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apparently in no condition to enjoy the rest of the ball. Shall I send a footman for your carriage? Or perhaps you’d rather we did this up right, and I’ll see her home myself.”
    Both Mrs. St. Claire and Mariah inhaled sharply atthat statement. Feathers, ruffles, chins, all trembled. The air around them expanded with the heat of their indignation. Ludlowe’s companion let out another high-pitched twitter.
    Rufus shifted his burden, drawing that delicious body more closely against him, and held up his hand. “I will, of course, call on Miss St. Claire tomorrow at the earliest possible convenience.”

CHAPTER THREE
     
    “O H , J ULIA , it was perfectly dreadful.” The bed ropes creaked as Sophia sank to the mattress to sit next to her sister. Julia had returned from the ball to find a red-nosed Sophia already in her night rail, blond curls straggling, dabbing at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief.
    Julia shifted sideways and pulled Sophia into a warm hug. “There, there.”
    How many times over the last five years had she repeated those very words, in this very room, still decorated in the pastels more appropriate for schoolgirls than grown ladies? Certainly enough to convince her of their uselessness. But her heart ached for Sophia, and the simple words, like an oft-repeated litany, seemed to lend comfort.
    Sophia sniffed against the pale silk of Julia’s ball gown. “I haven’t told you the worst. Mama claims I’ve been compromised.”
    Julia’s hand froze, halfway to her sister’s hair. “What?”
    “I fainted, you see.” Sophia’s cheeks reddened, and she kept her gaze pinned on her handkerchief. “That … that awful woman was more than I could stand, and … Surely you must have heard something.”
    “Not a word.”
    “Really?” Sophia raised her head and dabbed at her swollen nose. “Perhaps it will not be as bad as Mamathinks. If it’s kept quiet, there cannot be a scandal, and everything will be fine.”
    Julia tamped down the urge to sigh. Her sister was ever constructing castles in the air, the largest a monument to William Ludlowe that rivaled Windsor in size. “I must admit I wasn’t in much of a position to hear any gossip.”
    Sophia lowered her handkerchief and arched a pale blond brow. “Where were you then?”
    “On the terrace.” The second brow joined the first, and Julia hastened to add, “With Benedict.”
    Sophia threw herself back into the pile of goose-feather pillows. “Only Benedict. Still, the terrace.” She rolled to her side and propped her head on her elbow. “You must’ve been out there for quite a while.”
    “He had a good deal on his mind,” Julia hedged.
    “Like what?”
    Blast her sister’s curiosity. At least Julia had distracted her from her tears, but the truth would only release a new flood. She must dissemble, if only to spare her sister more pain. “Oh, the usual. He went on awhile about some horse he’d seen at Tattersall’s.”
    “How utterly boring.” Sophia’s look sharpened. “Are you sure that’s the truth?”
    “Of course,” Julia replied. Too fast.
    Sophia’s lips stretched into a grin. “If you ask me, there’s more to it than that. Come now. I tell you everything. Can’t you confide in me this once?”
    “I confide in you all the time.”
    “Not when it comes to matters of the heart.”
    Julia released a breath. She had good reason to keep such things to herself. The subject inevitably led to Ludlowe, which, in turn, often led to upset. Most evenings, Julia preferred not to encourage her sister’s
tendre
. Tonight, that went double. “Lord Chuddleigh made an utter nuisance of himself.”
    “Lord Chuddleigh indeed.” Sophia ran her finger along the lace edging of the coverlet. “You know, Julia, the more you dance around the topic, the more I think you’ve got something to hide.”
    She did, but not anything she wished to confess to her sister. “Nothing where Benedict is concerned.”
    Her smile