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lovely and enchanting Lili.”

Two
    A ROAR of approval filled the room. Lili blinked.
    Charlotte’s mouth fell open. She gaped at Lili, who seemed at a loss for words.
    â€œYou bitch,” Charlotte rasped.
    â€œLady Somerhurst, I—”
    â€œYou conniving little gutter-slut. You’ve been scheming against me from the first, campaigning behind my back.”
    â€œI’ve done no such thing. I never even wanted—”
    â€œLiar!” Charlotte flung the contents of her wineglass at Lili.
    A hush enveloped the room as all eyes turned toward Lili, who stood perfectly still in her ivory gown with its bloodlike stain, regarding Charlotte with remarkable calm. With a sad little shake of her head, she said, “I’d have stepped aside if you’d only asked.”
    The silence was punctuated by a snicker from across the room, and the observation that “Charlotte Somerhurst doesn’t ask—she decrees.”
    â€œShe’s cooked her goose now,” someone muttered.
    â€œBy my word, I shall lie upon that altar before
she
ever does,” remarked the pudding-gutted Bubb Doddington, to gales of laughter.
    â€œCharlotte—” Dashwood began, but the mortified Lady Somerhurst was already stalking out of the room, her train billowing behind her.
    â€œOh, Charlotte,” murmured Lili, shaking her head at the retreating woman. “Why must you do these things to yourself?”
    â€œYou almost sound sorry for her,” Elle said.
    â€œThere is a real person underneath all that paint and hauteur,” Lili said, “and a fairly interesting one, at that.”
    It was a testament to Lili’s character, Darius thought, that she was praising the woman who’d just called her a scheming bitch and doused her with wine in front of a roomful of people. She struck him as warmhearted and insightful. What on earth, he wondered, was a woman of such sterling qualities doing with a bunch of randy reprobates like the Hellfires?
    Lili said, “Charlotte was educated at one of the finest seminary schools in London—brought up there, actually, from about the age of seven, after her mother died. She’s the only female in this circle who’s got more than a smattering of Greek and Latin. Well, apart from myself, but don’t tell any of these horny goats. They wouldn’t look twice at me if they knew I had a functioning brain. Most of them don’t know B from a bull’s foot, and they prefer their women as muddleheaded as they are.”
    With a conspiratorial little smile, Elle said, “I daresay my stockings are as blue as yours, so your secret is safe with me.”
    The awkward interval that followed Charlotte’s departure was lightened when Dashwood turned to one of his companions at the table and said, “Whitehead, you scurvy old bastard. Why don’t you haul that withered arse of yours off that chair and lead us in that new song of yours.”
    The song in question turned out to be a stately English hymn called “Lo! He Comes,” its lyrics replaced with an outrageously bawdy tale of a man on a quest to cure his impotence through ever more inventive sexual escapades. Those who knew the words sang them with gusto, while those who didn’t howled with laughter.
    Dashwood, sitting at the table with a glass full of some sort of clear swizzle that was probably gin, had entered into a deep tête-á-tête with Lord Sandwich. With all the raucous singing, Darius could barely make out their conversation, which had to do with Charlotte Somerhurst.
    â€œShe’s always off the hook about something or other,” grumbled the earl. “Bloody shrew.”
    Dashwood shook his head. “This time it’s my fault. I should’ve warned her it was to be Lili. I’d meant to, but then came all that bothersome shit with the chapel, and it slipped my mind. I’ll talk to her tomorrow, bring her to her