‘So you are going to leave your mill to sink under your ailing uncle?’ This wasn’t what Mags wanted to say; she wanted to scream at him, and to know why Harold didn’t want to spend more time with her. Her heart was breaking with the realization that he truly did think of her as an acquisition, and if he couldn’t have her yet, then he would carry on without her until he could.

‘I’ll appoint a good manager. There must be such men. Maybe you could help with that? Yes, I could leave that to you, as you will know who is suitable.’

‘And me? Have you no desire to be with me?’

‘Desire is the reason I have to leave. Being around you and not being able to . . . well, I daren’t even kiss you, as you awaken such feelings in me. But you won’t go against your father’s wishes and continue with our wedding plans, so I must distance myself from you.’

Though these words were said in a temper, Mags felt her heart lift. ‘Oh, Harold, I . . . well, I feel the same.’

Harold stood. He’d been sitting cross-legged on the deep-maroon Queen Anne couch that sat in the bay window of the lovely, restful sitting room. Mags was struck by how his handsome presence graced the room. She caught her breath at the beautiful picture he presented. His tread was soft on the deep pile of the carpet as he crossed over to where she stood. His arms opened.

Mags melted into his warm, lean body. His eyes looked deep into hers. Sometimes a steely blue, they were softened now by their enlarged pupils and held a yearning that she responded to. A feeling overcame her as he lowered his head and she could feel his breath on her face.

‘Oh, Mags, Mags . . .’

His lips burned her, his tongue tantalized her, his hands caressed her back and then . . . She pulled away, as much from the intense sensation that his touch on her breast had aroused as from fear.

‘Mags, don’t. Don’t resist me. If we could . . . well, be to each other – and give to each other – everything that a man and wife should, I wouldn’t go away. I would stay by your side. Don’t you want that?’

‘I – I do, but . . .’

He pulled her into his body once more and held her tightly. She could feel his desire pressed against her. Fear vied with the thrill of it. Fear at how painful the rape had been; fear at her deceit in allowing Harold to assume her to be a virgin; and, yes, fear that she would be with child before marriage.

‘My darling, I must have you – I must.’ His hand stroking her hair felt such a tender, loving action. ‘Don’t be afraid. I will be gentle, and I will make sure you don’t become pregnant until we are married.’