“I shall catch you eventually,” he jeered and unexpectedly he reached over towards her.

She gave a scream and tried to run. It was too late!

His long arms had hold of her and now they prevented her from escaping. He was moving round the couch and had her once again in his embrace.

She struggled again, fighting against him, beating at him with her hands and realising as she did so how weak and ineffectual she was.

His eyes were afire with passion, his lips were wet with desire and his evil lust gave him an almost superhuman strength. She was helpless and he did not even feel the blows she aimed at him for his hands were on her and tearing at her gown.

And now once again his mouth had taken possession of hers and he was forcing her down onto the couch.

It was then, as she felt herself drowning with the full terror of what he would do to her as her heart thumped unevenly and, as the desperateness of her plight seemed to make her limbs turn to water, she heard the cabin door open.

Lord Wroxhall’s mouth freed hers and she gasped for breath.

She heard him mutter an oath of annoyance.

She turned to escape from him, putting her hands up to her torn dress with an instinctive modesty even while, in the desperateness of her plight, she cared for nothing save for the moment’s respite.

And then she saw who stood there, his broad shoulders seeming to fill the doorway and his head almost against the ceiling.

There was an anger on his face such as she had not seen, an anger that seemed to transform him for a moment from a man into an avenging angel.

“You!” gasped Lord Wroxhall.

“Yes, me,” replied the Marquis.

He walked across the room very slowly and then, before Lord Wroxhall could say anything more and before he could hardly move from where he was standing at the side of the couch, the Marquis hit him.

He hit him hard in the face with first one hand and then the other.

Lord Wroxhall staggered and fell to the floor.

“How dare you touch me!” he snarled. “If you want me to give you satisfaction, I will do so.”

“Get up!” the Marquis demanded. “I will take my satisfaction here and now.”

Lord Wroxhall rose to his feet and made for the door.

“Sailors! Captain! Help – ” he yelled.

But his words were cut off in midstream.

The Marquis hit him again and yet again, the blood streaming from his nose and one eye seeming to close up.

And then as he tried to stagger to his feet, he went down from another blow on the chin.

The Marquis stood over him and his face was no longer that of an avenging angel but that of a devil twisted into an anger and a fury that made him almost unrecognisable.