'A new tenant?' Marianne Travis, seated on her beautiful grey mare, looked out from her vantage point on Seaton Hill, across the neighbouring Billingsdale estate. It was the February of 1793, and the Billingsdale estate had been without a settled master for over a year. 'Good. Then something will be done about the mantraps.'

'I shouldn't go counting on it, miss.' Tom Gunther, groom to the Travis family for fifty years, spoke in his customary slow way. 'The gennulman might not want to take an interest in the estate. He might want to leave it all to the manager.'

'Do you know who he is, Tom? The gentleman?'

'Lord Ravensford, Miss Marianne, if what they say in the village is true.'

'It usually is,' said Marianne with a smile.

'Yes, miss. It is at that.'

'It will be better, in a way, having Lord Ravensford as a neighbour,' said Marianne. 'Better than the Billingsdales. Mr Billingsdale has lived in London for so long that he has lost all interest in his estate. When I wrote to him and told him that his manager had laid mantraps in the woods he simply wrote back saying he had every confidence in the man. But if Lord Ravensford is the new tenant, then perhaps I may be able to persuade him to have the traps removed.'

Tom nodded. 'Terrible cruel, those traps are,' he said.

A chill breeze blew suddenly across the snow-covered hill and Marianne shivered. 'It's cold. We should be heading for home.'

She suited her actions to her words and turned her horse's head. Tom, wheeling his mount, followed her down the hill, northwards, towards Seaton Hall.

She's a credit to my teaching, he thought ruminatively as they made their way along the border between Travis and Billingsdale land. And indeed Marianne did cut a graceful figure as she rode side-saddle on the back of her grey mare. A beaver hat was perched on her glossy black ringlets, which fell halfway down her back. A dark blue riding habit, with its white silk lapel à la Minerve, set off her trim figure, and Moroccan leather boots, blue to match her habit, encased her neatly-turned ankles.

Just as they reached the bottom of the hill, however, Marianne came to a halt.

'Is anything wrong?' asked Tom as he stopped behind her.

'I thought I heard something.'

Tom, a little hard of hearing, had heard nothing.

'There it is again. A cry.'

This time Tom heard it, too. A human wail. A human in great pain.

'The mantraps!' Marianne looked at Tom in dismay. 'Someone's been caught!'

She wheeled her horse and set off at a gallop. Tom rode after her. She jumped the stream that separated the two estates and galloped on, across the white fields and into the woodland, where she was forced to pick her way more carefully. The stark branches of the trees caught at her habit and she had to duck in order not to lose her hat.

'I reckon it was from over there,' said Tom, drawing level with her as she paused, unsure which way to go. He nodded north-eastwards.

Marianne listened. The cry came again. Turning her mare's head slightly she rode slowly between the bare trees until at last she caught sight of a man writhing on the ground.

'Don't you go any further, miss,' said Tom, slipping off his horse. 'It won't be a pretty sight.'

'You'll need help,' said Marianne, dismounting. Despite the lack of a block she accomplished the movement with a minimum of fuss, and steeled herself for what she knew she would find.

Since Mr Billingsdale's estate manager had taken to trapping the woods it was not the first time she had found a poacher caught in one of the cruel traps: when the winter was hard, many of the villagers had no choice but to catch a rabbit or two in order to stay alive. Even so, she could not prevent a shudder as she approached the man. Tom was already beside him, examining the vicious trap.

'You'll have to pull it open, whilst I help him to free his leg,' Marianne said. 'Thank goodness the trap's an old one. The jaws are bent. With any luck it will not have broken his leg.'

Tom nodded.

Marianne turned to the stranger, whose face was contorted with pain.

'We're here to help,' she reassured him.

He was a short, stocky man and appeared to be about fifty years of age. His head was balding and he had a dark moustache. Despite his agony, he was trying desperately to free himself.

Marianne and Tom applied themselves to the difficult business of helping him, and at last he was freed; but at a price. The savage jaws of the trap had badly damaged his leg, and blood ran down his calf.

'Easy now,' said Tom, as he helped the man to rise.

The man gave a sharp intake of breath as he tried to put his injured foot to the ground. 'Ah!' He gasped, as beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.

