Every sinew of her cried out for the release that she knew she would find in his arms. When his lips found hers, she was lost. There was no resistance in her when he cupped her breast this second time. Her body quivered its need, sending the thrill of his touch zinging through her veins.

‘Can we get to your bedroom without being seen, my darling?’

His gravelly voice heightened the need in her. She nodded, her throat so tight that she found speech difficult. Her only thought was to guide Harold to her room. The fear she felt added to the adrenaline pulsing through her.

Her father was taking his rest, and the only maid in attendance would be in the kitchen, giving Cook a hand. It was the housekeeper’s afternoon off, and the cleaning lady had long left. No one would see them go to her suite of rooms in the east wing of the house.

When she opened the door to her sitting room, Harold made an approving sound.

‘This is nice, darling. Did you choose the furnishings?’

The remark brought normality back to her, and she wished he hadn’t made it, as the situation she’d put herself in became all too realistic, and a shyness that she hadn’t felt before enveloped her.

‘Yes. I’m very proud of how it turned out, as Mother resisted my choice. However, she loved it, once it was done.’

‘I’m not surprised, it looks very . . . chic, yes, that’s the word.’

The room now became Mags’s focus, and all the excitement that had gripped her and made her act in such an impetuous way vanished as she gazed around her. Yes, she had chosen well, if a little unconventionally, as she loved the effect of the moss-green furniture and pink cushions standing out against the background of the soft grey carpet and curtains. The cushions had been embroidered by her own hand with moss-green leaf motifs, and the occasional furniture and her bureau were in light oak, as opposed to the mahogany of the rest of the house, and gave the right finishing touch to it all.

‘Would you like to sit down and have some lemonade? I have a jug on—’

‘Darling, I’m not here for lemonade.’

The tone of his voice rekindled the spark of anticipation in Mags. As she turned towards Harold, he reached out and took hold of her arm, pulling her towards him. She caught her breath as he lowered his lips to hers.

But this time his kiss wasn’t gentle. His need spilled over, in a demanding, passionate probing of her mouth and a rough rubbing and squeezing of her breasts. This increased her sense of guilt at what they were proposing to do. She wanted – needed – his gentleness, not this display of animalistic fervour. Instinctively she struggled against him.

‘No, Mags. I’m not going to allow you to go back on what we agreed. We are here now. You cannot withdraw from me.’