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Lily paused. “Oh. Well… yes. Have
you
, Lady Clary?”

“Naturally,” Kilmartin said, a testing glint in his eye. “But I wondered what
you
would think of it, Miss Masters, as it is in your part of the country.”

“The sea…” she began hesitantly, glancing at Gideon for confirmation that Brighton did indeed include a sea. He nodded. “The sea air is quite invigorating. Papa takes us every year.”

“What is your father’s profession, Miss Masters?” Ah. Kilmartin was clever; it was another tricky question, one that could even be construed as an insult.

“Profession, Lady Clary?” Lily seemed gently puzzled. “My father hasn’t a…
profession
. He merely owns a great many things. Land and houses and horses and ships and canal shares.
Those
kinds of things.”

She concluded by lifting one brow, indicating the question was untoward—
gentlemen
did not typically have “professions”—but that she would generously forgive the asker.
This
time.

Kilmartin turned to Gideon then, a grin slowly spreading over his face as though they had all just bested a common foe.

“How—?” Gideon said to Lily, amazed.

“Stories. Not needlework, not riding, not archery. Stories.” The pink spots of indignant pride had faded and she looked—not smug, but definitely satisfied with herself.

And Gideon had to admit to a certain awe. It wasn’t difficult to imagine Lily in the doctor’s parlor, chatting amongst the doctor’s daughters like an ordinary well-bred young lady. Well, an ordinary young lady with astonishing eyes, and a soft bud of a mouth, and…

He wasn’t quite ready to cede victory to her. He pushed himself away from the mantel and paced a little, thoughtfully rubbing his knuckles over his chin. “All right, Miss Masters. It seems you
can
convincingly portray a refined young lady.” She frowned a little, objecting to the word “portray.” “But our goal is more complex…”

“What he means, Miss Masters,” Kilmartin interjected, “is that we need to convince Lady Constance Clary that she wants to marry Gideon, despite the fact that Gideon has no title, no property, and no money. And only passable looks.”

Gideon shot Kilmartin a wry look.

“You must be very much in love with her,” Lily said softly.

Gideon froze mid-pace. The word might well have been “treason” for how strangely provocative it sounded in that little room. And she’d said it so
easily
. Kilmartin, damn him, was looking at him expectantly, as if he too would have liked the answer to that question.

“You’ve been reading too many novels, Miss Masters,” Gideon finally said stiffly.

Lily still looked puzzled. “And you’ve no money? Haven’t you—I mean, you
must
—that is to say, this house is very grand—”

“Gideon spent his last thirty pounds on
you
, Miss Masters,” Kilmartin said.

Lily went very still, as though she’d stopped breathing.

Gideon felt his face warming.

“But your uncle… couldn’t you ask your uncle… ?” she stammered.

“My uncle hasn’t a spare sou. And besides,
I
never ask anyone for anything, Miss Masters.” He tossed her words to her, the ones she’d used on him only yesterday.

“That’s right,” she shot back. “You just get
pickpockets
to do the work for you instead.”

Gideon’s head went back a little with the force of the volley. He heard Kilmartin stir uneasily on the settee.

He regarded Lily in measuring silence again. She gazed back at him.

And then, seconds later, again: two slow, simultaneous smiles, pleased and wry, curved their lips, as though they had each passed some sort of mutual test.

And yet… Gideon still wasn’t quite ready to cede her victory. He had another test in mind.

“And if Lady Clary were to say to you, ‘Miss Masters, you’ve such lovely plump arms, that sleeve would
never
suit! Perhaps you should try a puffed sleeve instead?’”

“Does she
really
care so much about sleeves?” Lily was clearly bemused.

Gideon privately agreed that sleeves hardly ranked in the hierarchy of important things, but loyalty to Constance kept him from saying so. “Trust me, Miss Masters, fashion is an important battlefront in the
ton
, and Constance is Wellington.”

Lily pondered this. “Then I would say”—and she leaned forward, her tone sweetly confiding—“‘You’re absolutely correct, Lady Clary. Which is why my dressmaker is developing a
new
sleeve especially for me. ’”

Again:
brilliant
. A sleeve especially for someone else would drive Constance
mad
.

“Miss Masters…” he said slowly, shaking his head in wonder, “I believe… well, you do have the idea: parry everything. In other words, be yourself. Only with stories.”

