In contrast, Lady Yasmin’s scent clung to her skin, only perceptible during a waltz. In a perfect world, he would back her against a wall, and kiss her until she . . .

He cleared his throat. “You believe that my sister is ill behaved?”

Even to his own ears, his voice sounded unfriendly.

“I am not saying Lady Lydia is wanton. She’s scarcely out of the schoolroom. I’m simply telling you that her entire mind is focused on young men. For example, where is she now?”

“She’s dancing with—”

“Not any longer.”

Chapter Two

At the age of twenty-five, Yasmin considered herself an expert in that species known as “gentlemen.” Like a flock of chickens, they often clucked in unison. Like a herd of cows, they could be categorized by breed, or nationality. And like a sleuth of bears, they could be dangerous.

You should never underestimate a bear—or a gentleman.

Take her best friend Cleo’s husband, Jake Astor Addison, for example. When he looked at Cleo, his expression was absurdly loving. He crowed his feelings to the world. He came from America, a country that famously produced herds of rough-hewn gentlemen. And finally, he was dangerous. When he walked down a London street, people instinctively moved to the side.

Giles Renwick, Earl of Lilford, was censorious, buttoned down, and unsurprising. In a flock of British aristocrats, he blended right in. True, he was more beautiful than the average English gentleman, given his white-blond hair and eyes that glinted silver by candlelight, but one did occasionally see a particularly handsome Hereford. Yet there was a steely core to him, a chilly gaze that spoke of power and privilege, but also inner strength.

That wasn’t what made him dangerous to her, though.

She kept imagining that a different Giles was hidden under his starched exterior: a man who was loyal and thoughtful, whose sense of humor paired with a deep capacity for passion. Who would love a woman all the days of his life. Sometimes she fancied she saw raw desire in his eyes, and she couldn’t stop herself from responding like a cat basking in a ray of sunshine.

Consequently, she spent many futile hours attempting to lure out that Giles. She tried to amuse him and failing that, to irritate him. Even so, every time he looked at her with antipathy, it hurt her feelings. She was an idiot. She was responsible for her own bruised emotions since she constantly poked at him.

One didn’t poke a bear. Everyone knew that.

But she couldn’t stop herself. “Lady Lydia is no longer in the ballroom,” Yasmin told him now.

“Are you certain?” Giles replied, his voice edging into a growl as he looked about. In her head, she thought of him as Giles, even though he punctiliously addressed her as Lady Yasmin.

Lady Lydia should be easy to spot, as her head resembled a dandelion, but Giles wouldn’t find her. In the past few weeks, Yasmin had seen the girl slip away many times, in company with various gentlemen.