But it was the middle of May before he began to seek her out deliberately.

She was waiting one morning for her pretty little golden mare to be saddled when she heard his voice behind her. “Why, good morrow, your Ladyship! Are you riding so early?” He tried to sound surprised, but she knew the moment she looked at him that he had come purposely to meet her.

“Good-morning, Philip! Yes, I think I’ll gather some May dew. They say it’s the most sovereign thing in the world for a woman’s complexion.”

Philip blushed, grinning at her, whacking his hat nervously against his knee. “Your Ladyship can’t have need of anything like that.”

“What a courtier you are, Philip.”

She looked up at him out of the shadow of her broad hat-brim, smiling a little. He doesn’t want to, she thought, but he’s falling in love with me all the same.

The mare, now accoutred with a handsome green-velvet saddle embroidered in gold lace, was led out to where they stood waiting beneath the great trailing pepper-trees. For a moment Amber talked to her, patting her neck and giving her a lump of sugar. Philip then stepped forward to help her mount. She sprang up easily and gracefully.

“We can ride together,” she suggested now. “Unless you were going somewhere to pay a visit.”

He pretended to be surprised at the invitation. “Oh, no. No, I wasn’t. I was just going to ride by myself. But thank you, your Ladyship. That’s very kind. Thank you very much.”

They set out over the rolling clover-thick meadowland, and were presently beyond sight of the house. The grass was very wet and a slow-moving herd of cattle grazed in the distance. For some time neither of them found anything to say, but at last Philip called, happily: “What a glorious morning it is! Why do people live in cities when there’s the country?”

“Why do they live in the country when there are cities?”

He looked surprised and then grinned broadly, showing his even white teeth. “But you don’t mean that, my lady—or you wouldn’t be at Lime Park!”

“Coming to Lime Park wasn’t my idea! It was his Lordship’s!”

She spoke carelessly, and yet something of the contempt and hatred she had for Radclyffe must have been in her tone or in some fleeting facial expression, for Philip replied quickly, as if to a challenge. “My father loves Lime Park—he always has. We never have lived in London. His Majesty, Charles I, visited here once and said that he thought there was no finer country home in England.”

“Oh, it’s a mighty fine house, I doubt not,” agreed Amber, aware that she had offended his family loyalty—though she did not very much care—and they rode some distance farther without speaking. At last she called to him: “Let’s stop here awhile.” Without waiting for his answer she began to rein in her horse; but he rode several hundred yards beyond, wheeled, and came back slowly.

“Perhaps we’d better not, since there’s no one about.”

“What of that?” demanded Amber in half-impatient amusement.

“Well—you see, madame—his Lordship thinks it best not to dismount when we ride. If we were seen someone might misunderstand. Country people love to gossip.”

“People everywhere love to gossip. Well, you do as you like. I’m going to get off.”

And immediately she jumped down, pulled off her hat to which she had pinned two or three fresh red roses, and shook out her hair. He watched her and then, setting his jaw stubbornly, he dismounted too. At his suggestion they started over to see a pretty little stream that ran nearby. The brook was noisy and full, dark-green bulrushes grew along the banks and there were weeping willows that dipped their branches into the water. Through the trees sunlight filtered down onto Amber’s head, like the light in a cathedral. She could feel Philip watching her, surreptitiously, out of the corners of his eyes. She looked around suddenly and caught him.

Slowly she smiled and her eyes slanted, staring at him with bold impudence. “What was your father’s last countess like?” she asked him finally. She knew that his own mother, the first Lady Radclyffe, had died at his birth. “Was she pretty?”

“Yes, a little, I think. At least her portrait is pretty, but she died when I was nine—I don’t remember her very well.” He seemed uneasy at being alone with her; his face had sobered and his eyes could no longer conceal what he really felt.

“Did she have any children?”

“Two. They died very young—of the small-pox. I had it too—” He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “But I lived.”

“I’m glad you did, Philip,” she said very softly. She continued to smile at him, half in mockery, but her eyes were weighted with seduction. Nothing had amused her so much in over four weeks.

