Gretna heard footsteps crossing the room and then a door slammed and she realised for the first time the feeling of guilt that she had been eavesdropping.

It was not only that which made her cheeks so pale or her hands tremble visibly. She rose to her feet, wondering whether she should escape before the Marquis returned.

Then, as she stood irresolute, the door that was half-ajar between the rooms opened fully and she saw a man watching her.

“So this is what our friend Julien was hiding,” he said softly in that drawling oily voice, which she had disliked from the first moment she had heard it.

She turned to face him. He was obviously a dandy, but yet his figure had never intended him to be one.

He was a little hunched with his head thrust forward. He had glittering eyes beneath heavy hooded eyelids, a thick sensuous mouth and hands that seemed a little too big for his body.

He came towards her, raising his quizzing glass to inspect her.

“A beauty!” he exclaimed. “A beauty indeed. So this is why Julien is no longer interested in the fair Eloise!”

He came nearer and Gretna felt that she could not move, but only stand watching his progress towards her as if she was mesmerised. She hated the look in his eyes and his suggestive thick-lipped smile.

Then, as he reached her, he put out a hand to touch her chin and she winced violently away from him.

“Nervous?” he asked. “A filly that has not been completely broken. Lucky Julien to be the breaker.”

“I must ask you – to excuse me – my Lord.”

Gretna hardly managed to whisper the words. She did not know why, but she was suddenly frightened and her heart was beating almost painfully.

She would have passed him and gone towards the door but, putting out a hand, he took her arm and the touch of his fingers made her shiver.

“Not so fast, not so fast,” he ordered. “What is your name and where do you come from?”

“It is of no – consequence, my Lord.”

“But it is,” he answered. “The Marquis is a friend of mine and what interests him is always of interest to me. Tell me your name.”

Gretna tried to move away from him, but he held her fast.

“My name is Gretna, my Lord. And now will you please – let me go?”

“Gretna! A charming name. An unusual one. Were your parents married at Gretna Green?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“I might have guessed it. Something so beautiful could only have come from a runaway marriage or a liaison of great passion. But for your name I should have suspected you to be a love child.”

Gretna drew herself up.

“I think, my Lord, you – insult me.”