She had dropped her cloak when she fell and it struck him that she looked like a flower that had been buffeted about in a wild tempest and had its petals bruised by it.

It was not like him to have poetical thoughts and, as he carried her to the top of the staircase, then along to her bedroom, he suddenly felt ashamed of his anger against anything so small and fragile and, as he now knew, very inexperienced and incredibly innocent.

‘This should not have happened,’ he blamed himself. ‘I should have prevented it.’

As he reached the door of Honora’s bedroom, he saw that it was ajar and pushed it open with his foot and carried her inside.

As he did so, Emily, who had been sitting in a chair waiting for her Mistress, jumped to her feet.

“What’s happened to Her Grace?”

“Your Mistress has fainted.”

He put Honora very gently down on the bed.

“Undress her and put her into bed,” he said, “and I will fetch her something to drink.”

“Oh, my poor lady!” Emily exclaimed. “Whatever made her faint?”

The Duke did not reply. He was relieved to learn that, after he had left the house, James had obviously not talked to the other servants but had remained on duty in the hall.

He went downstairs again and, as he passed the footman, he said,

“I gather, James, that you have not spoken to anybody about what happened this evening.”

“No, Your Grace.”

“I congratulate you on behaving in a most sensible manner,” the Duke said, “and I trust you to keep everything that occurred to yourself.”

James flushed at his Master’s praise and replied,

“I’ll say nothin’, if they be Your Grace’s wishes.”

“They are,” the Duke confirmed, “and I trust you, James, to keep quiet about it.”

“Very good, Your Grace,” James replied.

The Duke left him and went to the sitting room.

He hesitated for a moment, undecided whether to take Honora a glass of champagne or a glass of brandy and then decided that brandy would be the best.

He added a little water, then carrying the glass climbed the stairs slowly, thinking as he did so that it would be wise to give Emily time to get Honora undressed and into bed.

When he entered the room, he saw Honora’s gown lying over a chair. She was now in bed with her head resting against the pillows and her eyes still closed.

“Her Grace spoke to me,” Emily said as the Duke reached the bed, “but I’m certain she still feels queer.”

“I am sure she does,” the Duke answered.

He slipped his arm behind Honora’s head.

“I want you to drink a little of this,” he said quietly. “It will make you feel better.”

Honora’s eyelashes flickered and, as if she must obey him, she took a tiny sip of the brandy from the glass he held against her lips.

Then, as the fiery liquid burned its way down her throat, she made a little exclamation and tried to push the glass away.