Rebecca nodded thoughtfully. Her grandfather had told her about the hardships of poverty. “I knew Grandfather would never have allowed such fines, but as I knew he had not taken an active role in the mill for some time I wondered...”

“Whether I would have been a slave-driver?” asked Joshua with a lift of his eyebrows.

“Not a slave-driver,” said Rebecca. “I know that Grandfather would not have left you in charge if you had been that. But a hard taskmaster, perhaps.”

“I am a hard man,” he acknowledged, “but I am not a monster — as I hope you will soon discover.”

His eyes washed over her disturbingly, and she was pleased when Charles spoke.

“It looks like you two have more in common than you thought,” he remarked.

Rebecca nodded. She had wondered, when she had become aware of Joshua's ruthless streak, just how far this would carry him in his running of the mill, and she had been prepared to stand up to him. But she was pleased to learn that, although he undoubtedly had a ruthless streak — and, in business, she knew, a ruthless streak was necessary — it was tempered by fairness.

Joshua, she was learning, was a man she could respect.

“Still, the mill needs to be profitable,” remarked Charles.

“And I mean it to be.” Joshua took his eyes reluctantly away from Rebecca and gave his attention to Charles. “But not at the expense of other people's misery. There is no reason why the mill can't be run in a civilised manner and still show a healthy profit.”

“It's a good thing you two see eye to eye,” said Charles, blissfully unaware of the fact that on everything else they were at daggers drawn. “It doesn't do for partners to be always falling out. It's bad for business. But it seems that my father knew what he was doing when he left you each half of the mill.”

“You don't mind him having left the mill to us?” asked Joshua, looking at Charles.

“Not a bit of it,” said Charles, holding out his hands to warm them in front of the fire. “In fact, I'm glad he did. I've no head for business.”

“Nonsense, Charles,” said Hetty loyally.

Charles smiled. “I'm good enough at managing the property my father left me, but I wouldn't have liked to learn about something new. And besides, the mill is so far north it would have been impossible for me to keep an eye on it. An absent owner is never a good idea. As you say, it provides an opportunity for a corrupt manager to operate undetected. No, I didn't want the mill. It would have been a burden to me.”

The door opened and dinner was announced.

Charles gave Rebecca his arm, and Joshua offered his arm to Hetty.

Rebecca breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness! The custom that did not allow wives and husbands to go in to dinner together had served her well tonight.

They went through into the dining-room, an elegant high-ceilinged apartment decorated in duck-egg blue. White mouldings adorned the walls, and their brightness was echoed by an Adam fireplace, which was decorated by a line of dancing nymphs. In the grate burned a roaring fire.

Hetty indicated their places, and they took their seats at the long mahogany table. A group of candles were lit in the centre, casting their sparkling light over the glass and silverware. It was a most attractive sight.

Hetty looked a little anxious as the soup was brought in, but the first mouthful showed it to be good and hot and Rebecca saw her relax.

Good! thought Rebecca. At least Hetty will be able to enjoy the evening!

“Do you know,” began Charles, once he had taken the edge off his appetite, “I think —”

But whatever Charles had been about to say was lost for ever as there was a sudden crash and something came hurtling through the window, narrowly missing Joshua's head. It passed over his left shoulder and landed with a splash in his soup.

“What. . . ?” asked Rebecca, aghast.

She looked at Joshua, relieved to see he had not been hurt. If the stone — for a stone she could now see it to be — had been an inch to the right it would have struck him forcibly on the back of the head.

Joshua, throwing down his napkin, was already striding over to the window and looking out onto the lamplit street.

“Do you see anything?” asked Rebecca, joining him.

But as she looked out of the window she could see as well as he could that the street was empty.

“No. Nothing.” Joshua's voice was grim.

“Oh! How dreadful!” said Hetty. “Lady Cranston was telling me only last night that her own house had been burgled just before Christmas, and now our house has been attacked. I don't know what is happening to the world these days. It was never like this when I was a girl.”

Behind her, Rebecca heard Charles calling for the footmen as he gathered a party together and went outside in order to search for the miscreants.

