‘I hate him! I hate him!’ Gretna muttered silently and, passing through the salon, stepped outside onto a balcony which overlooked the garden where there was a fountain playing.

It was a warm night without a breath of wind. It had been extremely hot inside The Palace for not only were there crowds of people but the Prince insisted on having huge fires blazing in every room.

She stood and looked out on to the star-strewn sky where a young moon was rising slowly and felt her anger begin to ebb away. How big, how vast it all was, and for a moment she wondered why people should bother with such petty trivial things as hatred and intrigue when there were all the beauties of the Universe to charm them.

She heard somebody come out of the salon behind her onto the balcony, but she did not turn her head.

For a moment her thoughts were far away from The Palace and she was seeking Eternity amongst the stars.

Then a voice said quietly,

“I think you owe me an explanation.”

She turned at that, her thoughts returning to the mundane world with a sense of shock.

And then, as she saw who stood there, her fingers instinctively went to her breast as if she would quench the sudden leap of her heart.

The Marquis was looking magnificent tonight, she had to grant him that. He was wearing a coat of black velvet unrelieved except for a collar embroidered in pearls. Its severity made him seem unusually large and broad-shouldered and Gretna suddenly felt very small and vulnerable and altogether too weak to combat him.

She realised now that he had closed the window into the salon behind him.

They were alone on the balcony, which became a small room in which they were entirely shut off from the rest of the world. The voices of the Prince’s guests had faded into an indistinct hum and she could hear the splash and tinkle of the fountain below them in the garden.

She stood looking at the Marquis.

The moonlight was on her face, showing that her eyes were dark with fear and her lips trembled a little as she answered,

“I must offer you – my apologies, my Lord.”

“Who are you?”

The question rang out almost like a pistol shot and, because she felt that she could elude him no longer, Gretna told him the truth.

“M-my name is – G-Gretna Hayden.”

“Who were your parents?”

She felt this was almost an inquisition and yet he had the power to compel her to answer. She wanted to tell him it was none of his business, but almost in spite of herself the words came dutifully from between her lips,

“My father was – Captain William Hayden of the Grenadier Guards, my mother – Lady Rosemary Hayden.”

“Lady Rosemary Hayden! You are sure of that?”

“Naturally I know my own mother’s name,” Gretna replied.

“I am interested and surprised.”