How was it that Joshua could make her feel this way? How could his mere presence make her heart race and her mouth go dry? How could he make her feel this sense of breathless anticipation, this time-stopping moment when she longed to be his arms? She wanted to go to him, to feel his arms close about her, to have him kiss her, but she knew she must not do it. She fought against it with all her will, standing there, frozen in the moonlight, whilst every part of her being cried out for him.

And then he pulled her roughly towards him. Catching her round the waist he dragged her close, so close she could feel the firm hardness of his muscular body beneath his clothes.

He took her face in his hands and looked down at her with burning eyes. “Thank God you're safe.”

She shivered as he pushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes and she felt a wave of emotion go through her. She was lost in the moment, caring for nothing but Joshua. His hair may be blackened by the smoke and his face may be begrimed but nothing could dim the intensity of his eyes. They looked deep inside her and she began to tremble from head to foot. This was what she had dreamed of; this moment when she swayed against Joshua and felt his arms tighten around her. Her eyes closed and she felt the soft, sweet touch of his mouth as his lips brushed soft, gossamer-light kisses over her face, dropping them with agonizing sweetness first on her forehead, then on her cheek, then on the tip of her nose, her eyelids and her mouth. She felt his hands cradling her face, holding it tenderly yet firmly so that he could kiss her even more deeply, and her arms lifted, her fingers tangling themselves in his mane of blond hair. And then she was drowning, going under, lost to all else. She surrendered herself to his caresses, and —

She was thrown backwards with a terrible jolt.

Her eyes flew open. And then she realized what was happening.

Someone was opening the door.

It was the rudest of awakenings. One moment she had been in a state of bliss, the next, pushed backwards by the action of the door opening, she was weak and flustered and desperately trying to re-settle her bonnet and smooth her pelisse whilst fighting against her rapid pulse and trying to gather her scattered wits.

“Thank goodness!” exclaimed Mr Hill, the mill manager, as he burst into the room. “I thought you had been hurt.” He spoke to Joshua, not, for the moment, noticing Rebecca. “When I saw the smoke I feared the worst. What happened?”

“I think we could do with a little light,” remarked Joshua.

Rebecca marvelled at his voice. He was once more in command of himself, only a slight rapidity of words betraying the fact that he had so recently been in the grip of a strong emotion. No one hearing him now would know that just a moment ago he had been holding her face passionately between his strong hands and kissing her so deeply her whole being had shuddered with the ecstasy of it.

“Of course.” Mr Hill felt his way over to the gas jets that were set into the walls.

Rebecca made the most of the last few seconds of darkness to pull her bonnet firmly back onto her head. She took a deep breath to settle her breathing, because despite her best efforts to calm it, it was ragged and shallow. But by the time the gas was turned up she had regained sufficient composure to meet Mr Hill's surprised gaze with equanimity.

“Miss Fossington!” he exclaimed. What are you doing here? That is,' he said hastily, as if realizing that it was not his place to question one of the owners of the mill, “I was not expecting to see you.”

He looked from Rebecca to Joshua in confusion.

“I lost my reticule,” explained Rebecca. “When I got home I found it was missing and a search of the house and carriage proved in vain. Thinking I must have dropped it whilst looking round the mill this afternoon I returned, only to find smoke filling the corridor and —”

“And to find that she had to help me quench the flames,” interrupted Joshua smoothly.

Rebecca looked at him in some surprise. It was not like Joshua to interrupt her so rudely. But one glance at his bland expression told her that Joshua did not want the mill manager to know the full details of the fire. Why, Rebecca did not know, but he must have a reason for it and so she said no more.

“How did the fire start?” asked Mr Hill.

“That is something we don't yet know,” said Joshua, fixing him with a penetrating glance.

Mr Hill nodded in agreement. “It will take time to discover the cause. But you are all right, I hope?” he asked, looking from one to the other of them and taking in the full extent of their dishevelment. “You have not taken any hurt from the flames?”

“Fortunately, no,” said Joshua. “My study is a mess and will need re-decorating, and it will take me some time to discover if anything of value has been burned, but Miss Fossington and I are both perfectly well.”

