Even more startling, she wanted him to do so. The craving burned in the depths of her body and thrummed in her blood.

She was half disappointed when he did nothing of the sort. Tightening his fingers, he boosted her onto the high perch to sit beside Leo. As Hadrian bounded up and took the reins, she was keenly aware of his side pressing into her. She promptly moved Leo in between them.

“You’ll be safer here,” she told the boy.

“So will you,” Hadrian murmured. “Especially as you’re looking exceptionally pretty today. The green is a perfect match for your eyes.”

A devilish smile lurked at the corners of his mouth, and she found her own lips curving up, too. If only he knew, she’d twirled in front of the mirror this morning, admiring the Pomona-green gown with its matching pelisse and trying not to feel guilty at the expensive gift from his sister. “Why, thank you.”

She turned her head away, hoping the brim of her straw bonnet hid the warmth in her cheeks. It was clear that he had not given up on charming her. Imprudent as it was, she felt an acute interest to learn his next maneuver.

Hadrian deftly guided the phaeton onto the street, and the rhythmic clopping of the horses’ hooves lulled her nerves. Proceeding past the square with its tall plane trees, they saw only two other carriages, but once on the main road, they encountered all manner of vehicles, from wagons to chaises to cabs.

“Can I—may I drive?” Leo begged, perched on the edge of the seat.

Hadrian cast an indulgent glance at him. “Not here, brat, there’s too much traffic. But once we reach Hyde Park, you may help me.”

Hyde Park. So that was their mysterious destination. She’d glimpsed the vast green space on the last leg of their journey into London, and it seemed the perfect place to go on such a fine, sunny day. In fact, she hadn’t realized until this moment what a gloriously beautiful morning it was, with a mild breeze blowing and the promise of spring in the air.

“What about you, Natalie?” he asked. “Would you like a turn at driving?”

She glanced covetously at the reins in his hands. Back home, before her father’s death, she had enjoyed tooling around Washington and Philadelphia in her gig. “Not now, but perhaps later, once I know my way around London a little better. Such gorgeous matched grays you have!”

Like any lover of good horseflesh, he launched into a recital of their superior qualities, from hocks to withers to flanks. Since her father had bred horses, she could easily hold up her end of the conversation. Soon, they approached a set of open stone gates that led into the park.

“This road is called Rotten Row,” Hadrian said. “In late afternoon, it’s crammed with horses and carriages as the ton comes to show off their finery.”

At present, only a pair of gentleman riders cantered far ahead of them. Tall trees shaded the wide, sandy avenue. “Rotten? But it’s lovely!”