Lily’s chin angled proudly again, and she allowed herself a small triumphant smile.

“But don’t forget, Miss Masters,” Kilmartin added mischievously, “you also need to pretend you’re utterly enthralled with Gideon in order for this to work.”

And then Gideon watched, with great satisfaction, as those fair smooth cheeks colored and her confident smile wavered a little. “I hope you’ve a book for
that
one, for I can’t imagine how I’ll do it.” She addressed this to her lap again; she’d lowered her eyes.

Kilmartin laughed.

“Oh, if you blush in just that way, Miss Masters, I do believe people will get the general idea.” Gideon’s voice was soft, amused. She jerked her head up and met his eyes; her expression was again battling between wanting to laugh and wanting very much to throttle him.

“Well, I suppose we just need to scrape off the barnacles now,” Kilmartin mused. “And polish the hull.”

“And how much remains of my debt, Mr. Cole?” Lily demanded.

Because he was feeling devilish, and because her breath appeared to be held, he made her wait for it.

“Congratulations, Miss Masters. You’ve only eighteen pounds to go.”

And again, despite themselves, they smiled at each other.

Unfortunately, Gideon wanted to begin scraping barnacles right away. He called it a “deportment lesson,” and he’d decided it should take place in a room featuring sturdier furniture and fewer porcelain things, since Lily would have to practice “walking” and he had no wish to completely destroy the blue room. Or so he said. He also wanted to see her curtsy.

Practice walking, indeed
, Lily fumed to herself. She likely did more walking in a single week man all of the young ladies of the
ton
combined.

But you walk like a thief, Miss Masters
, Gideon had said.

What could that possibly
mean
?

She supposed she had her own accursed pride to thank for all of this. It was the
look
the two of them, Gideon and Kilmartin, had exchanged that had done it, made her open her mouth and wager the ten pounds. It was as if they had been on the brink of giving up on her, as if she, Lily Masters, had nothing to offer them. And it had slashed her pride to watch Gideon Cole’s beautiful dark eyes regard her almost
pityingly
… As if she could never possibly measure up to that paragon, Lady Constance Clary.

She’d like to see Lady Constance Clary survive in St. Giles.

So now they were in the ballroom, a vast room filled with echoes and overhung with two enormous chandeliers. The floor was honey-colored and slick as a mirror, and Lily was seized with an overwhelming urge to slide across it in her bare feet.

Gideon wasted not a moment. “Miss Masters, will you do us the honor of showing us your curtsy?”

Lily sighed. She clutched fistfuls of her borrowed gown and ducked into a quick little squat.

Lord Kilmartin burst out laughing; Gideon shook his head sadly. “Miss Masters,” he said with exaggerated patience, “you are not lowering yourself over a chamber pot. The point of a curtsy is to greet a friend or new acquaintance. We must address your, shall we say,
form.”

“Er… Gideon…” Kilmartin sounded hesitant.

Gideon turned to him, a question on his face.

“Who will show Lily how to curtsy properly?”

Gideon’s take-charge demeanor faltered and he momentarily looked nonplussed. Lily was delighted; she didn’t trouble to disguise a smile.

“Well, I rather thought
you
would, Kilmartin. You’ve more female relatives than I.”

“But God knows, Gideon, you’ve been the recipient of far more curtsies than I.”

“But you’re… you’re closer in…
height
… to Miss Masters, Laurie.”

“Ah, Gideon, but you’ve considerably more grace than—”

Gideon sighed gustily. “Oh, for God’s sake, Kilmartin. We’ll
both
curtsy. Now pretend you’re a young lady. You can be… Lady Constance Clary again. I shall be Lady Anne Clapham.”

“How on earth do I get myself into these things, I ask you…” Kilmartin grumbled. But he dutifully rose to his feet. Clutching the hem of his coat in his hands, he slowly lowered his sturdy frame into an exquisite curtsy. “Good afternoon, Lady Clapham.”

“Good afternoon to
you
, Lady Clary.” Gideon, aka Lady Clapham, clutched the hem of his own coat and executed a curtsy so flawless that Kilmartin’s eyebrows shot up in appreciation. “And may I present to you my friend Miss Lily Masters?”

