Philomena wanted to run but at the same time longed to stay. She craved the warmth of his arms but dreaded what would happen next. An intoxicating male scent choked the breath in her throat and her legs trembled. Delight turned to horror. She yearned to hold him close, to touch her lips to that pale, shocked face and brush away those wilful strands of hair. She stepped back, sick with despair.

“You care nothing for me.” Philomena threw the angry, bitter words into the cold air. Her voice shook. “My Lord Thatcham, you may be used to take your pleasure wherever you choose but believe me, sir, you may not take me.”

She stood a moment, hesitating and shaking, then stumbled away and ran on trembling legs, eyes blinded by unshed tears. She did not see the gate that rose up at the end of the path and ran hard into the gatepost. She gasped, winded by the impact.

Lord Thatcham grasped her shoulder. “You need not fear.” The words rang with contempt. “Rest assured, you will come to no harm here, despite your lies. What sort of woman can you be? I cannot read your mind, but no master of Thatcham Hall has forced himself upon any woman who does not wish it. You are quite safe.”

Philomena ran, tears streaking her face, back towards the safety of the Hall and John’s nursery.

Chapter Fourteen

As Philomena disappeared into the distance, Hugh felt sick. He shook his head, trying to clear it. What had happened? Had he been bewitched? The light, fading from the sky while the last crystals of ice in the shadow under the trees sparkled, diamond-bright, had charmed him. He had reached out to touch the strange creature who had invaded the tranquillity of Thatcham Hall. She had cast a spell on him with an air of mystery and secrecy. His desire had engulfed him, unexpected and confusing. He had forgotten his vow to put responsibility and duty before pleasure. He had made himself ridiculous.

It was the woman’s fault. She had deliberately enticed him to her, only to draw back. Nothing but a street urchin, she had somehow entrapped the master of Thatcham Hall. He would have no more to do with her.

He kicked with passion at the trunk of a tree and slashed at the hedge with a cane. Let the wench spend this day and the next at the Hall, as promised. Then she would be on her way. It mattered not at all, whether this so-called uncle existed. Hugh did not care what became of her. He stalked from the wood. It would be easy to overcome the flood of wasted emotion that had led to his foolish conduct. He would forget Miss Philomena within days. He strode towards the Hall, but with every step, the rage that had engulfed his heart subsided. Before he had covered a hundred paces, his fury had ebbed, leaving nothing but sorrow and loss.