She played for a moment with the idea of telling him about Lord Wroxhall’s bet to get rid of Maria and then she thought it sounded too nonsensical. After all he had been drunk at the time he made it or, if not drunk, in a state of having had too much liquor and more than likely he would have forgotten his bet the following morning.

It was quite obvious that he was powerless to hurt Maria or defame her so long as she had the protection of the Prince of Wales and his friends.

Equally Gretna did not underestimate Lord Wroxhall. He would be a formidable enemy and what was more she felt sure in her heart that he would never forgive her for having made a fool of him in front of the Marquis.

His own servants must have laughed as they carried her trunk higher up the square and to have been made a fool of was perhaps the greatest punishment she could have inflicted on him. She had been rude and yet he had smiled.

That in itself was sinister and made her feel apprehensive.

He would have recognised her long before he spoke to Sir Harry. He might well have seen her on other occasions, although she did not think so. And there had undoubtedly been surprise in his eyes when she had told him who she was staying with.

“Oh, promise to keep him away from me,” she cried again and Sir Harry looked down at her in consternation.

“You are not really afraid of the fellow, are you? I have never liked Wroxhall and he has a pretty unsavoury reputation where women are concerned. But he would not dare do anything to upset you. After all you have only to tell the Prince if he becomes obnoxious.”

“Yes, I could do that?” Gretna said, but somehow the words did not soothe her agitation.

She had a sudden longing for the Marquis and almost painfully the memory came back to her of the times he had saved her.

She could feel again the strength of his arm and the security of his shoulder as she had hidden her face against it in the small salon at Stade Hall.

She could feel as well the utter relief that had swept over her when she had seen him alight from his coach in Berkeley Square and had known that she need run no further and there was no question of Lord Wroxhall catching her.

‘If only he was here now,’ she reflected and then felt a sudden longing for him that swept aside all her pretence and all the efforts she had made to tell herself that she was not in love.

She loved him! She loved him!

There was nothing she could do about it and yet it was hopeless to go on pretending that it was not true.