“I don’t. That is, I haven’t. Not since my illness. But Madame Clothilde made this dress for me, and I thought—if there was a chance that you and I—” She stopped herself.

“You look beautiful this evening. You always look beautiful.”

“How kind of you to say so,” she replied dryly. “And how spontaneous.”

“I mean it. I’ve never known any lady who shines as brightly as you do. When I saw you in the ballroom—”

“You may keep your compliments. Save them for Miss Steele, or whoever else you—”

“Miss Honeywell.” His voice deepened. “Maggie.”

“Don’t.”

“I want to explain. About Miss Steele. About my absence these past days. There are things you don’t understand.”

“Undoubtedly,” she said. His fingers fell from her arm. She felt the loss of his touch too keenly for words.

“My grandfather has very specific plans for my life. He doesn’t allow for any deviation. And I have deviated since coming to London. First by dueling, and then by paying court to you.”

At last she looked at him. “He classes courting me in the same column as dueling?”

St. Clare’s brows lowered. “Unfortunately, yes.” He paused. “My grandfather’s concern—his sole concern—is securing the title with as little talk as possible. He wants me to marry and sire an heir. It’s the only thing he can think of.”

“What about you?”

His mouth quirked. “All I can think of is you.”

Maggie’s chest constricted on a pang of unutterable longing. She so wanted to believe him. “I’d never know it. It’s been, what? Three days since I saw you last? Four?”

“And every one of them a misery.”

“Please do me the courtesy of being honest. You haven’t been miserable. You’ve been squiring Miss Steele about. All of London is talking about it. Even this evening, when you were waltzing—”

“That wasn’t real,” he said. “None of it’s real.”

“It looked very real to me.”

“It’s…it’s a game.”

Her brows lifted. “And what is Miss Steele in this game of yours? A pawn? A prize?”

“She’s nothing. Just a child. A silly, spiteful chit of a girl. I have no interest in her save pacifying my grandfather.”

Maggie hesitated to ask. “And what am I in your game?”

An inexplicable emotion crossed St. Clare’s face. “You’re everything,” he said. “Everything.”

They were pretty words. Just the sort designed to pacify a jealous female. Maggie didn’t want to believe them. And yet…

Every instinct within her told her he was speaking the truth.