'Who are you? Where are you from?' asked Marianne, but he was almost unconscious with pain and could not reply. 'Do you know him, Tom?' she asked, turning to her groom.

'No, miss. He's not local, that's for sure.'

'Local or not, he needs a doctor, and as we don't know where he's from we had better take him back to the Hall.' She looked northwards to where the roof of Seaton Hall could just be seen. 'He can't walk. Somehow we have to get him onto your horse.'

Tom nodded. It would be a difficult business. But difficult though it was, it must be done.

'First thing tomorrow morning I intend to call on Lord Ravensford,' said Marianne, as the feat was at last accomplished. 'We will set out at nine o'clock, Tom. And I will see what I can do about putting a stop to this terrible business, once and for all.'

'Oh, no, you don't, Miss Marianne,' declared Trudie in outraged terms later that afternoon when Marianne revealed her intention of speaking to Lord Ravensford on the following morning. 'Going to call on a gentleman, and you an unmarried young lady? Your mother would turn in her grave!'

Marianne gave a tired smile as she sank down onto the chaise longue in the pretty sitting-room, back at the Hall. She could not be angry with Trudie, although she would not have allowed such familiarity from anyone else. Trudie had always been much more than a housekeeper in the Travis household, she had been a valued and trusted friend. Ever since Marianne's mother had died she had looked after the little girl, providing the motherly attention that Marianne's father, however loving, had not been able to give her.

'No,' she said. 'Mama would understand. It has to be done, Trudie. You've seen what the traps can do to a man. Lord Ravensford must be persuaded to order their removal.'

'But not by you,' declared Trudie. 'There's no need for you to go persuading him, nor to go chasing around the countryside rescuing waifs and strays. Especially when you don't know anything about them. Who is this man? That's what I'd like to know. He could be a burglar, come to steal the silver, or an escaped convict, come to murder us all in our beds!'

'I don't think he would find it easy with his leg in bandages,' said Marianne, as she leaned back with a tired smile.

'That's not the point, Miss Marianne, and well you know it. He could be anyone or anything! And yet you bring him here and put him in the guest room and bandage his leg, for all the world as though it was his due.'

'You know his leg needed dressing,' said Marianne. 'Dr Moffat's instructions were plain. It is only fortunate that his leg was not broken.'

'And that's another thing! Paying the doctor out of your own pocket!' said Trudie, shaking her head in exasperation. 'Ah, well,' she went on in a gentler tone, 'I may as well save my breath. Nothing I can say is going to change you. You're too much like your mama, Miss Marianne. She was forever doctoring waifs and strays as well.'

Marianne smiled as she remembered her dearly-loved mother.

Trudie gave her an affectionate look and then her tone became brisk once more. 'But as to visiting Lord Ravensford,' she continued, tucking the end of a neatly-rolled bandage beneath one of its folds to secure it, 'that's another matter. With the rector's sister away there's no one to go with you as your chaperon -'

'I will be taking Tom.'

'Tom!' snorted Trudie. 'What kind of a chaperon is he for a young lady? No, Miss Marianne, it won't do. Best leave this business alone.'

Marianne stood up wearily and walked over to the fireplace, where a cheery blaze brightened the gloomy afternoon. 'It's no good, Trudie, I can't let matters rest. You saw the man's leg. It can't go on.'

Trudie dropped the rolled bandage into a willow basket on top of a dozen others. 'Then wait until the rector's sister returns from visiting her aunt. Or better yet, wait for the Cosgrove ball. Lord Ravensford'll be there, and Mr Cosgrove can introduce you. After that - well, there'll be no harm in mentioning it then.'

Marianne turned round to face Trudie. 'The rector's sister will be away for another week. And as for the Cosgroves' ball, that's nearly two weeks away. No, Trudie, I can't wait. If I do, another man may be caught in the traps. I must go tomorrow as arranged.'

'Then I'm coming with you,' Trudie declared.

'No.' Marianne was firm. 'You will have to stay here. Now that we have so few servants there is no one else I can leave in charge. Don't worry, Tom will see that no harm comes to me. Besides, Lord Ravensford is a gentleman. He is not likely to take advantage of a perfectly respectable neighbour.'

