It gave Maggie to wonder whether St. Clare had heard about her departure at all. Perhaps his visit was nothing more than the natural consequence of their romantic interlude at Grillon’s? A brief interview to ascertain that she was well, and that her feelings were unchanged?

“Miss Trumble,” he said, bowing. “Miss Honeywell.” It was impossible to tell that he’d been injured. There was no stiffness about his arm, no awkwardness in the way he held himself.

Maggie suspected that he was used to ignoring his pain. “Lord St. Clare. Lord Mattingly.” She curtsied along with Jane.

Lord Mattingly smiled, revealing a flash of perfectly straight white teeth. “I trust we’re not interrupting anything?”

“Not at all,” Jane said. “Do come in.”

Upon entering, Lord Mattingly wasted no time in singling out Jane for his attention. On her invitation, they sat down together on the sofa and commenced an animated discussion about the theater.

Maggie didn’t join them. Instead, she walked to the cushioned window seat at the far end of the library. Framed by heavy claret-colored curtains, the diamond-paned glass faced out toward the garden—a view that had grown dusky in the approaching twilight.

St. Clare followed her in silence, and when she sat down, he took an immediate seat at her side. “I came as soon as I could,” he said. “As soon as Mattingly was free to accompany me.”

“Do you think it makes any difference?” she asked. “This fig leaf of propriety?”

He frowned. “I don’t know. But I’d as soon not add fuel to the fire. Not until we know where we’re at.”

Maggie had a good idea where they were at. And it wasn’t anywhere she wished to be. Quite the reverse. She cast a distracted glance at his arm. “How is your wound?”

“Tolerable,” he said. “At present, it’s the least of my worries.”

She winced. “You saw the report in Bell’s Weekly Messenger?”

“I did. As did my grandfather. He’s none too pleased.”

“It must have been Fred. Who else—”

“It wasn’t Fred,” St. Clare said. “It was Lionel Beresford. He and his mother are intent on sowing doubt about my legitimacy. It’s the whole reason they’ve come to town. They’ll do anything to protect Lionel’s position as heir.”

“But Somerset? How would they know about it if not for Fred? If not for me?” Her heart ached as she looked at him. It had been less than a day since he’d admitted the truth of his identity. Not more than fourteen hours at the most. She keenly remembered how he’d held her in his arms and kissed her.

“My first love,” she’d called him. “My only love.”

And love wasn’t meant to be selfish.

She exhaled a tremulous breath. “I fear our connection has put your claim to the Allendale title very much at risk.”

His frown deepened. “Maggie—”