‘Deb?’

Richard was behind her. She felt the warmth of his naked body against her, a counterpoint to the chill of the cool night air from the window. He slid his arms about her and drew her head back against his chest.

‘I woke,’ Deborah said. ‘It was so beautiful that I wanted to see…’

Richard’s lips touched her collarbone and drifted along the line of her shoulder. Deb shivered, but not from the cool draught. His hands spread across her bare stomach and she felt her muscles contract beneath his caress. When his hands moved up to her breasts she was already waiting for their touch and arched back against him, helpless in her desire. His cheek brushed hers, hard against her softness.

‘The night is not over yet…’ he reminded her, and her heart leaped at his words and the heated images they provoked.

He turned her into the window alcove, so that her back was against the hard stone of the wall, and kissed her until she was mindlessly adrift and lost in sheer bliss. He lifted her up and held her trapped between his body and the wall. She obeyed without hesitation his instruction to wrap her legs about him, sliding down to find herself impaled, senses utterly ravished at his deep invasion of her body. The stone was cold behind her, but the heat of his body scorched her. His hands steadied her, holding her still to meet his thrust. The shocking delight of what she was experiencing, combined with the insistent tug of his mouth at her breast, was enough to send her mind spinning away into silken darkness and she screamed aloud, wilting in his arms, shattered and pierced by the devastating bliss.

Then he took her back to the bed and kept her there until she had no notion of what was moonlight and what was breaking daylight, and was so lost in blind ecstasy that she did not care either way.


Olivia Marney was in her bedroom, sitting before the mirror whilst Jenny carefully unpinned the emerald-encrusted bandeau that nestled amongst her curls. It was very late and she felt tired. The evening, a dinner at Saltires, could not be accounted a complete success. Lily Benedict had been in a scratchy mood and had made several sharp remarks about Deb’s absence that evening and the coincidental disappearance of Lord Richard Kestrel. Fending off her barbs had given Olivia a headache, and her spirits had not improved to see that Ross seemed sunk deep in thought and barely made any attempt to join in the conversation. Occasionally he would look at her across the table, a deep impenetrable look that Olivia could not read. Until that evening she had thought that they had been achieving a better understanding. They had talked on a number of topics recently, including Deb’s supposed false betrothal and Richard Kestrel’s honourable intentions. On more than one occasion, Olivia had thought that Ross might even be intending to kiss her, for there was a certain look in his eye. He had not done so, however, and now he was not speaking to her again. She felt utterly cast down.

When they had returned to Midwinter Marney Hall that evening it was to find the servants in a panic for the second time in as many days. A message had come from Owen Chance that the smugglers and the revenue men were out, and they should stay within doors and make sure that all was secure. Ross had muttered something about going down to the farm to check that the livestock was safe and Olivia had watched him go in bafflement and not a little irritation. She had trailed her way upstairs to her bedroom and rung for the maid.

Now it was twenty minutes later and Olivia was in her petticoats, with a dressing robe over, waiting with ill-concealed impatience for Jenny to finish her ministrations. Whilst the maid fussed about her, Olivia’s ill temper grew until it reached epic proportions. All the exasperation she had felt with Ross over the past few weeks was growing into a tidal wave of frustration. What was the point of presenting an exquisitely prepared face to the world when her husband appeared to prefer the company of his pigs? Olivia picked up the pot of rose-scented skin cream from her dressing table and just managed to repress the impulse to throw it into the fireplace. So much for Deb’s aphrodisiac! It may have made her skin softer, but it had had absolutely no positive effect on Ross and what was more, it did not smell of roses at all but of a rather unpleasant hint of goose fat.

There was a discreet knock at the bedroom door. Jenny went across and, after a low-voiced colloquy, brought Olivia a note.

‘Excuse me, madam. Mr Ford says that this has just arrived from Mallow. He did not wish to disturb you, ma’am, but the boy said that it was urgent. He is waiting for a reply.’

Olivia felt a clutch of fear. The combination of Deb’s absence from dinner and the scare about the smugglers suddenly came together as an unspecified dread. She unfolded the note slowly and read it. Then she read it again, biting her lip as she did so.

Mrs Aintree’s words were both discreet and carefully chosen, but there was no denying their underlying message.