'Just as you say, Miss Marianne,' said Trudie, reluctantly giving in. 'But if he gives you a minute's trouble,' she added darkly as she turned away, 'he'll feel the force of my rolling pin!'

Marianne guided her horse and cart along the snowy lanes towards the Billingsdale's house. The weather was better than she had expected, and she was relieved to find that the ground was not too slippery. She often went about with in the pretty little cart which, despite its rustic appearance, was light and easy to handle, and this was just as well, for this morning she had had no choice but to use it as her mare had been taken ill in the night. Tom was in the stables now, looking after the animal, and Marianne was managing the cart alone.

She gave a sigh as she thought of Trudie's protests at the idea of her visiting Lord Ravensford without even Tom by her side, but Marianne had never once contemplated putting off her visit. She needed to persuade Lord Ravensford to have the traps removed as soon as possible, and that meant visiting him straight away.

She rounded a corner, controlling the horse with an expertise born of long practice. She had reached a particularly pretty part of the lane, where arched trees met overhead, and putting all her unpleasant thoughts aside she gave herself up to enjoying the beauty of the winter scene. With the sun catching the frosty coating on the trees' bare branches and sending out gleams from the thick blanket of snow that covered the earth it was a lovely sight.

Fir trees now began to grow down to the road, their thickly-needled branches contrasting with the stark limbs of the deciduous trees Marianne had just passed. Although beautiful, they cast a heavy patch of shadow on the lane and the ice beneath them was unmelted. Marianne gave her full attention to the horse and cart. It was a good thing she did because, as she turned another corner, she felt the cart begin to slide. The horse slipped, the cart slewed across the road - straight into the path of a man on horseback who had just come round the bend. His horse reared; there was a loud whinnying from both animals; and the man, with a curse, was thrown to the ground.

As soon as she had brought the cart to a safe halt Marianne stepped down, shedding the stone hot water bottles that had kept her warm despite the coldness of the day, and taking care that she, too, did not go sliding across the ice.

'Let me help you,' she said, offering him her hand as he struggled to his feet.

'Thank you, but you've done quite enough,' he said angrily. 'What the devil do you think you were doing, sliding across the road like that? You could have got someone killed.'

'You surely can't think I did it on purpose?' returned Marianne. 'My horse lost its footing and the cart skidded; something that wouldn't have mattered if you hadn't been riding at such break-neck speed. With so much ice about you were asking for a fall.'

He stopped in the middle of dusting off his many-caped greatcoat, turning gold-brown eyes towards her. His face was arresting. High cheekbones gave it structure, whilst a firm jaw gave it character and strength. Framing all was dark hair, tied in a black ribbon bow at the nape of his neck.

'I didn't expect to run into a cart blocking the road,' he returned curtly. He caught the reins of his horse, which had wandered several yards away, and checked the animal over. 'Nothing broken, thank God. I suggest, in future, that you hire a groom to handle your horse, Miss . . . ' he said, swinging one leg over the animal's back and

mounting effortlessly.

To her surprise, his look of anger began to dissolve and he laughed, showing a gleam of white teeth. 'Wit as well as beauty,' he said with a mocking smile. 'Touché!' He touched his three-cornered hat. Then, still laughing, he spurred his horse and the animal sprang away.

Marianne let out a sigh when he was out of sight, relieved that he hadn't been hurt. One invalid in the house was enough. If he had been knocked unconscious she would have had to put him in the cart and take him home with her as well!

At the thought of taking him home with her a strange shiver washed over her and, giving herself a shake, she told herself she had been standing too long in the cold. Turning her attention back to Hercules, the cart horse, she gathered up the reins and finally succeeded, by a mixture of pushing and pulling, both of the horse and the cart, in getting it straight again. It would have been so much easier if Tom had been with her, she thought, as she climbed up onto the box: skilled though she was, there was no denying that, with all the ice about, she would have preferred to let him drive. Still, there was no use repining. She would just have to take extra care until she reached the Manor.

