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Her father groaned. “No. That isn’t what I am saying.”

It might not have been, but that was precisely what she’d done.

She looked down at her lap.

“Marcia, look at me.” That gentle command brought her gaze reluctantly up. “Your happiness matters,” he said quietly. “Your future matters. You matter. And… running about with a cad like Waters… You deserve more than that.”

She frowned. “Andrew isnota cad.”

A muscle spasmed along her father’s jawline. “Do not think to defend him. Not to me. He is his father’s son.”

“If you believe that about blood, I’m my father’s daughter, so then we are a perfect pair, are we not?”

Her father blanched, his facial muscles twisting.

And thankfully, mercifully, they arrived home, saving her from whatever loving assurances he intended to give.

Hockley opened the door, and she hurried to take his hand and let him help her down. Rushing inside, she didn’t break stride, heading for the sanctuary of her rooms.

Her heart pounding, Marcia struggled to tug off her turban, and when she failed, she gave up and lay with her back against the door. This was bad. Very, very bad. Her father would never forgive Andrew for this. When it had been only Marcia’s fault.

A gentle knock sounded at the door.

Of course she’d be expected to speak on it.

Drawing in a deep breath, Marcia made herself grab the handle and open it.

A frowning quartet stared back at her.

Her siblings, Flora, Maisie, Lionel, and Clarion. All of whom had arrived sporting pretend weapons strapped to their waists.

Her siblings whose reputations she should have put first. Her siblings who would now have Lord Atbrooke in their lives, too. The marquess had insisted he’d stalk their house if the viscount did not pay.

“It is the middle of the night,” she said softly. “What are you doing up, little ones?”

“Flora woke us,” Lionel said in somber tones.

Clarion shifted on his feet. “What happened?” he whispered.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, in an attempt to reassure them.

“Then why are you wearing that silly thing on your head?” Maisie asked. “It’s really quite awful. Is that why Papa is upset? Because that’s whyI’mupset.”

A strangled half laugh, half sob climbed into her throat, and she buried it behind a fist. “It really is hideous,” she said, tossing her arms open.

Maisie came hurtling into the room, and Marcia caught her youngest sibling and held her close.

Clarion remained standing in the doorway, balling and un-balling his hands. “It was Thornton, wasn’t it? That’s why the whole house is awake.” With a black glare, he yanked out his weapon and pointed it at the ceiling. “IknewI should have called him out.”

Not releasing Marcia, Maisie glared back at their brother. “We agreed I was the better one to call him out.”

A familiar quarrel erupted amongst her siblings, who loved playing at dueling. Her brothers entered the room to debate Maisie over who should have that honor.

To be heard over the argument that broke out, Marcia raised her voice. “Thornton has done nothing… this time,” she allowed, and her siblings immediately stopped fighting and looked to her. “Furthermore, no one is calling anyone out.”But that isn’t necessarily true. Do you truly believe your father will let it go unchallenged that you were at Cyprian’s Den with Andrew, and in that bedroom, no less? With him kissing you?

Her stomach roiled.

“Marcia looks like she’s going to cast up her biscuits,” Lionel announced, sheathing his sword.