It was a pretty gown of pale blue silk sprigged with tiny flowers. It was a gown she often wore when she and Maria were alone because it was simple and easy to put on and because Maria had declared it to be her favourite.

‘If it is not the Captain, I will send for him,’ Gretna resolved. ‘I will speak to him very calmly. I will tell him who I am and – explain that there has been a mistake. He will obey me only if he is impressed by me. I must not look like a frightened child, but like a woman who is incensed by – the insulting behaviour of strangers.’

Now satisfied with her appearance, Gretna moved slowly across the cabin and sat herself down again on the couch, spreading her skirts out and linking her fingers together in a pathetic effort at looking relaxed and unafraid.

She had hardly done so when she heard the key turn in the lock and the latch was lifted.

Gretna looked towards it, her chin held high, her eyes steady and then, when she saw who had entered, she felt all her pretences drop away from her and the words that she would have spoken were constricted in her throat.

For it was Lord Wroxhall who came into the cabin, wearing a dark cloak, his thick sensuous lips smiling as if with pleasure at the thought of who was waiting for him.

If Gretna was surprised and dismayed to see him, it was nothing to his utter astonishment at seeing her.

For a moment he stopped dead in his tracks and could only stare at her ludicrously, the smile gone from his lips and his eyes protruding in their disbelief.

“Miss Gretna!” he managed to expostulate at length. “What in the name of Heaven brings you here?”

His surprise gave Gretna time to collect herself.

She had not expected Lord Wroxhall to be here in person even though she knew that it had been at his instigation that she had been kidnapped.

“I was about to ask you – the same question, my Lord. How dare you have me conveyed here – in such a manner?”

“But – you – you have no business on this yacht,” Lord Wroxhall spluttered. “Did they bring you – as well?”

“Not as well, my Lord,” Gretna answered, “but instead of – Mistress Fitzherbert.”

“This is nonsensical and insane,” Lord Wroxhall exclaimed. “How did you come to take her place?”

“I had no choice – in the matter,” Gretna replied. “When those hired assassins of yours covered me with a blanket and – carried me roughly to a waiting carriage, they imagined that I was Mistress Fitzherbert – when I was in fact but going to His Royal Highness – to explain that she was asleep and could not be disturbed.”

“Thunder and turf!” Lord Wroxhall exploded. “One could not credit such imbecility.”