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S witch costumes ? After all the trouble she’d gone to?

“ No .”

“Yes. Don’t you see? He’s not at all foxed—barely touched that drink he threw at you—but he’s in a devil of a miff over the itching powder.

Any minute, he’ll pull Mama or Fitz over and accuse you of being me in disguise.

But if we switch now—what a scene you can make of it when he discovers you’re you.

He’ll look like a widgeon to all and sundry, and you’ll have him on his knees, like the worst sort of jingle-brain.

And it’ll spare you Mama’s wrath, as well. ”

Nancy thought about Simon with Miss Hazelton hanging on him, and that fortune-hunting gudgeon, Sir Percy. She’d already given her main performance. As Puck, she couldn’t do more than run in and run out for the rest of the evening before one of her brothers grabbed her.

As Hermia, she could stand regally and snipe at the Swilling Duke and his court, and the panniers would provide an adequate barrier against Sir Percy’s groping.

“All right,” she said. “We’ll do it.”

T he sound of a country dance reached Simon’s ears as he descended the staircase and made his way back to the party, a scheme in mind.

On the terrace, the dance had just ended. Cassandra spotted him and hurried over.

“Your costume,” she exclaimed. “What happened?”

“I found it didn’t suit,” he said, “but look, I’m wearing my mask.”

“I expected better from you, Swillingstone, and dash it all, I fear it may rain. Mama is inside arranging to move the musicians indoors after this set.” She glanced over his shoulder. “But look, there is Miss Hazelton, who turned her nose up at the costume I prepared for her coming our way.”

He took Cassandra’s hand and placed it over his arm.

“Then by all means, you must dance with me, Lady Saulsfield.”

Miss Hazelton frowned and joined the dance with one of the local men, and as she and her partner worked their way down the line of dancers, she threw Simon a saucy look and demanded the next dance.

“Tell her Nancy is your next partner,” Cassandra said. “Only where is she? I haven’t seen her dancing yet. Though James has flown through several times.”

“Puck?” he asked innocently, wondering whether she knew of her siblings’ deception.

“Yes. His performance was just brilliant, wasn’t it? So diverting, and nothing that I planned. Do not tell him that I complimented him though. He’ll be impossible for the rest of his stay.”

“Perhaps I should ask Puck to dance with me,” he said.

She laughed and tapped him with her fan, and then they separated for a turn with the couple across from them.

When the dance ended, Cassandra announced the plan to move the dancing indoors and the musicians began packing up. Looking around, Simon saw Miss Hazelton eyeing him. Footmen refilled glasses and the general tenor of the party grew more boisterous.

George and Fitz stood near the balustrade looking out into the darkness beyond the twinkling lights.

“What’s afoot?” Simon asked the brothers. “Guests misbehaving?”

George raised an eyebrow. “You changed your coats? And your shirt as well, I see.”

Simon accepted a drink from a passing footman. “Itching powder.”

George and Fitz exchanged grins, and both men laughed out loud.

“Did I miss a joke?” Sir Percy sidled up.

Just then, a figure in green bumped through them. Puck elbowed Sir Percy, jostled against Simon, righted his drink for him with a saucy grin, and then ducked away from the Lovelace men, snickering.

“Can’t catch me,” Puck cried.

The two boys wearing donkey heads dived between Puck and the footman juggling a tray.

Laughing, they veered off, one running to Cassandra, the other halting Miss Hazelton.

They tossed handfuls of white powder and flower petals upon each of their quarries.

Miss Hazelton’s tormentor dodged around tossing more powder, eluding the hands reaching for him, and laughing.

She fell against Simon, jostling his drink again. “Well, I never,” she said, and sneezed powerfully.

“I haven’t touched this.” Simon handed his drink to Percy, set her away from him, and pulled out his handkerchief. She took it and held it up to her nose, sneezed again, and then, eyes rounded, face turning red, choked, trying to hold back another series of sneezes.

“Catch him.” Simon flung out a hand toward the laughing Bottom, but the boy sped away into the darkness.

Miss Hazelhurst tossed the handkerchief to the flagstones, stomped on it, and waggled her hand. “A drink…”

Percy had taken a healthy swallow of the punch, but he gave the rest to Miss Hazelton, who quaffed it in one gulp and then choked some more.

George picked up Simon’s handkerchief, held it up to his nose and pinched his nostrils together holding back a sneeze. “White pepper,” he said, grinning.

“I’ve caught one of them.” Saulsfield had a grip on the Bottom, who’d left Cassandra in a sneezing fit.

“Your boy, Edward, Fitz, or my Lord Glanford?” George asked.

