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“All right, then,” she said finally. She plucked aside the hackney’s greasy curtain and looked outside. “We’re nearly at my grandfather’s house.”

An elderly butler ushered them into the Duke of Portbellow’s townhouse, creakily bowing to Giles as a footman took possession of Yasmin’s shawl.

“May I introduce you to my grandfather’s butler, Carson?” Yasmin asked. “Carson, this is the Earl of Lilford.”

The butler bowed again.

Giles nodded, trying to remember the last time that someone introduced him to a butler. The only butler whom he knew was his own.

“May I bring you tea?” Carson asked Yasmin.

“Do we have time?” she asked Giles.

“Yes. We made good time.” That wasn’t precisely true, but he had made up his mind that he had to prevent Napoleon’s hat from being flaunted before the dowager duchess’s guests. Yasmin didn’t understand how virulent London gossip could be.

If she presented that hat to Silvester’s mother, it would force the duchess to take notice of Yasmin’s connection to a man whom the British Empire considered an enemy. Even if Her Grace had wished to welcome Yasmin into her family, accepting the hat would put her own reputation in the line of fire.

Which led directly to one question: Why was Napoleon’s hat on the list in the first place? In all London, no one except for Yasmin could possibly own one. How had anyone known that the hat was in Yasmin’s possession?

The duke’s drawing room ceilings were extraordinarily high, as high as those in St. James’s Palace. Steep windows had been made to appear even longer due to complicated curtain treatments that looped above the windows and dropped in heavy swaths of sapphire velvet to the floor. The walls were entirely covered with gold frames, the portraits within so darkened by age as to be practically indecipherable.

The floor was cluttered with eight or nine small tables, randomly placed to form an obstacle course. They were surrounded by chairs decorated with gilt paint that caught sparks of gold from the sunlight coming through the windows.

“The hat is over here,” Yasmin said, heading toward one corner.

Giles followed her, threading his way among tables.

The skeleton in question wore a battered Napoleonic cocked hat, raffishly tilted over one eye. His only other garment was a British military coat; the gold epaulets on the shoulders suggested that the original owner was a major general.

“Is that coat from the King’s Dragoon Guards?”

“I have no idea. One of my grandfather’s many nephews was a lieutenant-colonel during the Battle of Waterloo,” Yasmin told him. “This gentleman wears Napoleon’s hat because my grandfather is certain that a just god will ensure Napoleon’s passing in the near future.”

“How will that make you feel?”

She glanced at him, looking surprised. “The emperor is an odious little man, and I won’t mourn him any more than will most French people. He didn’t destroy my parents’ marriage, but it wasn’t for want of trying. Hold my reticule, won’t you?”

Yasmin handed him a little purse. It was as frivolous and lovely as she was, woven of silk and metal thread in a Cupid-and-heart design, with green silk trimming.

“Pretty,” he said, turning it over. “I believe I saw you carrying this once before.”

“Isn’t it? I love that begonia silk. It’s old, and the clasp is not reliable, but I still carry it with me everywhere.”

“I thought begonias were flowers.” He turned it over again.

“I meant the color,” Yasmin explained. “Begonia is a special shade of pink. That purse is over one hundred years old.”

He glanced up to find her on her tiptoes, reaching for the hat. “I’ll get that for you.”

“No need. I have it.” She plucked it from the skull. “Here, why don’t you wear it while we have tea?”

“Certainly not.”

“So stuffy,” Yasmin said, pouting laughingly as she stuck the hat on her head.

To his shock, Giles actually had to stop himself from snatching her into his arms and kissing her. “Which table do you prefer?” he said, looking away from her before he betrayed his ungentlemanly inclination.

“My grandfather is a pack rat, so most of his furniture is old and spindly.” Yasmin headed off toward the other side of the room, where a daybed aligned with the wall. She sat down and patted the cushion beside her. “A man of your size might knock my grandfather’s chairs into splinters.”