And then she felt Joshua put his arm round her shoulder and steer her away from the window. As he did so his arm grazed her skin where, above her long white evening gloves and beneath the short, puffed sleeves of her gown, it was bare. She felt a shiver run up her arm and spread throughout her body. Instinctively she turned to look at him, lips parted, and he, feeling her reaction to his touch, turned towards her, eyes smouldering. There was a look of desire on his face that set her pulses racing. A desire that, alarmingly, was matched by an equally fierce desire of her own.

How had it happened? How had she found herself desiring the most stubborn man she had ever met? The most ruthless and the most perverse? A man who would relegate her to the fireside if she gave him a chance? Who would deny her the right to take an interest in her inheritance? And who, as the final straw, expected her to enter into a loveless marriage for the sake of her reputation? It was of all things the most contrary.

“London grows more dangerous by the day,” sighed Hetty.

Rebecca heard the words through a haze. She could barely hear, let alone think, with Joshua so close by. His presence seemed to be robbing her of an awareness of everything but him; his strongly-moulded features, his mane of hair, his full lips and his penetrating eyes.

With an effort she brought her wandering thoughts back under control.

She could tell that Joshua was making a similar effort. Although his eyes remained locked on hers, he replied to Hetty's remark.

“These things happen,” he said.

He had obviously made an effort to speak lightly, but even so his voice came out huskily. The sound of it made Rebecca feel weak.

Making an effort to control her powerful reactions to Joshua, she wrenched her eyes away from his and fastened them once more on the street outside.

“Do...” She stopped. Her voice was weak and trembling. She tried once more. “Do you think it will happen again?”

This time, her voice came out almost normally, with only the slightest hint of a quaver.

“I hope not,” said Hetty anxiously.

Fortunately, although she had looked at Rebecca sympathetically when Rebecca's voice had trembled, she seemed to think it was nervousness on Rebecca's part because of the stone flying through the window and nothing more.

“But it might,” said Joshua, who was once more in control of himself. Taking care not to touch Rebecca, he guided her back to the table. “I suggest we stay away from the windows,” he said.

Rebecca nodded. It was a wise precaution, under the circumstances.

Joshua turned his attention to the table. Reaching out his hand he took the stone from his half-eaten bowl of soup. The bowl had been cracked by the force of the stone, and soup was seeping out onto the damask cloth.

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Hetty, suddenly noticing what a mess it was making.

She rang the bell, and a minute or two later she began directing the servants, instructing them to sweep up the broken china and glass, for the table was covered in fragments from the broken window.

“The table will have to be completely cleared,” she told the servants as she superintended their activities.

Joshua turned the stone in his hand, feeling the jagged edges.

Rebecca looked at the stone, then took it out of his hand. She shuddered. It was large and heavy, and the edges were extremely sharp.

Joshua reclaimed it. “Better not to dwell on it,” he said. “Come and sit by the fire. You've had a shock.”

“No,” said Rebecca, pulling her shawl more closely around her. “I must see if Hetty needs any help.”

“No, thank you, my dear, the servants have everything well in hand,” said Hetty. “Lay the table in the parlour, if you please,” she instructed the servants. “We will finish our meal in the back of the house. And serve the soup again, if you will. We have hardly had a chance to touch it.”

At that moment Charles walked back into the room.

“Anything?” asked Joshua.

“Nothing,” said Charles, shaking his head. “Whoever it was has long gone. There was no sign of them.”

“I have ordered the table laid in the parlour,” said Hetty, in an effort to restore an atmosphere of normality. She glanced anxiously at the window. “I don't feel comfortable eating here any longer.”

“I think that's a wise precaution,” said Charles. “I don't think well have any further problems tonight, though,” he went on. “Now they know the house is well defended, the miscreants will think twice before attacking it again.”

Rebecca felt her calm returning. It had been an anxious fifteen minutes, but it was over now and no harm done.

Of far greater concern to her was her reaction to Joshua. If he was going to continue to have such a strong effect on her, she hoped he would remove to Manchester as soon as possible. Although even there she would have to see him from time to time, she thought with a shiver, especially as she was determined to take an interest in the mill.