Kate stood very still, listening to his muffled footsteps on the soft mud and leaves, until she could only hear the sighing of the wind in the trees. Even now she could hardly believe what she had just heard. It was not an outright declaration of love, and yet it had felt as though Harry was laying his heart before her. She retreated to the privacy of her bedroom, but even then she could not escape from Harry Lyndon. The knowledge that she was sleeping in his bed, and that everything in it belonged to him was disturbing, and yet oddly exciting. When she climbed into the four-poster, with its matching tester and brocade curtains, it felt almost sinful. She cuddled down in the blissful softness of the feather mattress and pulled the coverlet up to her chin. Harry was well able to look after himself. He was heading into danger for the sake of another, and he was prepared to risk even more for her sake. She could still smell the masculine scent of him, despite the lingering prison odour, and the kiss, although brief, still burned on her lips. It felt as though she was being unfaithful to Ashok, although she knew in her heart that their love had been doomed from the start. Even so, she needed to know that he was safe and well, and, even more surprising, Harry knew that without her telling him. She closed her eyes and drifted into a deep sleep.

Despite Kate’s worries for Harry’s safety during the long sea voyage to India, and what might happen to him when he arrived there, life went on as usual at Warren House. No one, apart from Morrison, knew that Harry had come home, albeit briefly, and Kate doubted if anyone other than his mother and Annie would have been very interested. As far as Kate’s mother was concerned, Harry was the cause of all their problems and she would be delighted to see him sail away into danger.