It was a military-looking man with a red face who spoke. Carina remembered that he had been introduced to her as Colonel Wakeford.

“You can see what has happened,” Lord Lynche replied coolly. “Miss Claverly has shot a man who deserved to die.”

Colonel Wakeford’s mouth opened in astonishment. He looked down at Sir Percy and then at Lord Lynche. It took him a moment before the name struck him and then he muttered,

“Claverly! I had no idea. Good God! What a mess!” The other members of the party were bending over Sir Percy and, after a consultation in low voices, Carina realised that they were deciding to lift him up and carry him downstairs.

“Shall I send the groom for a physician?” Colonel Wakeford asked gruffly.

Carina knew that he had deliberately refrained from looking at her and kept his eyes, as if with an effort, on Lord Lynche’s face.

“Yes, of course,” Lord Lynche replied, “send a groom.”

“He’s not dead,” remarked someone who was kneeling beside Sir Percy, “but he is losing a hell of a lot of blood.”

“Get him downstairs,” Lord Lynche commanded.

They lifted him with some difficulty, for Sir Percy was a heavy man and Carina thought that they moved like pall-bearers as they passed through the nursery and out of sight, leaving only a smear of blood on the floor to show where he had lain.

“He is not dead,” Lord Lynche told her quietly.

“But he will die – ” Carina said. “Send for the Police.”

He looked down at her and she felt her heart turn over because of the expression in his eyes.

“We will wait,” Lord Lynche said, “and see what the doctor has to say.”

He put out his hand as he spoke and she realised that she had been sitting with the pistol in her lap, her fingers still on the trigger. He took it from her and replaced it in its box that lay on the bed.

Then, as she rose to her feet, a little stiffly for she had been sitting there for a long time, he said,

“Come downstairs and let me give you a drink.”

“I want nothing,” she replied. “I have told you – send for the Police.”

“Are you that determined to be a martyr?” he asked.

“No, I am only trying to pay my debts,” Carina answered.

As she spoke, she moved across the bedroom into the nursery, going towards the fire and holding out her hands towards it.

The flames danced on her golden hair and cast a little shadow beneath the pearls that encircled her soft white neck.

Her fingers were steady as she held them to the blaze, but she felt herself tremble as she turned round to find Lord Lynche standing just beside her and watching her.

She looked up at him and looked away again.

She dare not meet his eyes.

“Why did you not tell me who you are?” he enquired.