Page 7 of The Art of Sinning

“I have yet to meet one. But I’m willing to keep looking, if only to prove you wrong.”

Jane uttered an exasperated laugh. “Don’t youwantto marry?”

“Not badly enough to settle for any dull gentleman willing to ask me.”

Oh, how she hoped to avoid that trap. Perhaps after the scandal about Samuel’s perfidy died down, things would be better. At twenty-four, she wasn’t getting any younger. Still, she refused to simper and hold her tongue to gain a husband. She was liable to burst into laughter if she even attempted it.

But Jane, who’d always been the perfect lady, wouldn’t understand that.

Yvette forced a shrug. “Besides, I’ve got a lovely fortune of my own and plenty to keep me busy. Why would I want a man underfoot?”

“Because life is more than charity work and dabbling in dictionaries.”

“Dabbling!” she said. “I’m not dabbling. Aside from attempting to add to Francis Grose’s deplorably out-of-date slang lexicon, I’m also compiling a list of new boxing words for Pierce Egan. He’s expanding hisBoxiana,and I’ve already found several terms for him.” Something occurred to her. “I don’t suppose your new husband would spend some time with me, adding to my store of general street cant.”

“Today?” Jane said incredulously.

“Not at your wedding, silly. But soon. I’m sure he could give me dozens of new words.”

“Hundreds, more like, though I doubt he knows any boxing slang specifically.” Jane smiled. “I’ll ask him. But it will be some time before we return from our honeymoon.”

Their hostess, the duchess, appeared at Jane’s side. “You must come, Jane. We need you and Dom to lead the first dance.”

“I’ll be there straightaway,” Jane said. “First I simplyhaveto go to the retiring room.”

“Of course,” the duchess said. “I’ll tell the musicians to wait a few more minutes.”

As Jane hurried off, Yvette’s spirits drooped. Jane was one of the last of her friends to marry. And though Yvette trulywashappy for her and understood perfectly why Jane had jilted Edwin, she’d been looking forward to having a female friend in the household.

Now it was just her and Edwin again. And sometimes the thought of knocking about Stoke Towers with her gloomy eldest brother until they both died was more than she could bear.

As if her frustration had somehow conjured him up, Edwin spoke from behind her. “Yvette, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Good Lord. He’d been trying to cheer her up ever since they’d arrived, and he was very bad at it. Heaven only knew whom he thought might serve the purpose.

Forcing a smile to her lips, she faced him and his companion—and her heart dropped into her stomach.

Standing beside Edwin was the most attractive man she’d ever seen: a golden-haired Adonis with eyes as deep a blue as the estate’s prize delphiniums. The man stared at her with an intensity that quite sucked the air from her lungs.

Heavenly day. He was tall, too, and dressed on the daring end of fashionable—in a brown tailcoat, a waistcoat of black cut velvet, and tattersall trousers, topped off with a bloodred pongee cravat. Interesting. And a decided improvement over the gentlemen Edwin usually foisted on her.

“May I introduce my new friend, Mr. Jeremy Keane?” Edwin said.

The man bowed. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Yvette.”

His deep voice resonated through her like delicious music. Even his accent was compelling. American, perhaps? Oh, she did like Americans. They were so refreshingly forthright. And used such fascinating slang, too.

She dipped her head. “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Keane.” But even as she said it, she put together the accent and the name. Oh, dear, he had to bethatMr. Keane.

As if to confirm her realization, the man raked her in a blatantly admiring glance. Arogue’sglance.

Not again. Why must she always attract scoundrels? And be attracted to them in turn? Hadn’t she learned her lesson with Lieutenant Ruston?

Apparently not, for Mr. Keane’s glance was warming her most scandalously. Curse him.

Edwin went on. “Keane is an artist from—”

“I know all about Mr. Keane.” When Edwin scowled, she caught herself. “From the exhibit of his works, of course.”