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Her room opened on to a balcony and far below the moat glittered in the darkness. Low storm clouds scudded swiftly through the night like an endless stream of dull gray steeds, and the wind rustled the ivy leaves which twined so thickly over the balcony.
    “I can escape this way.” He turned to look back at her. She still sat on the bed in her crumpled gown, her lovely black hair tousled.
    He stared at her. He hardly knew her and yet she wrought such powerful emotions in him that, incredibly, he had killed a man for her. Quickly he went back to her, gripping her wrists and making her look into his eyes. “Is there anyone else, Sarah?”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Apart from Jameson, has there been anyone else in your heart?” His fingers were hurting.
    She shook her head. “No, I have never loved anyone.”
    His breath escaped in a satisfied hiss. “You shall, my dearest Sarah, you shall.” He kissed her, murmuring her name softly as he slipped his arms tightly around her.
    “Oh, do ‘urry, miss, they’re opening the main door now!” Betty’s whisper was frantic.
    Sarah hardly knew that he had gone. She saw his silhouette on the balcony, and then ... nothing. Her heart was still thundering, but with more than just fear for his safety now. Her lips tingled from that single kiss.
     

Chapter Five
     
    Sir Peter wisely chose to make his next interview with his daughter a little more private. The news of Ralph Jameson’s death during the night had fallen like a thunderbolt and Sir Peter’s head was not at its clearest anyway after the previous evening. What on earth was going on? Who had his daughter been meeting in the woods? Jameson or Holland—or both?
    Resentfully he stared out of the window of his study, rubbing the knee which troubled him of late. All his planning and scheming had been undone, and it was not his fault. Now he was probably further away from his objective than he had been before Holland had deigned to visit. But how to make the best of it all, that was the question. How could he, Sir Peter Stratford, contrive to turn defeat into victory?
    He was aware that his gross conduct after dinner the evening before had lost him sympathy. He was aware, too, that Hermione’s triumphant attitude grated on him. He had always despised his sister-in-law, and her present behavior did nothing to alleviate an already tense situation. She had sought every opportunity to engage one or other of his guests in long discussions about Sarah’s dreadful faux pas.
    Edward was scarcely less embarrassing with his continuous loud comments about his cousin—often accompanied by coarse laughter. The guests felt increasingly uncomfortable, and Sarah’s dignified manner began to win her some admiration. The gentlemen in particular were inclined to take her side; she may have been born on the wrong side of the proverbial blanket, and she may even be a bit of an adventuress, but she had style! All this Sir Peter was aware of. But how to use it to the best advantage, that was the question.
    He moved behind his ornate carved desk, his stubby fingers tapping impatiently upon the green baize. Curse this pain in his knee—like a hot pin jabbing him! His temper bubbled a little and he banged his fists upon the table. “Where is that damned boy? Eh? He was told to be here immediately after breakfast!”
    Hermione flushed, flicking her ivory fan backward and forward with alarming speed before her hot face. Come on, Edward, this was not the time to flaunt defiance before Stratford. Like her brother-in-law she was determined to use the happenings of the past day to her best advantage, and her son chose now to be late!
    Her tiny, bright eyes swiveled to look at Sarah, who sat on a chaise longue, her hands clasped meekly in her lap, her eyes downcast. Hermione noted with some envy the long, black lashes and the perfect white complexion. What right had such a low girl to look like that! Oh, how she loathed her, how she loathed