Guy put up his hands in a defensive gesture. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to change anyone’s mind about literature, and particularly not your husband’s, he’s too erudite a scholar.” He turned to Diana. “How’s the mare doing, Diana? Is her trainer confident for the Queen Anne Stakes?”

Diana grimaced. “No one’s confident about anything, which isn’t good news for the bookies. Kimberley Diamond is untried on a major course, although she’d done well in the local races. But we’re hoping, of course, that she’ll spring upon an unwary public and astonish the world.”

“I look forward to seeing her triumphant,” Guy said. He turned to acknowledge the waiter who set a saucer with the bill at his elbow. “I think they would like us to leave. We appear to be the last holdouts.” He took a billfold from his pocket.

“No,” said Diana. “You can’t—”

“Don’t be tiresome, Mrs. Lacey,” he said calmly, laying a bill on the saucer.

Diana gasped in indignation. Her fingers twitched toward the plate and then she caught Petra’s eye. Petra shook her head and Diana closed her lips firmly and gathered up her belongings. “Thank you, Lord Ashton. You are too kind.”

He bowed his head with a pleasant smile. “The pleasure was all mine, ladies. It was a delightful surprise to find you on my doorstep.” He beckoned the waiter again. “Send someone to find a hackney for the ladies. Petra, I’ll walk you home.”

Punctiliously he handed Diana and Fenella into a hackney, his dark eyes alight with amusement as Diana bade him a stiff good night. “We’re hat shopping for Ascot tomorrow, Petra, don’t forget,” Fenella called as the carriage took off toward Piccadilly.

Petra raised a hand in farewell. “Do you like making enemies, Guy?”

“Of course not. But Diana should have known better.”

“You’re doing it again,” she exclaimed. “It was not your party. It was not your bill. We split restaurant bills all the time and have been doing so for years. And we would have been delighted to have bought you a cognac.”

“Yes, but you see I’m rather old-fashioned in such matters.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “I fear I’m too old and set in my ways to change now.” He took her hand and tucked it into his arm as they walked into the garden.

“That’s arrant nonsense,” Petra declared. “You fly in the face of convention all the time.”

“Oh? Do I?” He looked down at her, the moonlight silvering the shadows beneath the trees. “How so?”

Petra realized too late that once again she had ventured too far. How to extricate herself? “I don’t know exactly,” she prevaricated. “You seem to have a very freewheeling attitude to women.”

“Ah.” He paused on the path. “And how is that exactly, Petra?” There was a dangerous undertone to the question.