“That is taking portraiture altogether too seriously,” Yasmin stated.

Her grandfather snorted. “Have you taken a look at your grandmother’s portrait?”

“Not closely.”

“Look again. You can see where the artist painted out her double chin. We had to have that fellow back three times before he came up with a decent likeness.”

Apparently, “likeness” was a malleable term.

The dowager swiveled in their direction. “Your Grace, go over there and stand next to the urn so I can find you. Or sit, if your corns are hurting you.”

“I don’t have corns,” her grandfather said indignantly.

“Must be some other duke,” she said unapologetically. “All right.” She peered at her paper. “Lady Yammer, your granddaughter, is on this list somewhere.”

“Lady Yasmin,” her grandfather said sharply. “I introduced you myself, weeks ago.”

“Lady Yasmin and the Earl of Lilford,” the dowager announced, blithely ignoring that comment. “Lady Lydia and Patrick deGrey.”

“Damn it, I’ll have to speak to her,” Yasmin’s grandfather muttered. “She’s trying to throw you into the arms of that sullen earl. I’ll straighten her out. She’ll never fix a match between her son and the spotted girl.”

He patted Yasmin on the arm. “I can see Lilford headed in this direction. If he gives you a headache, send a footman for me, and we’ll leave immediately.”

“I’m certain that Lord Lilford and I can be pleasant to each other for the length of a game,” Yasmin said. “I’ll join you again in an hour or so.”

Her grandfather snorted. “An hour? Is this your first scavenger hunt?”

“In France, hunting takes place on horseback.”

“A scavenger hunt sends people off to find useless items.”

“Why?”

“For the fun of it,” her grandfather said. “There’s usually a trumpery prize, but the real game is beating the competition. Takes a couple of hours at least.”

Giles emerged from the crowd, bowing before Yasmin and then before the duke. “Good afternoon, Lady Yasmin. Your Grace.”

“I’d better get over to the urn,” Yasmin’s grandfather said, eyeing Giles with dislike. “I needn’t tell you to keep a civil tongue in your head, Lilford. No working off your excess bile on my granddaughter.”

Giles bowed again. “I apologize again to you and to Her Ladyship for any offense.”

“Humph,” the duke said. “Well, I’ll be off, dear.” He nodded to Yasmin, gave Giles a final scowl, and headed across the room.

Yasmin felt unaccountably awkward. Not shy: she was never shy. It was just those stupid kisses in the garden that she couldn’t get out of her head. “How is Lady Lydia?” she asked when Giles looked at her without speaking.

“Thriving.” He cleared his throat. “She—we—would be very grateful if you could forget what you saw at the ball last night, and not mention it to anyone.”

Yasmin felt a stab of hurt. For all his assurances, her reputation as a malicious gossiper was apparently alive and well.

He took a step closer. “I know you wouldn’t tell anyone, but Lydia made me promise to bring it up.”