She settled herself comfortably on the box, arranging her cloak about her and putting her feet once again on the stone hot water bottles, before telling Hercules to 'Walk on.' Carefully manoeuvring the cart over the icy patch she guided it along the lane. The way became broader, and she was soon passing a patchwork quilt of fields on her right. They sparkled and gleamed in the sunshine, setting her thoughts wandering again: this time down different channels. The fields, looking so pretty under their covering of snow, had once belonged to Marianne's family, and it gave her a pang to think that they had recently been sold to Mr Billingsdale. Though Mr Billingsdale no longer took an interest in his estate, his men of business worked to keep it profitable, and they had snapped up the fields, which had been a bargain. Because Marianne's father had had to sell off a parcel of land in a hurry, to pay off her brother's gambling debts.

Marianne shook her head. Even now she could not believe it. She had always loved and admired Kit, and had not believed it when her father had told her that her older brother had run up huge gambling debts; especially when he said that Kit needed money urgently to pay them off. It had seemed so unlike Kit. So much so, that at first she had refused to believe it.

But then Kit had admitted it himself, and if he had admitted it, it must be true. Even so, it was not like him. It must be, as rumour said, that he had been led astray. He had certainly been seen in town in the company of Luke Somerville, and Luke Somerville was, by all accounts, exceedingly wild.

Marianne sighed. Whatever the truth of the matter she wished it had not happened. She missed Kit. And now that he had fled, in shame or disgrace, she did not know when she might see him again. She was now nearing Billingsdale Manor. She could see it in the distance, away to her right. In another minute she would have to turn off the road and follow the long drive up to the house.

She slowed Hercules as she came to the gateposts. They made an imposing entrance. She carefully guided both horse and cart through the narrow opening and then made her way up the drive. The drive was long but fortunately straight, so that it was an easy matter to negotiate it, and some five minutes later she arrived at the house, cold and tired, but glad that she had come. If she went home with her mission accomplished she would rest easier, knowing the woods would once again be made safe.

She slowed her horse at the bottom of a flight of imposing steps, expecting a groom to rush out at any minute, but none came. She frowned. The house was occupied, Tom had told her; but what if he was wrong? What if there was no one at home?

There was only one way to find out. Looping the reins over the front of the cart she stepped carefully down. She smoothed the full skirt of her blue carriage dress and re-settled her plumed hat on her glossy black ringlets before arranging her cloak around her and then mounting the imposing flight of steps. Still no one came to greet her. She hesitated for a moment and then knocked on the door. She heard the sound echo inside the house, but the door did not open. She glanced back at Hercules, who was standing dejectedly with his head hanging down. The poor horse was cold, and she did not want to leave him standing - certainly not for any length of time - but she was loath to go with her errand undone. She hesitated again but then tried the door. It swung open. She went slowly into the hall, looking around for signs of habitation. There were none.

She was just about to leave when she thought she heard a sound coming from the direction of the drawing-room. Squaring her shoulders she walked bravely forward. Just as she reached it the door opened and she stepped back in alarm; to feel a flush of annoyance a moment later as she saw the gentleman she had earlier unseated.

'Well, well,' he said with a slow smile, 'what have we here? The beauty who travels the earth in her cart, as the goddesses travel the stars in their chariots? Have you come to apologise for unseating me, my sweet, or is it more - personal - business this time?'

He drew closer to her as he spoke, until he was so close that his long, lean body was almost touching hers. She tilted her head back so that she could see his eyes, instead of being forced to look at his strong shoulders, which would otherwise have been the extent of her view. She took in his mocking smile and saw that he was looking down at her with anticipation. She swallowed as she saw his regular teeth, noticing that they were extremely white. But it was not only his wolfish smile and gleaming teeth that unsettled her, it was the strange aura he seemed to generate. It threatened to rob her of rational thought. She felt her legs going weak. She tried to step back but she was held fast by some force she had never met with before.

Nonsense, she told herself hazily, trying to fasten her mind on his words, as they were easier to understand than his aura of power. He's talking nonsense. The beauty who travels the earth in her cart? He must have escaped from Bedlam!

'Come, don't be shy,' he said. His gold eyes fastened on her own as one long, strong finger traced the line of her cheekbone. 'There is no need, my dear.'

