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Yasmin thought about the scowl on Giles’s face when he reprimanded her for mentioning Pepper’s reputation. His stance apparently had deep roots.

“She couldn’t deny her husband’s scandalous past—he was a thief, earl or no—but she vowed revenge on everyone who shared the story.” The duke cast down his half-eaten toast and barked, “Fresh tea.”

Noah, the footman charged with tending a small burner on the sideboard, carefully poured boiling water into a waiting teapot and placed it on the table, whisking away the lukewarm pot and both of their teacups.

“I used to feel pity for their son,” her grandfather said while they waited for the tea to steep. “The present earl, that is. You wouldn’t know it to look at him now, but he was a puny boy, with legs like sticks. He looked unhealthy.”

Yasmin definitely did not want to think about Giles being thin or unhappy.

“I have made up my mind to accept a marriage proposal,” she said, changing the subject. “It only remains to choose the groom, and though I am sad to disappoint you as regards my dance partners from last night, I actually believe I would like to marry an older man. One who is steady and unemotional.”

Her grandfather’s eyebrows flew up. “Indeed? In truth, I’d like to see you happily married before I shake off this mortal coil, and my nephew inherits the title. An older man, eh? How many proposals have I rejected so far? A couple of them were in their forties.”

“I haven’t yet met the man whom I can imagine marrying,” Yasmin said. It wasn’t entirely true, but some secrets are so humiliating that they had to be kept to oneself.

“Marriage is not about desire,” the duke said flatly. “Marriage is a matter of compatibility and prudence. Wanting to marry someone leads to disasters like that which has overtaken your mother. Having indulged herself in matters of the heart by eloping with a Frenchman, Mabel could not restrain herself when Le Chapeau knocked on her door.”

“Actually, Napoleon offered her an emerald in full sight of Joséphine and her ladies,” Yasmin said, fiddling with her fork. “I was thirteen and not yet introduced to the court, but the household talked of nothing else.”

Her grandfather shuddered. “Do not repeat that detail to anyone, child. Ever.”

“Mother is still in love with the emperor,” Yasmin said. “Her latest letter informed me that she is making a tapestry to celebrate his triumphs as Emperor of France. She plans to send it to Saint Helena to cheer his exile.”

“An unsavory subject,” the duke said.

Noah stepped forward to pour fresh cups of steaming hot tea.

Yasmin cleared her throat. “More to the point, Grandfather, I have a disgrace in my past as well.”

He smiled faintly. “Child, don’t you think I know?”

“You do?”

“Within a week or two, I received detailed letters recounting the scandal. Two years later, I learned you had returned to the court. I rejoiced at a detailed description of your exquisite snub of Hippolyte Charles. I have never been prouder of any family member.” Apparently considering the subject closed, he picked up his teacup.

Yasmin had to fight not to cry. Her parents had never expressed anything other than disgust for her stupidity.

The duke put his cup down before taking a sip. “Let me assure you that if that blackguard Charles ever broaches these shores, I’ll have a sword in his gut before he walks more than a step or two.” He leaned in. “I may be old, but I will avenge you, my dear, if I have the chance.”

She managed a wobbly smile. “He would never fight a duel over me.”

“Luckily, poverty is a revenge in itself,” the duke said, a twinkle in his eyes. “I made sure of that.”

“You didn’t—”

“Oh, but I did. I have many connections in France, even given all the unpleasantness, and it wasn’t hard to shear that particular ram. These days, with Joséphine gone and Napoleon in exile, the man can scarcely afford the pomade for those overgrowths he terms mustaches.”

Yasmin shook her head. “You are wicked, Your Grace.”

Her grandfather smirked and raised a finger. “Carson, where is that beer?”

The butler bowed so deeply they heard his stays creaking. “I shall visit the buttery myself, Your Grace.”

The duke turned back to Yasmin. “The lesson to be learned from dubious Frenchmen such as Napoleon and Hippolyte Charles is clear: one must never indulge one’s baser instincts.”

Or, to put it another way, no more waltzing with Giles Renwick, Earl of Lilford.

And definitely, without question, no more kissing him.