She heard the screaming recede as the person ran downstairs and Carina wondered to herself why a woman’s voice in horror or terror was so unattractive.

Minutes passed and she did not move.

And then suddenly there were footsteps coming up the stairs and across the nursery floor and Carina knew who the person was before she saw him.

Lord Lynche gave only a perfunctory glance at Sir Percy.

He moved quickly to Carina’s side.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I shot him – because he killed my father,” Carina said dully. “My name is – Carina Claverly.”

Although she was not looking at him, she felt Lord Lynche start.

“Hugo’s daughter?” he enquired and in answer she bent her head downward.

There was a moment’s pause and she knew that he was remembering the headlines, the caricatures and the scandal sheets, the reports at the inquest and all the attendant horrors.

Then, as she waited, not certain what he would say, his voice – kinder than she had ever known it – said gently,

“You poor child! Why did you not tell me?”

She looked at him, surprised and at the same time feeling that he had pierced the coldness and the unreality that possessed her.

She met his eyes and for a moment they stared at each other.

“Why did he come here?”

The question was almost sharp. It seemed to Carina that it lay between them like a naked sword.

“He came last night,” she replied. “The door was locked. Tonight I found that he had taken the key.”

“The swine! I would have killed him myself if I had known of it.”

There was an unexpected depth of passion in Lord Lynche’s voice.

Then there was the sound of people running upstairs, of a woman speaking shrilly and men crowding across the nursery.

Lord Lynche put his hand on Carina’s shoulder as if to protect her.

As he did so, she felt as if a leaping flame awakened within herself. It flickered and then shot upwards in her body – burning, consuming and at the same time igniting her.

From being as cold as a marble statue she came suddenly to quivering, pulsating life with the blood flowing back into her cheeks.

She knew then that she loved him.

Whatever he might be like, whatever he had done and to whatever depths he would stoop, she loved him and every pulse in her body responded to his touch.

And because she was afraid of her feelings, she said,

“I have killed him – and I am prepared to pay the price.”

“Hush!”

It was a word of command but now, once again. Lord Lynche’s hand touched her bare shoulder and she felt that the whole world was lost in this moment of intense and ecstatic feeling.

“Good God, Justin! What has happened here?”