She ran up the marble steps to the first floor. Merry had designated a pleasant room for the use of ladies who needed to rest their feet or to ask a maid to mend a ripped hem. The maid had likely been reassigned to help with supper, because the room was empty. Yasmin even peeped into the adjoining water closet, outfitted with a Lewis commode, but Lydia was nowhere to be seen.

Leaving the room, she saw Giles waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. Did he have to be so broad shouldered? She had never imagined a man with such a deep lower lip. And he was so protective about his wretched sister, making him fifty times more desirable to her, which was stupid, stupid, stupid.

She ran back down the stairs. “There is no sign of her. Perhaps she is in one of the parlors.”

“Lydia wouldn’t—”

“Yet, you think she might have eloped?” Yasmin asked, cutting him off. Just then the butler emerged from the dining room, so she walked to meet him. “Peters, Lord Lilford is concerned about his sister, Lady Lydia. I wonder if you have seen her.”

The butler’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes did.

“To make certain that she is safe,” Yasmin added.

Peters cleared his throat. “If the young lady felt faint, she may have taken refuge in the library or a smaller drawing room.”

“He knows,” Giles said as they walked down the marble passage. “He knows where she is and with whom.” Then he muttered, “Damn it.”

“Butlers know everything,” Yasmin said. “Here’s the library.”

She turned the doorknob and walked in. The library was lined with books, of course, with an imposing desk positioned straight ahead. But what caught Yasmin’s eyes was a hairy male bottom, breeches down around his knees.

A flood of embarrassment went over her. The man in question was vigorously tupping a woman in a garish crimson gown, unquestionably the one worn by Mrs. Dyne. The lady’s spouse was considerably older than this energetic fellow.

She whipped around. “It’s not Lydia!” she whispered frantically, pushing Giles backward.

Chapter Eight

Giles only caught a brief glance of the room before Lady Yasmin turned and pushed him back into the corridor.

“It wasn’t your sister!” she whispered, pulling the door shut behind them. Her cheeks had stained rosy pink, and she didn’t meet his eyes.

Giles felt a pang of guilt for having placed her in such an invidious position. He hadn’t glimpsed more than a man’s hairy arse, but no lady wanted to see that. “I apologize for placing you in a situation in which you witnessed something abhorrent. Shall we return to the dining room?”

He knew perfectly well he could investigate these rooms by himself. But if he let her go, she’d return to sitting next to Silvester.

“Nonsense,” Lady Yasmin said, raising her chin in a decisive fashion. “Once you’ve come across your mother kissing an emperor, nothing else can disturb you.”