Mrs Stratton, she wrote, had sent a message earlier in the evening to say that she had decided to prolong her outing with Lord Richard Kestrel and that he would escort her back home later that night. She had not returned in time for dinner, nor by eleven, when Mrs Aintree had decided to retire. An hour later they had received the warning about the smugglers, and shortly after that Mr Chance had arrived at Mallow to tell them that there had been a chase and that the villains had opened the sluices on the Winter Race to flood the roads about Mallow and create a diversion. Given both the danger of flooding to Mallow House itself and the fact that Mr Chance wanted to check that none of the Mallow servants was involved in criminal activity, he had demanded-politely, but demanded nevertheless-that the household be mustered. Mrs Aintree had been obliged to comply with his request and summon everyone within the house.

And Deb had not been there.

Mrs Aintree wrote that she had passed the matter off as best she could by claiming that Deb was staying at Midwinter Marney with her sister. Mr Chance had accepted her excuses on Deb’s behalf very smoothly. But the truth was out.

Olivia put the note down slowly. She did not think that Owen Chance would be unchivalrous enough to challenge Mrs Aintree’s claim of Deb’s whereabouts even though he might believe it was not true. But the servants at Mallow knew that Deb was not there, and the servants at Marney knew she was not staying there…And servants talked. Olivia remembered Lady Benedict’s malice with a shiver. The scandal was out and it would ripple through the neighbourhood like a breeze across the river. It would not be long before the whole of Woodbridge would know that Mrs Deborah Stratton had been missing when a muster was called at Mallow in the middle of the night. Soon after that, someone-Lady Benedict, no doubt-would observe that had not both Lord Richard Kestrel and Mrs Stratton been missing from the dinner at Saltires, and how piquant it would be if they had been together…Engagement or no engagement, Deb’s reputation would be in tatters.

Olivia glanced at the clock. It was almost two in the morning and Ross had been gone a half-hour.

‘Where is Lord Marney?’ Olivia demanded, suddenly furious that Ross was not there to help her decide what to do at a time like this.

Jenny looked startled. ‘I believe that he is still down in the farmyard, milady. Should I ask Ford to send for him?’

Olivia made an exasperated sound. ‘I shall find him myself! Jenny, a pen and paper…’ She scribbled a note and thrust it at the maid. ‘Give this to the boy from Mallow.’ She pulled the remaining pins from her hair with impatient fingers, shook out her curls and thrust her feet into her slippers. Grabbing Mrs Aintree’s note, she made for the door.

‘I am off to find Lord Marney,’ she said, over her shoulder.

The maid looked astonished. ‘But, madam, your hair!’ she wailed. ‘Your slippers! The farmyard!’

But Olivia was gone.


It took Olivia ten minutes to walk from the main house to the home farm, which was close by. During that time she barely thought about what she was doing. She was fuelled by her anger with Ross and her concern over Deb’s situation, and for once she had thoroughly lost her composure. She arrived in the farmyard, panting slightly, and looked around for her husband.

He was not difficult to find. The door of the second pig pen was open and Olivia could see Ross leaning on the wooden rail of the stall. One lantern burned on the windowsill. Olivia did not normally enter the farmyard, for it was not only dirty but prodigiously smelly as well and the pigs were the worst offenders. Tonight, however, she had no thought for either the dirt or the smell. She erupted through the door, waving Clarissa Aintree’s letter agitatedly.

‘Ross, the most dreadful thing has happened-’

She stopped dead. The air was full of the scent of roses and two of Ross’s prize Gloucester Great Spot pigs were enthusiastically mating in the pen in front of her. Olivia gave a little squeak and covered her eyes with the letter.

‘Ross! Are you so depraved that you come down here deliberately to watch your pigs at sport-?’ she began wrathfully, only to break off as she heard her husband give a guffaw of derision.

‘Of course I do not, Olivia. What a ridiculous notion!’ Ross ran his hand through his hair. He was frowning. ‘To tell the truth, I have been worried about their recent enthusiasm for procreation.’ He nodded towards the jar that Olivia could dimly see on the windowsill. ‘Ever since you gave me Rachel Newlyn’s potion to help them with their skin complaint they have not been able to keep away from each other. I fear that they will be quite exhausted.’