Fitz rubbed his chin, trying not to smile. “Devilish hard to say whether it’s your Arthur or our little brother, Edward. Let’s allow Saulsfield to do the unveiling. He can decide the punishment.”

“No,” Cass said, patting her nose. “Don’t punish him. There’s no harm done. Why, Miss Hazelton, it’s only a little sneezing.”

The heiress had found another handkerchief somewhere and had it pressed to her face.

Saulsfield pulled the tie on the ass’s head and lifted it off. “Lord Glanford,” he laughed. “How can I whip an earl, Loughton? He outranks me.”

Cassandra kissed Arthur’s cheek prettily and thanked him for adding excitement to the party.

“Earl or no, you must answer for this, Arthur,” George said, his voice genial.

There was no better person to raise a titled young man, Simon thought, and perhaps no better friend—if he could keep him—to help a new duke.

George eyed his stepson. “Where, pray tell, are your coconspirators?”

“Yes, where is Nancy?” Sir Percy’s eyes glowed under his mask, his stare more predatory than usual.

“I did say I wouldn’t tell, sir.” Arthur straightened. “But I didn’t promise . We were meeting under the big oak tree. The one at the edge of the garden.”

Sir Percy blinked and sped off.

“Dash it all,” Simon said, tearing off his mask.

Two pairs of hands held him back. “That was too easy,” Fitz said.

“I feel faint,” Miss Hazleton whined.

Simon shook them both off and ran. He knew that look in his friend Percy’s eyes. He’d pulled the battle-crazed dastard off a woman after a fierce siege in Spain. Percy would see soon enough that Hermia was a boy, and then what?

There’d been no battle here tonight, but… the drink. Puck—Nancy—had bumped into him and jostled his drink.

What in Hades had she dosed it with?

N ancy stood in a circle of lanterns and glanced up at the spot of white in the tree that was Mary.

“I hear them,” Benjamin said in a loud whisper, and Mary giggled.

Adjusting her fichu, Nancy straightened her back, wondering if James had put itching powder in the gown.

Underneath, she wore only the hoops and Puck’s trousers, James having worn his own slimmer trousers under the dress.

Now, without a chemise, which James had disdained wearing, the stiff brocade of the bodice and hastily pinned stomacher rubbed the sensitive skin of her shoulders and breasts.

In the few minutes spared her for dressing, she’d had a devil of a time shoving her long hair under the heavy wig. The blighted thing listed and swayed with each step like an ocean wave. How appropriate that her great-grandmother’s generation had topped their wigs with boats.

The music had stopped, and a drizzle had started. A pity that they couldn’t control the weather. The rain would diminish their audience and dampen the Swilling Duke’s embarrassment over their next prank.

“They’re coming,” James said, breaking through the bushes. “Strike your pose, Hermia.”

“Oof.” One of the asses collided with James. “Miss Hazelton is in high dudgeon with the sneezing, but the duke gave the drink to Sir Percy, and they’ve got Arthur.”

“It won’t be long,” James said. “Your pose, Hermia.”

A flicker of unease stirred in her. Nancy set her hands to the tops of the sidehoops. “What drink?”

Footsteps crunched down the gravel path. “Tell you later.” James grabbed Edward and they scurried behind the tree.

“You’d better,” she muttered, turning her attention to her role. First, she’d lure the duke into his egging and enjoy the spectacle, then the boys would distract him while she vanished into the night.

It was a pity she’d miss watching him return to the party with egg on his face, hair, coats, and anywhere else the minions could target.

“Here he comes,” Mary called from the tree.

Would Simon arrive alone, or would her brothers come with him? Or might they simply send footmen to haul Nancy away?

A gust of damp wind swirled around her neck and set her teeth chattering. Or was it her nerves causing the rattling?

She forced in a deep breath and held herself still while a bad feeling came over her and her feet itched to take immediate flight.

The approaching footsteps grew louder, and a man burst through the break in the hedge.

Fustian. It was that jackanapes, Sir Percy.

“Mish Nanshy.” Sir Percy halted a few feet in front of her, not quite in perfect range under the tree. He bowed, never taking his eyes off her, then he cast off his coat.

Goosebumps ran up and down her back. She should back away, make him advance; he deserved a good egging too. But apprehension froze her in place.

He straightened and slithered closer, unbuttoning his long waistcoat, yanking it off, and then proudly cocking a pose and pointing to?—

She gasped, confusion turning to indignation, and then to white hot anger that drove out any fear. How dare he . He couldn’t be that drunk or that dishonorable that he’d…

The aphrodisiac . She’d stowed the packet in one of Puck’s tunic pockets to keep it out of James’s hands and had forgotten to remove it when they’d switched costumes.