Maggie’s smile dimmed. It wasn’t true, of course. How could it be? Even last night at the theater, he’d been in the company of beautiful women. “How long have you been in London, my lord?”

“A month, approximately.”

“And before that?”

He cast her a fleeting glance. “I was most recently in Italy.”

They passed through the gates of Hyde Park at a brisk trot, St. Clare’s bays exhibiting a forward-action that any connoisseur of fine horseflesh would envy.

Maggie unfurled her dainty silk parasol and tipped it back against her shoulder as she looked around. There were quite a few other carriages about, including a barouche occupied by three young matrons, and a high-perch phaeton driven by a gentleman who clearly had no idea what he was doing, but the traffic was nothing like it would be during the fashionable hour. “Why did you ask me to come at four o’clock instead of five?”

“Why did Miss Trumble respond to my note instead of you?” he retorted.

Maggie stilled, feeling a faint trembling in her stomach. “How do you know it was Miss Trumble who responded? It was signed with my initials, wasn’t it?” She waited for him to answer her, but he did not. Goaded, she said, “There’s no great mystery, I assure you. Miss Trumble often does little things to assist me if she fears I’ve overtaxed myself. She’s the best-natured creature in the world.”

St. Clare focused on calming his horses as they trotted around the young matrons’ slow-moving barouche. Once past it, he began to direct his team farther away from the rest of the afternoon traffic.

“When I invited you for a drive yesterday evening,” he said, “I was hoping you and I might have a bit of privacy. A few uninterrupted moments in which to talk to one another. It didn’t occur to me until this morning that at five o’clock, with all of the ton in attendance, privacy would be impossible. That’s why I requested that we drive at four. I hope the change in time hasn’t inconvenienced you too greatly.”

“Not at all.” Maggie expected he might say something more about Jane’s note, but he did not. With a sigh, she turned her head to view the passing scenery.

It was a beautiful sunny day with just enough breeze to rustle the branches of the trees. There were fewer carriages now. Fewer people. St. Clare was driving farther and farther away from the other inhabitants of the park.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

He eased his team down from a spirited trot to a brisk walk. “That little cluster of trees at the end of the avenue. It’s a distance yet.”