'I . . . ' She gulped. 'I don't know what you're talking about.' She tried to free herself from his spell. Not only did he somehow seem to be taking the strength from her legs, he also seemed to be taking the breath from her body. Her reply came out in a gasp.

'No?' He looked down at her with a tantalising smile.

He has mistaken me for someone else, thought Marianne; either that or he has run mad! But somehow, he did not have the look of a madman. His wild black hair was neatly tied at the nape of his neck, and his clothes were not unkempt, as she felt sure they would be if he was not quite sane. But if he was not a madman, then who . . . ?

Of course! She stirred in relief. Lord Ravensford's secretary! That's who he must be. Come to open up the house before his master arrived. It would explain a lot, even if it would not explain everything - his strange behaviour, for one.

She made a determined effort to break his spell and stepped back, out of reach. Once away from him her head began to clear, and she continued. 'I have come to see Lord Ravensford on a matter of some urgency. Pray tell him I wish to speak with him.' She thought it wiser to ignore what had just happened. She was alone with this strangely disturbing man and was by no means sure she could control the situation if she made any mention of it. 'Oh, and whilst you are about it, my horse is outside,' she went on with unusual arrogance. Her tone was meant to remind him of his station in life, in the hope that he would remember hers. 'He will need attention. Kindly arrange for one of the grooms to see to him.'

Instead of looking abashed at her tone he continued as bold as ever. He ran his eyes over her face as though she hadn't spoken, tracing the gentian-blue eyes that formed such a striking contrast to her black ringlets, her straight nose and the line of her cheek; before dropping them to her body, where they lingered on her subtle curves. She had the feeling he was undressing her in his mind, removing first her cloak and then her carriage dress and leaving her in nothing but her chemise. And then not even that . . .

She blushed, and he smiled; a wolfish smile.

Then, making her a low bow he said, 'I will see to it right away. Please, go in and make yourself comfortable. The house has only just been opened, but there is a good fire in the drawing-room. I will rejoin you directly. And then we will discuss your - business - my sweet.'

Marianne hesitated. Should she really stay? His behaviour was odd, decidedly so. However, strange as his behaviour may be, it wasn't threatening and, feeling that as soon as Lord Ravensford arrived he would dismiss his secretary, Marianne decided to stay. With a brief nod she went through into the drawing- room. The drawing-room was large and elegantly proportioned. It was decorated in delicate shades of pale green and had white mouldings adorning the walls. A confidante, together with a sofa, a number of x-frame stools and a variety of gilded chairs, were scattered about in a pleasing if haphazard manner. To her left was an Adam fireplace, containing a blazing fire, and directly ahead of her large windows gave splendid views over the garden, which was covered in sparkling white snow.

Marianne went over to the fire. Its cheery blaze soon began to thaw her out and she undid the strings of her cloak. Before many more minutes had passed she decided to remove it: she would feel the benefit of it then when she faced her journey home. She laid it carefully over the back of one of the chairs.

And then the secretary returned. To her consternation, however, his behaviour showed no sign of improvement. In fact, it became even worse!

Walking straight over to her he took her hands. 'Now, my dear.' He rubbed her hands with his long, strong fingers - to restore her circulation? she wondered, looking up at him uncertainly. Perhaps. She was certainly becoming warmer! And not just because he was rubbing her hands. His mocking expression had the peculiar effect of heating her insides. 'Let us waste no more time,' he said. 'I can guess what has brought you here -'

'You can?' she asked in surprise.

'Of course.' He let go of her hands and, with one powerful finger, lifted her chin. 'There is only one reason a young woman would visit a man without a chaperon, especially when they have not been introduced, and that is to offer him the . . . comfort and companionship, shall we say? . . . a beautiful woman can give. And I am very pleased you're here. I'm sure we can come to some arrangement which will be - beneficial - to us both.' He gave her another wolfish smile.

Marianne blinked. 'Do you mean to say . . . ?' She took a step back as she tried to take it in. 'Am I to understand that you think I have come here to offer you myself?' She didn't know whether to be outraged or utter a contemptuous laugh. He could not possibly have thought she was that sort of woman! Bedlam was the place for him after all.