“That's a relief,” said the manager. “Still, the fire could have been catastrophic. A lot of important documents are kept in that room.”

“As you say,” replied Joshua.

Rebecca, watching and listening to both men, detected an edge in Joshua's voice. Did he suspect the manager of having started the fire? she wondered. She frowned. Perhaps she should tell Joshua of what she had seen on entering the mill. She looked at him, intending to say something, but stopped short. He was giving her a warning look, and she realized that he did not want her to say any more whilst Mr Hill was present.

“See to things here, will you, Hill?” Joshua asked. “Check the documents and see if anything of importance has been burned. Then see to the mill. Look for structural damage, have the buckets of water re-filled and make sure nothing is amiss elsewhere. I will be leaving now. I am engaged to take dinner with Miss Fossington and her cousin.”

“Of course,” said Mr Hill. “I check everything personally, right away.”

He left the room.

“I thought you couldn't come to dinner,” said Rebecca once his footsteps had died away. She wondered what had caused Joshua to change his mind.

“Had you told Louisa I couldn't come?” he asked.

“No,” she admitted.

“Good. I wouldn't have liked to throw her arrangements out. But I have my reasons for wanting to leave the mill. Reasons which didn't exist this afternoon.”

“And what are they?” asked Rebecca.

“Hill,” said Joshua succinctly.

“Hill?” Rebecca was thoughtful.

Joshua nodded. “Yes.”

“But why should Hill make you change your plans? What does he have to do with anything?” she added with a frown.

“I don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Someone started the fire in my personal office, and I want to know if it was him. I told him just now that I didn't know if any important documents had been burned but it was a lie. I know exactly what has and has not escaped the flames.”

Rebecca quickly grasped his point.

“If it was Hill who started the fire, and if he did it to burn incriminating documents — documents which showed he had been stealing from the mill, for example — then as soon as we have gone he will check to see if they have in fact been burnt,” she said.

“And if they are still intact, he will no doubt avail himself of the opportunity to destroy them,” said Joshua.

“So if any more documents have been burnt in the morning — documents which are perfectly all right at the moment — we will know it is Hill who started the blaze. And we will know why: to hide his own misdeeds.”

“Exactly.”

“But I don't think it was Hill,” she said. She shivered slightly as the scene she had witnessed on arriving at the mill came back to her. “I don't think he started the fire. I think it was the Luddites.”

The sound of footsteps coming down the corridor alerted them to the fact that they were about to be disturbed as Mr Hill organized a party of men to check the mill.

“We can't stay here,” said Joshua. “The men are coming to check for fire damage and refill the water buckets. You can tell me why you think the fire was started by Luddites on the way out to the carriage.” He paused. “You did come in a carriage?” he asked.

“Yes,” she smiled. “With Betsy. Only Betsy fell asleep on the way!”

He laughed. “It has been quite a day for Betsy!” He became more serious. “And for you. Are you sure you are all right?”

“Positive.”

“Very well.”

He offered her his arm and they left the study, going along the smoky corridor and down the first flight of stairs.

Rebecca was pleased to be leaving the mill. They could not talk further without being interrupted, and besides, something had occurred to her that did not seem to have occurred to Joshua. Regardless of who had started the fire, whether it had been Mr Hill, Luddites, or some other person, it might not have been important papers they had been trying to destroy.

It might have been Joshua.

Recalling the incidents that had occurred in London — a horse being ridden at Joshua and the rider aiming a whip at his head; the stone being thrown through the window, narrowly missing him and landing in his soup — she felt that if someone really was bent on killing him, he would be safer at Louisa's than at the mill. The thought of which made her keener than ever to leave, and leave quickly.

“Now,” said Joshua, as they reached the bottom of the first flight of stairs. “Tell me why you think the fire might have been started by Luddites.”

“Because when I arrived I saw a man painting LONG LIVE NED LUDD on the mill wall,” Rebecca said.

Joshua stopped dead. He turned to look at her. “A man painting the wall?”