There was such desperation in her voice that his hands fell from her shoulders and she saw that there was a look almost of disappointment on his face.

“Very well,” he said. “Go now and we will talk of this matter later. There is no hurry, except for my own anxiety to have things settled. May I call on you tomorrow?”

“No. Yes. I-I don’t know,” Gretna stammered.

He laughed gently at that and, taking her hand, raised her quivering fingers to his lips.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long before you give me an answer,” he insisted.

He escorted her without further words to the front door. The footmen ran to lay down the carpet across the pavement and to open the coach door with its emblazoned crest and silver handles.

“Tomorrow,” the Marquis said softly and then Gretna was in the coach and he had turned back towards the house.

“Where to, miss?” the footman asked as he arranged a fur rug over Gretna’s knees.

Gretna looked over his shoulder. She could see that by now the Marquis had reached the front door and was stepping into the hall.

“Drive towards St James’s Square,” she said quietly, “but before you reach there stop at a rank where Hackney carriages wait. I wish to be set down and to hire one.”

“Very good, miss.”

The footman did not even look surprised. He had been well trained not to question the orders of the aristocracy, however fantastic their requests might be.

He closed the door and the coach set off.

Gretna lay back against the soft cushions and covered her face with her hands. What was happening to her? What had she been doing? How could she have permitted the Marquis to kiss her and to have made no protest?

And, what was more, he had offered her his protection.

She understood at last what he had meant and knew that she should be ready to die of shame. And yet she could blame no one but herself.

When Mrs. Merryweather had made the preposterous assertion that she was her niece, she should either have contradicted her then or explained later to the Marquis when they arrived at Stade Hall.

Everything would then have been different. He would not have expected her to dine alone with him. She would not have been found by Lord Wroxhall. She would not have laid herself open to the insults of both Noblemen such as she had endured in the last hour.

What a tangle it all was! And yet she had no one to blame but herself. One thing was quite certain – she must never under any circumstances meet either Lord Wroxhall or the Marquis again.

That should be easy, she thought. For when she was once with her dear Aunt Maria, everything would smooth itself out and there would be no need for any further fears.