“Mr. Turing,” Lady Yasmin said.

He shut his mouth.

Lydia wheeled, turning back to Giles. “I won’t marry him!”

Turing bowed before Giles. “I will pay you a visit in the morning, my lord.” He turned to Lydia and bowed again. “Lady Lydia.” Before Giles could say a word, Lady Yasmin whisked him out the door and shut it behind them.

“I hate him, and I hate her!” Lydia burst out. “You promised me that you would have nothing to do with her. You promised! Yet, here you are, entering a room with her. I supposed you were planning to have relations with her!”

Giles took a deep breath. He apparently didn’t know his sister, but he thought . . . Whatever he thought was obviously wrong. It occurred to him that Lydia might have toyed with Turing simply because he was known to be one of Yasmin’s suitors.

“When I couldn’t find you, I had to ask a lady to enter the ladies’ retiring room. I didn’t want to admit to anyone else that you were missing.” He paused and added, “In case someone in that ballroom didn’t already know about your behavior, Lydia.”

“I was only kissing him out of boredom, really. I don’t believe that explanation. You meant to toss up Lady Yasmin’s skirts, didn’t you? You’ve probably been doing that every night. Or she was the one who followed us!”

“Nonsense,” Giles said. “I asked Lady Yasmin for assistance—”

“Why? Why did you do that?”

“As I said, I didn’t want anyone else to know what you were doing. I trust her discretion.”

“You could have asked Blanche!”

“So Miss Boodle knew where you were?”

“No, but she’s not as hidebound and stuffy as the others.” Lydia crossed her arms over her chest and fixed him with a glare that was the precise image of their mother’s. “You’ve ruined the whole night, so we might as well go home. Lady Yasmin will be scuttling back to our hostess and telling her everything, I suppose. You didn’t order her to hold her tongue.”

“She promised not to say a word to anyone.”

“You’re so naïve.” Lydia glanced at the mirror, pulled up her hair, and stuck a number of hairpins into it. Then she turned to the chair where her cosmetics were piled and stuck them into her pocket. She bent down and looked around the chair, though she didn’t bother to reach under the sofa and retrieve her scent bottle.

“Is something missing?” Giles asked.

“Either that, or it was taken,” Lydia said unpleasantly.

A wave of rage swept over Giles, so deep that he felt fire in his lungs. “I gather you are accusing Lady Yasmin of stealing a jewel of yours? You are embarrassing me, Lydia. More than that, you are saddening me. Why were you with Turing?”

Lydia scowled at him. “His sister Cordelia is a despicable human being, if you must know. They both act so proper. Just look at him, reeling off those absurd little poems about Lady Yasmin, though he followed me here eagerly enough.” She smirked. “His sister looked positively sick when we left the room together. All the same, you can’t make me marry him, Giles! You just can’t!”