wadded up into sooty balls, tendrils of unruly red hair were fighting their way out of the once tidy coronet on her head, and her gown showed signs of having lost the battle with the fire. Unfortunately, there was no time to rush her off to the ladies’ withdrawing room to effect repairs, but Charlotte was not one to go down without a fight—not when her cousin’s future was at stake.

“Would it be an inconvenience to ask for a cup of punch, Sir Hugh? I fear the warmth of the evening has made Miss Leigh rather thirsty, but she’s much too shy to ask you herself.”

She dimpled charmingly at him as he shot a curious look at an equally surprised Gillian, then let her smile fade as he left to fulfill her request. As soon as he was out of hearing, Charlotte swung around to her cousin and began dabbing at the faint soot marks on Gillian’s bodice. “Cousin, pinch your cheeks.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Charlotte cast a glance over Gillian’s shoulder to where the two men were approaching. “Bite your lips.”

Gillian wondered if the stifling heat of the ballroom was affecting her dear cousin’s mind. “Is it the heat, Charlotte? You look flushed. Are you ill? Shall I call your mother?”

“Oh, heavens no! You know how Mama is, she’ll rattle on about nothing and monopolize all the conversation.” Charlotte waved her fan in a vigorous manner and slapped an artificially bright smile on her face.