'But of course, sweetheart.' He was amused. 'And I am very glad you did. It's been a long time since I've been offered such tempting wares. I'm looking forward to the pleasure you'll give.' His eyes ran over her figure as he spoke, lingering on the tantalising curves that were revealed by the smooth fabric of her carriage-dress. Then his eyes snapped nakedly back to her own. 'And receive.'

'This . . . ' She had meant to declare it , but for some reason her voice came out in a whisper ' . . . this is the grossest insult.' She steadied herself, and then with a steely glance she said forcefully, 'Lord Ravensford will hear of this, make no mistake.'

'He already has done.' He took in her sparkling eyes and heightened colour with a look of admiration. 'Who else do you think you are talking to, my sweet?'

'Your sweet?' she demanded; before regaining her wits. 'Lord Ravensford?' she asked. She looked him up and down, taking in the broad shoulders and firm body encased in, admittedly, expensive clothes. But then she said contemptuously, 'You are not Lord Ravensford.'

It was his turn to look surprised. 'And what makes you say that? As far as I'm aware, you've never met him. No, I'm sure you haven't. I would have remembered such eyes, such lips. But better put it to the test, perhaps.' And drawing her to him in a movement so assured she had no chance of stopping him he covered her mouth with his own. The action was alarming, forcing Marianne into a passionate situation that was completely unknown to her. But before she had time to push him away his tongue traced the line of her lips, and she felt them part instinctively to allow him in. As his tongue invaded her mouth the feelings it woke within her reverberated throughout her entire body. It was so delicious a sensation that against all reason her alarm melted, and was replaced by a feeling so earthy and powerful it temporarily drove all thoughts of modesty out of her mind. Her hands rose of their own accord and rested against his lapels. There was an instant of possession as his tongue explored her mouth, touching her own and tantalising her with a new explosion of sensations; and then he pulled away.

'Passion as well as wit and beauty,' he said, laughing gently down into her eyes. 'A prize indeed. And now I am sure. You and Lord Ravensford have definitely never met.'

Marianne took a deep breath. She must steady herself. She could not let this man take control of the situation like this. 'I don't need to meet him.' Even though she had taken a deep breath her response came out raggedly, and it was an effort to stand up straight. Her head was still spinning from what had just happened and her legs were weak. Even so, she must not let him know what an effect he had had on her. She had no way of understanding him or of her own response to him, and she felt her only hope of dealing with the strange and unsettling events was to act as though nothing untoward had happened. She summoned the last remnants of her dignity to her aid. 'Lord Ravensford is, by all accounts, a gentleman,' she said. 'Whereas you are anything but a gentleman. You are some jumped-up servant who thinks he can pose as his master, no doubt. But you are mistaken, and you will regret your impudence when Lord Ravensford arrives.'

'What will it take to convince you that I am Ravensford? And that I have the means to make you the most generous recompense for your favours?' He took her hands once again and lifted them to his lips. She could feel the heat of his mouth even through her gloves and had the desire to pull her hands away. Though not because the sensation was unpleasant, but because, disturbingly, it was quite the opposite.

'Nothing you can say will convince me that you are Lord Ravensford, for the simple reason that you are not.' She struggled to remove her hands from his, but he would not let them go. 'Lord Ravensford would never treat one of his neighbours in this insulting fashion, and -'

'Neighbours?' he asked with a frown.

'Yes, sir. Neighbours.'

The amused light left his eyes, and they became searching. 'But you are alone,' he said, letting go of her hands.

'We do not feel in need of chaperons in the country,' she retorted, ignoring Trudie's warning words as they echoed in her head. 'The people in this neighbourhood are gentlefolk, not barbarians, and are not in the habit of insulting young ladies, even if they do not have a chaperon in tow. If you intend to stay here - whoever you may be - I suggest you don't forget it.'

And then, anger and confusion having temporarily driven the reason for her visit out of her mind, she turned on her heel, and sweeping up her cloak she crossed to the door. She had no intention of staying to be insulted, whoever the gentleman turned out to be.

