Pain sings through my hand and my heart is hammering as I swing back to find my bag lying, abandoned, on the ground and the thief gone. I snatch it up. Adrenaline thunders through my veins as I turn to face my assailant again, clutching the bag in front of me like a shield, poised to run or to fight if I have to.

“Stop, stop, for God’s sake!” he shouts, getting to his feet and holding his hands out in front of him in a sign of surrender. His nose is bleeding rather freely down the front of his white shirt.

I pause, thrown by his accent. He is, I realize, English.

“Who are you?” I demand, and I’m thrilled that my voice is only slightly shaky.

The young man straightens, scowling. “I’m Ben,” he says acidly. “And I can only assume that you are Beatrice.”

Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

“If you lean forward and pinch your nose it will slow down the bleeding,” I say.

Ben glares up at me over the top of my handkerchief. “Yes, thank you,” he growls, batting me away. “I don’t think any more of your advice is needed.” He is slumped on a bench in the waiting room. After the initial confusion, our various onlookers have departed, leaving me alone with Ben – the person who, it transpires, my uncle has sent to collect me.

“I’m only trying to help,” I reply.

“I think it’s a little late for that,” he snaps. “Perhaps if you hadn’t punched me in the face in the first place…”

“I have apologized for that,” I say, “several times, in fact.” I try not to roll my eyes. He’s been hamming up the very minor injuries that he sustained for quite some time. “No, don’t sit up straight yet,” I say firmly as he moves. “You need to give the blood time to clot.”

Now that the heat of the moment is over, I can see that Ben is younger than I first thought, perhaps eighteen or nineteen. He is handsome – tall and broad-shouldered with curly golden hair that flops over his forehead and, beneath the handkerchief, a perfectly symmetrical face. Symmetry is, as I understand it, very important when it comes to beauty. The young man in front of me is very symmetrical and very beautiful – and I rather suspect that he knows it.

“Anyway,” I continue, smoothing down my skirt, “it was more than a little bit your own fault, you know. What did you expect me to do when you appeared, looming over me and grabbing at me like that?”

This earns me another dark look and Ben whips the handkerchief away from his face, clambering to his feet. I eye his nose critically and observe that the bleeding has stopped.

“I was not looming,” Ben says with exaggerated patience. “I was trying to rescue you.”