“You are well aware that it is.” Diana stepped to the pavement. “In fact—” Diana handed her reticule to Mrs. Oliver to hold and reached under her coat. With a quick flick, she undid the pin on her dress. “I believe tonight this should belong to you.”

She stepped up to Lord Bryant and reached for his lapel. He leaned back as if he were unprepared for her touch.

“It is simply a pin,” she told him. “Mr. Richardson came up with the idea. Whoever works the hardest is rewarded with wearing it home.”

“Work?” He raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t call what I was doing today work.”

She eyed his loose cravat. No, most likely it wasn’t. “If you don’t want it . . .” Diana turned toward Mrs. Oliver.

“I want it.”

She swiftly turned and snatched his lapel before she could think better of it. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His coat was made of fine wool. She grazed her fingers along the back of it until she found the best place to pin the little golden knot. She patted it into place once it was fastened. It had been too long since a man had worn the pin home.

Diana surveyed her handiwork. The knot was tiny on his tall, slender frame. “It looks good on you.”

Lord Bryant ran a thumb over the pin but didn’t reply.

“I expect it back tomorrow,” Diana said, and then took Mrs. Oliver’s arm. It would be dark soon, and they needed to head toward home.

Lord Bryant cleared his throat and fell into step behind them. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” Mrs. Oliver laughed. “Where else would we be going?”

“The night is still young.”

Diana scoffed. “Maybe for a man of leisure, but for Mrs. Oliver and me, we must get home to eat and rest so we can be ready to work in the morning.”

“Work, eat, sleep, then wake up and do it all over again. Sounds monotonous.”

She eyed his haphazard cravat. “Not all of us can live exciting lives like you, Lord Bryant.”

He looked down at his cravat and chuckled. Tidying it up halfheartedly, he motioned to his carriage. “Let me take the two of you home. It will give you a few more minutes of rest on this fine evening.”

“Won’t we be keeping you from your evening activities?”

“I have none planned. I was at home reading when I decided to rush over and pay you a visit.”

At home reading? She tried to picture him with a book. If he was truly only just leaving his home, why would his cravat be untidy? The valet of a baron would never allow such slovenly ways. She glanced up at the footman on the carriage, who was, of course, keeping a straight face. Like Lord Bryant had said before, if an untidy cravat distressed his footman, he wouldn’t be his footman, which meant his footman was most likely capable of not betraying any lies Lord Bryant might tell.