'It seems I have made a grave mistake.' He was having to rapidly adjust to the fact that the delectable young lady in front of him was not a lightskirt who had come to offer herself to him as he had supposed - and could be forgiven for supposing, he told himself, considering the fact that she had been travelling in a cart rather than a carriage, and that she was paying a call on an unmarried gentleman to whom she had not been introduced; to say nothing of the fact that she had arrived without a chaperon - 'You must let me make amends.'

She did not falter. 'No.'

But he was not prepared to take "no" for an answer. Reaching the door before her, he planted himself firmly in front of it, forcing her to confront him - and forcing her, for the first time, to really look at him.

She had not realised quite how tall he was. He was at least six inches taller than she herself, which made him a little over six feet, and his shoulders were broad. His body was well toned - which she found surprisingly at odds with his fashionable clothes, until she realised that it must have become well toned through riding and fencing, occupations that were as fashionable as his outfit. She took in his clothes: a tight-fitting pair of breeches which disappeared into top-turned boots - she could not help but notice the length of his legs - a high-collared shirt and a cutaway coat, beneath which was a striped silk waistcoat. Then she turned her eyes up to his face. His gaze was fixed on her, but his look was not admiring as it had been earlier. To her annoyance she discovered it was appraising.

'You don't like me very much, do you?' he asked, reading her expression.

Something about him challenged her. 'Correction,' she said. She was now fully back in control of herself. 'I don't like you at all. Now kindly let me pass.'

He did not move. He was still planted in the doorway, arms folded across his broad chest. 'Not until you give me a good reason for leaving so soon.'

She almost gasped. Surely he could not be serious? Was it not obvious? There were so many reasons she hardly knew where to begin! 'Only one?' she demanded.

An amused look flitted across his face. 'As many as you like. Pray don't stint yourself.'

She smarted at the mockery in his tone. It left her in no mood to mince her words. 'Very well. I am leaving because you have manhandled me in the most dreadful manner -'

'If it had been so dreadful, your lips wouldn't have parted under mine,' he remarked with a wicked smile.

'- and because I find you rude, arrogant and unscrupulous,' she went on, stung by his remark, and deciding that, as she could not answer it, she would do best to ignore it.

'Oh, do you?' he said. But this time there was an undercurrent to his words. The mockery was still there but there was an edge to his voice, as though he did not like what he was hearing. 'And is that all?' he asked, quiet but dangerous.

No, it is not,' she replied. She was determined not to let him control this situation as he had controlled the earlier part of their encounter. 'I find you boorish, and . . . and shallow.'

'Shallow?' he asked with a raise of one eyebrow. Then repeated, more softly, 'Shallow.' The anger left his face, and the mocking look was back in his eyes. 'It's the first time I have ever been described as shallow.'

'There is a first time for everything,' she said. She cast him a look that dared him to make a joke out of her use of a cliché. And then, as he refused to move, she swept round him and out the door.

'It can't have been very serious,' he remarked as she set foot over the threshold.

She stopped; then almost walked on.

'Your business,' he said.

She hesitated. Then turned. Slowly. And took him in. There was no more mockery in his eyes. He looked, for a moment, as though he might be someone to whom she could talk.

'You said you wanted to see me on a matter of some urgency,' he said. A perplexed look crossed her face. She would rather sweep out of the room, reclaim her cart and head for home, putting the whole disastrous visit behind her. But the matter of the mantraps had not been resolved, and it was a matter of such importance that she knew she should swallow her pride and stay; at least long enough to put her case before him and hopefully persuade him to speak to Lord Ravensford about having the traps removed. For she did not believe for one minute that he was who he claimed to be.

'I did. That is, I do.'

He nodded. The mockery had left him altogether, not just his eyes.

'If I have offended you, I apologise,' he said, seeming to remember that she was a guest. 'I have no wish to be on bad terms with my neighbours. Will you not let me offer you a glass of Canary wine, and tell me what has brought you here, on icy roads and in all this snow?'

She gave a sigh. She could wish the circumstances were different; that the butler had shown her in and that Lord Ravensford, a kindly old man, had listened sympathetically to her plea. But the circumstances were not different. The man in front of her may be Lord Ravensford, as he claimed, or Lord Ravensford's secretary, as she suspected; but whatever the truth of the matter, she could not refuse the opportunity of having the mantraps removed.

