“Such despair is quite unnecessary, my dear Gretna,” he said at length. “We shall deal well together, I am quite convinced of that. You must have seen enough of the Beau Monde by this time to realise that young women of your sort are best provided with a protector. And I, if I may say so, am not only a very experienced but undoubtedly a generous one.”

“How dare you speak to me like that?” Gretna replied, raising her head, her voice vibrant with anger. “I am not a woman – of that sort and you know it full well. My mother may have eloped with my father – but my grandfather was a Nobleman and my father came of gentle stock.”

“And you, my dear,” Lord Wroxhall parried, “are the guest of the most notorious woman of ‘that sort’ in the whole length and breadth of the British Isles. Mistress Fitzherbert, mistress of His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales.”

Gretna bit her lip.

With the utmost difficulty she prevented herself from throwing the truth in his face and from telling him that Maria was married in the sight of God and in the sight of man.

What would he say if he knew that she was the legal wife of the Heir Apparent to the Throne, a wife who kept her Marriage Certificate a secret because it would harm the husband she loved too well?

“You see, you have nothing to say,” Lord Wroxhall sneered. “And so your scruples are unnecessary and as useless as your pleas for mercy. Let’s enjoy ourselves. Ah! Here is the wine.”

The servant came into the cabin carrying a silver tray on which there was champagne, a decanter of red wine and crystal glasses.

“Set it down,” Lord Wroxhall ordered. “I will help myself.”

“Very good, my Lord. The Captain asked me to convey his compliments and to say that a Revenue Cutter was signalling as to the name of the ship and your Lordship’s destination.”

“Tell them to go to Hell,” Lord Wroxhall snapped. ‘These Revenue Cutters are a flaming menace.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the man answered impassively.

“No, on second thoughts,” Lord Wroxhall said as he reached the door, “tell the Captain to signal that our destination is France. It is what they will expect.”

“Very good, my Lord.”

The man went from the cabin and Lord Wroxhall poured out a glass of champagne and carried it across the cabin to Gretna.

“Drink this, my dear. Perhaps it will warm your heart a little towards someone who is, I can assure you, entranced by your beauty.”

In answer Gretna rose to her feet and struck the glass from his hand. It fell to the floor and smashed into a thousand pieces.