Lily decided watching these two men curtsy was almost worth being captured and dragged to Aster Park. The two of them were a study in contrasts: Kilmartin’s face a sort of pale square topped in fair cropped hair, his eyes a light blue, his lashes and brows barely a color at all; Gideon all elegant defined angles and dramatic darkness—the thick slash of his brows, his richly colored hair and eyes—against fair skin.

Gideon turned to her in all seriousness; apparently curtsies were an earnest business. “Miss Masters, when you make your curtsy to Lord Kil—er, Lady Clary, don’t
rush
through it. Pretend… you are…” He paused, his eyes rose to the ceiling in thought. “… Oh, pretend you are a… willow bending in the breeze.”

When Kilmartin snorted, Gideon looked a little discomfited, as though a belch rather than a pretty description had slipped from him. But truth be told, the image captivated Lily.
A willow bending in the breeze
… how
would
a willow greet its friends? Lily could not recall having seen a willow, but she’d read of them; her mind’s eye filled with lissome green branches caught and tossed by a breeze.

All right, then.

She gathered loose folds of her dress in her hands and dipped slowly, lowering her head to show Gideon and Kilmartin the part that divided her dark gold hair. She rose up again.

“Oh,
well
done, Miss Masters!” Kilmartin clapped his hands. “Fit for presentation at court.”

Lily smiled at him but then turned, reflexively, to Gideon; she could not seem to help it. Gideon was studying her quietly; she looked to him for approval—and
why
should she want his bloody approval?—but his eyes were unreadable.

“Yes,” he said softly. “That’s the curtsy you should perform each time, Miss Masters.”

“One barnacle scraped away,” Kilmartin said with satisfaction.

Lily’s lesson in “walking” was far less successful than curtsying, unfortunately. She’d discovered the extent of Gideon Cole’s patience.

It had a
very
short reach, his patience.

“What
is
the bloody rush, Miss Masters?” Gideon and Kilmartin had abandoned their coats to the ballroom chairs, and Kilmartin was sprawled across several of them, sweating. Gideon pushed a hand through his hair in frustration. The afternoon sun had found its way into the ballroom, and it picked out the deep reds hidden in his hair. In her mind, Lily began to list the colors: rust and bronze and copper and—

“Miss Masters, if you would
please
pay attention.”

Lily returned her eyes to Gideon’s face.
Bloody handsome tyrant
.

“You are not running from the watch or from an angry barrister whose pocket you have just attempted to pick,” he continued ironically. “You are entering a ballroom, or a drawing room. There is no need to
bolt
. And lower your chin, for God’s sake. You are not a pugilist.”

“Walking,” Lily said through gritted teeth, “is merely a way to get from one place to the other. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to prolong it.”

“Yes, Miss Masters, but walking is also a way to announce
who you are.”
Gideon waved one arm impassionedly. “How you
view
yourself in the world. The way you hold yourself, the way you move, how you occupy a space, tells other people a good deal about you, tells them
how
they should think of you. Listen to me: it’s
very
important, Miss Masters.”

Lily studied Gideon, reluctantly fascinated. Actually, she knew this to be true: this was how she chose whose pockets to pick.

Kilmartin’s stomach made a noise, something between a growl and a whine. “If you’re going to orate, ‘Gideon,” he drawled, ’I think I’ll go see about luncheon. “ He levered himself up and began pushing his arms into his jacket sleeves.

Gideon slowly lowered his gesturing arm and sighed, his shoulders slumping a little.

“Very well. I will join you, Laurie. Miss Masters has an appointment with Lord Lindsey, anyhow. And Miss Masters… after you meet with the dressmaker, if you would
please”
—he drawled the word facetiously—“return to this room for a dancing lesson?”

Lily struggled not to distort her countenance into a frown.
Maddening, bloody—
“It would be my
pleasure
, Mr. Cole.”

He paused then, and considered her a little wryly, as if deciding whether to say something else to her. He did. “And Miss Masters, some people
do
walk merely for the pleasure of it.”

“
Do you
, Mr. Cole?”

Gideon opened his mouth, and then closed it again, and swiftly turned away from her and collected his coat from the chair.

“You know where to find my uncle, Miss Masters,” he said.

The two gentlemen bowed to her and Lily, surprising herself, dipped into a beautiful curtsy in response. When she rose up again, Gideon’s eyes were on her, and she could have sworn she saw something flash across them, a hot flare there and gone, but then again, it could have been a trick of the light.