As she climbed into the first available hackney, Camellia’s heart still pounded at the dizzying exchange she had just shared with Lord Wainwright. She had not meant to disclose her uninspiring identity, but she was glad she had done so.

He’d already known.

She swallowed. For Lord Wainwright, it hadn’t changed a thing. For her, Lord X’s true identity was a bigger stumbling block than she had even feared. She had taken an enormous risk just to say goodbye in person.

Her chest tightened with worry. She cast her gaze out the dirty glass of the hack window at the congested city streets. She had escaped the scandal columns the night of her ruin. That had been miracle enough. What if she had been seen with Lord Wainwright in the park? What if he told someone the truth, or an observant passer-by managed to put it together?

What if, in her attempt to save her sisters’ reputations, she’d ruined them in the process?

Her fingers went cold. The moment the hired hack slowed in front of the Grenville townhouse, she leapt out and hurried through the front door and up the wooden staircase before her sisters could hear the gossip from someone else.

Both Bryony and Dahlia glanced up with identical startled faces when Camellia burst into their shared sitting room.

“I have a confession.” Her heart thudded so loudly, she could scarce hear her own pronouncement. “I won’t be marrying Mr. Bost.”

“Thank God.” Dahlia tossed a sheaf of papers aside in relief. “We can stop plotting how to kidnap you from Northumberland.”

Camellia was too nervous to take a seat, but forced herself to perch on the edge of the chaise longue across from Bryony. They should all be sitting down for the rest of her confession.

“I cannot wed anyone,” she forced herself to admit, “because I am ruined.”

“You’re what?” Bryony set down her violin with shaking fingers. “Who is this despicable cad who isn’t gentleman enough to offer for you?”

“He offered,” Camellia said quickly. “I said no.”

“You what?” Dahlia squeaked, her face a mask of horror. “You’re in no position to say no. Why would you do such a foolish thing?”

“That wasn’t the foolish bit.” Camellia took a deep breath. There was no going back. “The foolish part was… Lord Wainwright.”

Both sisters stared back at her in shock for a long wordless moment.

“I didn’t mean to. I promise,” she assured them, her face aflame. “We were both wearing masks and had no idea who we were with until it was too late.”

Her sisters’ jaws dropped in tandem.

Camellia’s cheeks burned. “I didn’t know. And I realize that makes me sound like a brazen roundheels. Masks on, gown off. I’m afraid it was… exactly like it sounds. The tension had been building for weeks. By the time an opportunity presented itself…” She cleared her throat. “If it helps at all, I believe Lord Wainwright was just as shocked to learn my identity as I was his.”

Both sisters blinked.

The first to regain her senses was Bryony, who tumbled off her fainting couch in peals of laughter.

Dahlia, however, did not join in the giggles. She stared at her elder sister as if Camellia had sprouted hooves and a tail.

“I’m sorry.” Camellia lowered her gaze. “I know you said you’d never forgive us if we so much as spoke to him. This is infinitely worse.”

“Infinitely better,” Bryony corrected, propping herself up off the floor. “What Dahlia said was that she wanted to take him down a peg. I’d say making him fall in love with you only to cut him from your life easily counts.”

Camellia’s heart raced faster. “He’s not in love with me. He’s an earl. A gentleman. He offered to marry me because he wished to do the right thing.”

Dahlia pursed her lips. “Wainwright may be an earl, but he’s no gentleman.”

“Deliciously not,” Bryony agreed, pretending to fan herself with her gloved hand. “You just said he didn’t know who you were. There was no need to be a gentleman. How ruined are you? If you made love to him at the masquerade—”

“I might have,” Camellia admitted, her voice strangled.

“—then there was certainly no expectation of proper behavior on anyone’s part.” Bryony’s eyes sparkled. “Wainwright has money, a title, good looks… He has never done a single thing he didn’t wish to do. If he asked you to marry him, he meant it.”

“Did you say ‘no’ because you meant it?” Dahlia asked quietly.

“I…” Camellia’s neck heated. “I may have said ‘no’ because we were caught.”

“Caught!” Bryony crowed in delight. “Why haven’t we heard rumor of the scandal?”

