“Good Lord, do they bathe in the stuff?” Michael asked, clearly trying to hold his breath against the scent of the elderly woman passing by.

Andrew cleared his throat. “One would think. Now remember our plan. You find Benjamin and the Lionesses while I dance with Lady Elizabeth.”

“Yes, I know the plan,” Michael assured him. “And then we’ll say goodnight to the family and be on our way. Believe me, the only thing on my mind right now is getting out of here.”

Andrew smiled at Michael and then took his leave to find his betrothed, Lady Elizabeth Crawley. The eldest daughter of the Earl of Devon, Elizabeth was a paragon of beauty and grace. Andrew admired her for her stunning looks, as did most gentlemen in London, including his brother. Much to Michael’s chagrin, Andrew had beaten him in the race for her hand.

Right now she was weaving in and out of a Scottish reel, looking as if she had invented the dance herself. Andrew leaned against the nearest column at the edge of the ballroom and waited until the dance was finished.

The waltz was next, after which he would say hello to his elder brother, Benjamin, and his sister-in-law, Phoebe. Then he and Michael would set off for a night of gaming, and who knew what else.

“Excuse me.” A small voice took him from his reverie.

He turned to his right to see a waif of a girl—well, woman, really—sitting on the bench next to him. Her hair was a fiery red, which was quite out of fashion, but her large brown eyes more than made up for that fact.