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She cleared her throat. “In my bedchamber, somewhat to my aunt’s dismay.”

“Does this feline have a name?”

Stella turned a little pink. “I have named her Specs, as she has dark circles around her eyes.”

He laughed. “Charming. I should like to meet her. Perhaps you might bring her to the next ball.”

Stella’s brows drew together. “Your Grace, I suppose we must partner during the scavenger hunt, but I would be grateful if you would refrain from asking me to dance in the future, as my aunt might be affronted if I refuse.”

Silvester blinked. In a wilderness of young ladies, he had always found Stella refreshingly conversant and interesting, so he never missed a dance with her, and often asked her for two.

“Are you offended because I laughed about Specs being smuggled into tea?” he asked.

“Certainly not,” Stella stated. Her expression was composed. She had poise, if not height.

But then Stella never greeted him with a longing simper; she had too much dignity for that. He felt a surprising pang at the idea she had taken a dislike to him.

He didn’t want to marry her, but he genuinely enjoyed her company. He couldn’t think of any other woman who would bring a yodeling kitten to a tea party. Of course, it was for the best. If Stella refused to dance with him, his mother would have to give up her marital ambitions. The dowager couldn’t ignore it if the lady had taken a strong dislike to him.

“If I may inquire, how have I offended you?”

Stella hesitated and then said, “I don’t approve of looking down one’s nose at others. Though I do realize that, for a duke, the opportunity must be nearly irresistible. After all, society considers everyone from an earl to a tinker beneath you.”

At that moment, the dowager duchess announced that Yasmin was paired with Giles, which was simple malice on his mother’s part.

“I like to think that I’m not particularly haughty, even given my rank,” he said.

“I expect one never does,” Stella replied.

Silvester didn’t have time for a lengthy discussion of his faults. Some deep instinct told him that he couldn’t allow Yasmin to jaunt off in a carriage with the Earl of Lilford.

Giles didn’t want to marry Yasmin. But at close quarters, experiencing the dazzling potency of Yasmin’s smile, the shimmering beauty that caught you behind the knees, informing you that there was no other woman like her?

Giles would succumb. Any man would succumb.

Or perhaps he had already succumbed. Silvester couldn’t help suspecting that his old friend’s obstinate dislike of Yasmin hid deeper feeling.

“Look here, why don’t we form a partnership with another couple so we can win the prize?” he asked, dropping the question of his arrogance.

Stella cast him an unfriendly look. “Are you certain that you should engage in the scavenger hunt, since your mother made up the clues?”

“Why not?”

She pursed her lips. “Fairness.”

Silvester’s eyes caught on Stella’s plush mouth, and he felt a flutter of disquiet. For God’s sake, he was in love—almost in love—with another woman. He had no right to be noticing Stella’s lower lip.

“I had nothing to do with creating the list,” he said. “My sisters are in charge and have been since they were young girls. Come along.”

Silvester threaded his way through gentlemen bowing before their partners and couples eagerly scanning the list of items, Stella at his heels.

“If we were in Ireland, I could find a rosary,” someone commented.

“Do you suppose they have an ostrich egg in the Tower of London Zoo?” another fool asked.

On the other side of the room, Silvester found Giles and Yasmin standing silently beside each other. He felt a pulse of satisfaction at Giles’s stiff expression. Being paired with a scandalous woman for several hours’ entertainment was the earl’s idea of hell.

Meanwhile, his mother had gotten around to announcing the prizes. One year she gave away a silk stocking filled with guineas. Why a stocking? No one knew.