“Wainwright was recognized, but I was not. For now,” Camellia added with a wince. “If I align myself with him publicly, it won’t take the gossip columnists more than a single afternoon to determine that I was the mysterious lady in the earl’s bed.”

“It sounds delightfully sordid,” Bryony said in a hushed whisper. “I am impressed. Why don’t I ever get to do anything sordid?”

“You’re not trying hard enough,” Dahlia informed her sternly. “If Cam can bring the most infamous rakehell in London up to scratch, I shall be mortified if my baby sister can’t muster up a moment or two of scandal.”

Camellia’s mouth fell open. “You’re not angry? Either of you?”

“There’s nothing you need to apologize for,” Dahlia hedged. “I’ve forgiven the earl.”

Camellia and Bryony exchanged a suspicious glance. Dahlia not holding a grudge might sound positive, but was more likely to be a terrible omen. She had been known only to forgive after exacting revenge. Their brother’s left foot was still dyed purple.

“So you’re even?” Bryony pressed, narrowing her eyes at Dahlia. “Cam can have as torrid an affair with Lord Wainwright as she pleases?”

She frowned in surprise. “Cam doesn’t need my permission for a torrid affair. She shouldn’t require anyone’s permission for anything.” Dahlia swung her wide-eyed gaze toward her elder sister. “Cam, when are you ever going to start doing what you want?”

Camellia had tried that. It hadn’t worked. She gave a weak smile. “I’m the elder sister. It has never mattered what I want. Only what’s best for the family.”

“Of course it matters,” Bryony exclaimed. “That delicious man is in love with you!”

“He’s in love with Lady X,” Camellia corrected. “She never existed. Only plain old Camellia Grenville exists.”

“And what does plain old Camellia Grenville want?” Dahlia asked softly. “Spinsterhood? Northumberland?”

“The opera,” Camellia said softly. “Ever since I was a child, what I wanted most was to sing professionally. I knew I couldn’t have it, of course. A daughter in theater would ruin the entire family.” She laughed humorlessly. “So I fell in love with a rakehell instead.”

Bryony’s eyes sparkled. “If you want to sing opera and marry Wainwright, then you absolutely should.”

“I agree.” Dahlia leaned forward. “I’m pursuing my dream of helping London’s indigent girls find their feet. Heaven knows Bryony does whatever she wants.”

Bryony nodded earnestly. “Quite true. I’ve been rather worse than usual of late.”

“If the worst scandal you can imagine is taking advantage of your incredible voice and marrying the man you love…” Dahlia looped her arm about Camellia’s shoulders and pulled her into a warm hug. “I would never forgive myself for standing in your way.”

“It wouldn’t be my scandal alone,” Camellia stammered, hugging her sister back for all she was worth. “Your reputations would be ruined by association. The gossips will assume all three of us are fallen women.”

“Let them.” Bryony shrugged defiantly. “It was only a matter of time until I managed to ruin my reputation on my own. Your future happiness is a far better reason to get started.”

“I’m headmistress of a school for wayward girls,” Dahlia pointed out. “Not a convent. The only souls who believe me an angel are my students. I certainly cannot expect my own sister to be. In fact, I would be delighted to inform Mr. Bost that you must regretfully decline to wed yourself to a stranger.”

“Beast!” Bryony whacked Dahlia’s shoulder. “I shall be utterly disconsolate if I am not the one chosen to impart the marvelous news.”

“Then I must disappoint both of you wretched creatures,” Camellia said with a choking laugh. “Mr. Bost may not have chosen me for love, but he does not deserve to be treated shabbily. I shall pen him a letter at once, so that he does not waste a four-day trip.”

“And we,” Dahlia said softly, “are delighted beyond measure that you will not be wasting the rest of your life. You have too much talent and too big a heart not to use them both to their fullest potential.”

Throat stinging, Camellia embraced her sisters and did her best not to cry in their hair. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for them—or they for her. She loved them more than anything on this earth.

The most precious wedding present her sisters had given her wasn’t their well-wishes or the exotic gowns they’d commissioned for her to wear to the masquerade.

It was the freedom to decide her future for herself.