Yasmin felt dazed, her heart beating too fast, her mind unable to keep up, but one thing was clear: she didn’t want to feel like this. She wanted nothing to do with kisses that made a woman dizzy. She’d experienced those before and still had the scars. Lust led to horrendous decisions.

The earl pulled back and dropped his arms from around her. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

He was back to the clipped, aristocratic tones of an earl. His gaze was remote, with all the warmth that he might show a parlor maid. A misbehaving parlor maid, given his hardened jaw.

Even though Yasmin agreed, she felt a flash of anger. “Because you don’t like me?” she asked, the question slipping from her lips before she thought better of it.

His lips tightened. Silence answered her.

The blow felt almost physical, which was so stupid. She’d known that truth for months, after all. “True, you don’t have to like someone to desire them,” Yasmin supplied for him, slipping off his coat and pushing it into his hands.

She walked quickly back, ignoring the silent man pacing at her side. She was battling with shame. How stupid could she be?

So many men had tried to seduce her, yet after her experience with Hippolyte, she had easily refused them. That was her secret defense when English ladies sneered at her: she had nothing to be ashamed of. Their husbands, brothers, and sons may desire her, but she never returned the compliment.

Yet Giles Renwick, Earl of Lilford, hadn’t even bothered to flatter her. Presumably, he couldn’t think of anything complimentary to say. She tried to imagine him praising her: “You are so . . .” what?

So frivolous. So loose. So beneath him.

The words beat through her head in a pitiful melody that made her irritated with herself. And with him, that stupid man who thought she wasn’t good enough for a second waltz but kissed her when no one was watching.

They walked silently through the drawing room. When they reached the ballroom doors, Lydia’s yellow topknot was instantly visible.

“My sister is waltzing with Pepper a second time,” Giles observed blandly as if nothing had happened between them.

Lydia’s cheeks were pink and her eyes shining, though it was a question how her brother would interpret her expression. Presumably, he was aware that it was improper for a young lady to waltz twice with the same gentleman. One might accept two invitations to dance, but two waltzes?

To Yasmin’s mind, Lydia was positively begging to be labeled “brazen,” if not worse. Yet, the last thing either sibling wanted was her opinion. Clearly.

“Good evening, Your Grace.”

She turned away and curtsied in front of her waiting dance partner, London’s most eligible bachelor, Silvester Parnell, Duke of Huntington. He wasn’t precisely cuddly, but at least he didn’t look at her with icy dislike.

The duke bowed. “Good evening, Lady Yasmin. Chilled to the bone?” he asked as they slipped onto the dance floor, joining the waltzing couples.