Philip, however, was obviously wretched. His emotions pulled him two ways, desire in one, filial loyalty in another. He began to talk again, quickly, on a more impersonal subject. “What is the Court like now? They say it’s most magnificent—and that even foreigners are surprised at the state in which his Majesty lives.”

“Yes, it is. It’s beautiful. I don’t think there can be more handsome men or beautiful women any place else on earth. When were you there last?”

“Two years ago. I spent several months in London when I returned from my travels. Many of the paintings and hangings had been brought back to Court then, but I understand it’s even finer now. The King is much interested in beautiful things.” His tongue talked but his mind did not follow it; his eyes were hot and intense, and as he swallowed she saw the bobbing movement of his Adam’s apple in his thick corded neck. “I think we’d better start back now,” he said suddenly. “It’s—it’s growing late!”

Amber shrugged her shoulders, picked up her skirts and began to make her way back through the tall grass. She did not see him at all the next day, for to tease him she pleaded an attack of the vapours and ate dinner and supper in her own chambers. He sent up a bouquet of roses with a formal little note wishing for her rapid recovery.

She expected to find him at the stables when she went out the following morning, waiting there like a schoolboy hanging about the corner where he hoped his sweetheart might pass-but he was nowhere in sight and she had a brief angry sense of pique, for she had thought him badly smitten. And she had been looking forward herself with some excited anticipation to their next encounter. Nevertheless she set off alone in the same direction they had taken two days before. In only a few moments she had completely forgotten Philip Mortimer and also his father—who was considerably more difficult to force out of her mind—and was wholly engrossed in thoughts of Bruce Carlton.

He had been gone for almost six months now and once again she was losing hold of him—it was like a pleasant dream recalled vividly in the morning but fading to nothing by noon. She could remember many things: the strange grey-green colour of his eyes; the twist of his mouth that always told better than words what he thought of something she had done; his quietness that carried in it the perpetual promise and threat of suppressed violence. She could remember the last time he had made love to her, and whenever she thought of it her head spun dizzily. She had a poignant painful longing for his kisses and the knowing caresses of his hands—but still he seemed to her like someone half imagined and her memories were small comfort for the present. Even Susanna could not, as Amber had expected and hoped, make Bruce seem any nearer or more real to her.

Amber was so absorbed that when her horse shied suddenly she grabbed at the reins and all but sailed over its head. Recovering herself and looking about for whatever had caused the animal’s nervousness she saw Philip—red—faced and guilty-eyed —astride his own horse near the three sentinel poplars that stood alone in the midst of the meadow. Immediately he began to apologize for having startled her.

“Oh, your Ladyship! Forgive me! I—I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’d just stopped here a moment to enjoy the morning when I saw you coming—so I waited.” The explanation was made so earnestly that she knew it was a lie and that he had not wanted his father to see them ride off together.

Amber regained her balance and laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, Philip! It’s you! I was just thinking about you!” His eyes shone at that, but she stopped any foolish comment he was about to make. “Come on! I’ll race you to the stream!”

He reached it just ahead of her. When she swung down from the saddle he immediately followed, making no argument this time. “How beautiful it is in England in May!” she exclaimed. “Can you imagine why anyone would want to go to America?”

“Why, no,” he agreed, bewildered. “I can’t.”

“I think I’ll sit down. Will you spread your cloak for me, Philip, so I won’t spoil my gown?” She glanced around to find the most pleasant spot. “Over there against that tree, please.”

With a display of great gallantry he swirled off his long riding-cloak and laid it on the damp grass. She dropped down easily with her back against the dainty birch, her legs stretched out straight and crossed at the ankles. She flung her hat aside.

“Well, Philip? How long are you going to stand there? Sit down—” She indicated a place beside her.

He hesitated. “Why—uh—” Then, with sudden resolve, he said briskly, “Thank you, your Ladyship,” and sat down facing her with his arms resting on his drawn-up knees.

But instead of looking at her he kept intent watch on a bee which was going hurriedly from flower to flower, caressing the surface of each, lingering occasionally to sip the last bit of honey. Amber began idly picking the little white daisies that grew profusely in the grass and tossing them one after another into her lap until she had a mound of them.