He was gazing into the fire. She thought that in repose his mouth was cruel and he could be hard and very imperative if he wished.

She felt herself shiver a little as if the thought of his anger had the power to disturb her. And then suddenly the look was gone and he was smiling at her.

“I am still trying to think how I can help you,” he said. “And wondering if amongst my many relations there is not someone who could offer you employment more congenial than that of Governess or companion. The trouble, my dear, is that you are far too pretty.”

“Too – pretty!” Gretna echoed and then her face seemed to light up. “Do you really think so? No one has told me that before – except Papa. Long ago before he was so ill, he used to call me his sunbeam. But then one can hardly credit all that one’s father says, can one?”

“Not all,” the Marquis agreed with a twist of his lips.

“Do you think that perhaps if I had nice clothes and if I had my hair dressed in a fashionable manner, I should look like some of the ladies in London whom one hears about? So beautiful and so elegant. Could I look like them – do you think?”

The Marquis’s expression darkened.

“God forbid you should! Remain as you are, unspoilt and untainted by what is called ‘Society’.”

He spoke harshly and then added sternly,

“Do not play with fire! The Social world is not for you. Go back to the country and make some honest farmer happy.”

Gretna bent her head to hide the disappointment in her eyes. She almost felt as if he had struck her, mocking her aspirations and making her feel a fool for what she had said.

And then, as if her chagrin communicated itself to him, he suddenly put out his hand.

“Come here, child,” he said.

She half-rose to obey him, slipping her little fingers into his and feeling the sudden warmth and strength of the hand that grasped them.

He drew her a little nearer and now she was beside him, half-kneeling at his feet, her face turned up towards his, her curls seeming to halo her head, her eyes a little troubled and her mouth drooping a little as if she was still smarting from the blow he had just given her.

“Gretna,” the Marquis declared and his voice was low. “I think we were fated to meet today. Do you feel that too?”

“I-I don’t – know,” Gretna stammered.

“You are so young and so helpless,” he said, speaking almost beneath his breath. “What will London do to you? Is it wise or right of me to permit you to go there?”

“Permit me?” Gretna questioned in surprise.

“Supposing I made another proposition to you?” the Marquis asked her. “Supposing I suggested that I should look after you?”

“But – I don’t – understand.”