“Of course not. Why should I do anything so stupid? I am only telling you how much I admire you. So much so that before your protector returns I am going to steal a kiss from that pretty red mouth of yours.”

He pulled her towards him.

“No! Please no!”

Gretna struggled so violently that she broke away from him and, running across the room, she stood with her back against the window, her arms outstretched to clutch the curtains, her eyes wide with fear and her breasts moving tempestuously beneath the soft muslin of her gown.

“Gad, you’re a beauty!” Lord Wroxhall exclaimed and then he started to move slowly and inexorably towards her.

He was like a hunter stalking his prey and enjoying every moment of the chase.

She knew it even as she stood hypnotised for one split second before she ran, speeding panic-stricken across the room to reach the door into the hall just as the Marquis opened it from the other side.

She flung herself against him, holding onto him, trembling violently in every limb and yet unable to say anything.

“What is this?”

The Marquis’s question did not really require an answer.

It was only too obvious what was happening with Lord Wroxhall moving across the room with a look on his face that no one could mistake and Gretna’s breath coming in gasps almost as if she was sobbing.

Slowly the Marquis put an arm around Gretna and then with the other hand he held out a note towards Lord Wroxhall.

“Take this and get out.”

Lord Wroxhall took it, the smile still parting his lips, his eyes full of evil.

“Accept my congratulations, Julien,” he said. “Your taste was always impeccable.”

“Go back to London and stay there,” the Marquis commanded.

“I will leave immediately,” Lord Wroxhall replied. “I am well aware that I am de trop. I can only apologise that I intruded at such an inopportune moment.”

He paused and then looked at Gretna whose face was still hidden against the Marquis’s shoulder.

“Au revoir, Miss Gretna,” he said. “I trust, indeed I am sure, that we shall meet again.”

He laughed once, a laugh without humour that was somehow sinister and, to Gretna’s ears, terrifying.

And then he was gone and the door closed behind him.

“Come and sit down,” the Marquis suggested. “There is no need to be afraid.”

He did not speak kindly, but with an icily repressed anger. His lips were in a tight hard line as he looked down at Gretna and his eyes were smouldering with rage.

With a tremendous effort Gretna managed to control the panic that still possessed her.

“I-I am sorry,” she said, stammering a little. “He – he frightened me.”

“So I understand,” the Marquis said. “He shall be made to pay for it one day.”

He then walked across the room back to the fireplace where they had sat before.