The evening air was cool on her exposed skin. Far cooler than it had been when they’d arrived. She leaned over the rail, breathing deeply. Her eyes closed on a sigh.

It had been foolish to come here. Foolish to imagine she was well enough to dance with anyone, let alone St. Clare. Perhaps Fred was right. It was time to go home to Beasley Park. Time to resume the normal course of her life.

London had been a welcome distraction from reality. It was full of energy and industry. Alive with entertainments. But it was no place to recover one’s health. It was too dusty and dirty, the air filled with smoke and damp with fog. What she needed was the fresh air of Beasley Park. She needed to walk in the countryside. Perhaps even to ride again, if she could convince Fred that it was safe for her to do so.

Fred.

The prospect of a life spent under his thumb depressed her spirits. It would be no life at all. But many women endured worse. Many carved out lives for themselves in spite of brutish, bullying husbands. She was more equipped than anyone to do so. With her temperament and backbone, she’d never permit Fred to break her spirit, or to get the better of her.

As for the rest of it—

Maggie’s melancholy thoughts were arrested by the sound of the terrace door opening and closing again. Footsteps echoed on the stone as someone approached.

She went still, a shiver tracing its fingers down her spine.

It was St. Clare.

Chapter Fourteen

Maggie sensed him before she saw him, too afraid to turn and look lest he disappear in a puff of smoke. Indeed, it seemed like another dream. As if she’d conjured him out of the ether. A manifestation of her unrequited longing.

But he was no dream. He came to stand beside her at the rail, his body big and warm and breathtakingly real. His arm brushed hers. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“Nor should you,” she said with creditable calm. “Your partner will be waiting for you.”

“Miss Steele? She’s seated quite comfortably in the dining room. Lord Mattingly is looking after her.”

“I wasn’t aware Lord Mattingly was here.”

“He’s been in the card room. As have I, until the waltz.”

“Ah yes. The waltz. You dance it very well.”

He brushed the back of his knuckles over the small expanse of exposed skin that resided between the bottom of her sleeve and the top of her elbow-length glove. “I’d rather have been dancing it with you.”

Butterflies fluttered wildly in Maggie’s stomach. That anyone’s touch should have such an effect on her! “You might have been. If you’d asked me.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here. You said that you no longer attended balls.”