Yet she had refused him. She had not even done him the honour of concocting a reason. Resentment overwhelmed Hugh. He would have done with her. There were plenty of other women in England and he would find one far better than Philomena. He grew hot remembering that foolish offer of marriage. He should have bitten his tongue. What in the world had made the Master of Thatcham Hall behave like a love struck idiot?

Philomena had bewitched him, where all other women had failed. She had taken advantage of his good nature and set a trap. Hugh had fallen headlong into the snare. He closed his eyes, dizzy and sick. What a fool he was.

Since his ill-fated essay into matrimony, many prettier, wealthier, more eligible girls had sought to win Hugh’s hand. He had withstood their smiles and curtsies with ease. He had learned his lesson. Once, he had allowed himself to fall into Beatrice’s trap, hoodwinked by her charms and flattery. Furious at himself for such a lack of judgement and appalled at the tragic consequences, he had vowed never to wed again.

Then, like an innocent child, as simple and naïve as John, he had opened his heart to Philomena and she had turned away: a cruel rejection of such a gift. Hugh ground his teeth. She had taken him in completely. With so much charm, such a generous mouth, and such blue eyes fringed by black eyelashes, she had ensnared him.

It was not just that unique face, though, that had beguiled Hugh. Philomena was a breath of fresh air. She dared to disagree with him. While all around treated him with obsequiousness, Philomena alone teased and scolded. An ironic twinkle lit her eyes as though she was always on the verge of bursting into laughter. She made fun of Hugh and showed no deference to any ancestral pride. Surprised at first, angered by such a lack of respect, Hugh had rapidly learned to love her.

Unlike every other woman, she cared nothing for her beauty. Philomena never simpered. She behaved as Hugh’s equal in every way that mattered, despite her dubious past. Hugh had begun to believe that at least one woman in the world was untouched by greed and selfishness. The scars left open by Beatrice’s treachery had begun to heal.

He was a fool: more than a fool, for trusting Philomena. He had not even waited to uncover the mystery of her past. He would put her from his mind.

Hugh gave the horse his head. He rode wildly; half hoping that disaster would strike. He urged Thunder on to jump higher and wider over fence, hedgerow and gate. The horse, ever sensitive to his master’s moods, hurtled through the countryside. Hugh would put as much distance as possible between himself and Philomena.