'Very well. That would be . . . most welcome.'

Having decided to stay, she walked over to the duck-egg blue sofa and sat stiffly on the edge of her seat, her cloak folded in her lap. She might have agreed to stay, but that did not mean she wanted to make herself comfortable. As soon as her business was over she would be on her way.

He pulled the bell rope that hung next to the fireplace, and after a few minutes - awkward minutes for Marianne, though not, she suspected, for him, as he continued to look at her with an amused smile playing round his lips - a butler appeared.

'Canary wine, if you please, Figgs.'

'Very good, my lord,' the butler said, before departing to bring refreshments.

The "my lord" startled Marianne, and she looked at the man opposite her with mingled feelings of surprise and dismay. So he was Lord Ravensford. Which in some ways made her feel better - she had not been insulted by a common secretary, at least - but in some ways made her feel far worse. She flushed. She had been kissed by Lord Ravensford. She closed her eyes briefly. She must try to forget it. Otherwise it would make her future meetings with him acutely embarrassing; if not to say impossible. And, worse still, he had mistaken her for a lightskirt. She flushed more deeply. If only she could have held him entirely responsible it would not have been so bad. But her honesty forced her to acknowledge that she had hardly arrived in the manner he might have expected of Miss Travis of Seaton Hall.

'Yes.' He seemed to read some of the subtle play of emotions crossing her face. 'I am Ravensford - even though my behaviour may have led you to believe otherwise.'

Marianne sighed. 'I suppose I should load you down with further reproaches, but what's done is done. Besides, I have a matter of much more importance to discuss.'

Figgs returned with the Canary wine, and after pouring Marianne a glass Lord Ravensford took a brandy for himself and then said, 'I'm listening.'

He didn't know how it was, but there was something about her that made him want to listen to her; and it went without saying, he thought, as he looked at her intriguing face and figure, that he wanted to look at her. A pity she was not a lightskirt. He allowed himself to forget for a moment that she was gently raised and contemplate the pleasures they could have shared. Her response to his kiss had been ardent. Tentative at first and innocent, but afterwards full of a surprising, if untutored, passion. It would have been a pleasure to have taken her to his bed.

'I will come straight to the point.' Marianne was fortunately unaware of his thoughts, and had decided that in such a serious matter a direct approach was best. 'When my groom and I were out riding yesterday, we discovered a mantrap.'

He sat up, resting his hands on his knees as he leant forwards. 'A mantrap?' His whole demeanour had changed, becoming sharp and fully attentive. 'That's a terrible thing,' he said with a frown. He sat back a little. 'But I don't see what it has to do with me.'

'The mantrap was on your land.'

'On my land, you say?' he asked her in surprise.

'Yes. Or rather, on Billingsdale land. I know the villagers should not be poaching, but when the winter is hard they often have no choice if they want to stay alive. Usually the landowners hereabouts turn a blind eye to poaching at this time of year, particularly when there is snow on the ground, but Mr Billingsdale's manager is determined there will be no poaching on Billingsdale land. The traps are cruel, and can break a man's leg - surely too high a price to pay for stealing a rabbit in order to stay alive; especially as most of the men have families to feed. I have written to Mr Billingsdale about it but he will not interest himself in the matter. He has every faith in his manager, he says. And so I have come to see you. You are the new tenant, after all. It is in your power to do something about it.'

Lord Ravensford's eyes narrowed, and he put his hands together, steepling his long, strong fingers. 'You are sure about this? Under the snow it's difficult to see anything clearly. Could you not be mistaken?'

Marianne shook her head. 'We - my groom and I - discovered a man caught in one only yesterday.'

'Yesterday, you say?' His tone was penetrating, and an intent look had come into his eye. 'Who was it? One of the local men?'

'No. My groom and I freed him, but neither of us recognised him. He is definitely not from these parts.'

'He will need medical attention,' said Lord Ravensford, getting up and going towards the bell.

'He has already had it. I called the doctor as soon as I got him back to the house.'

'Am I to understand - you have taken this man in?' His gaze was very direct, and she noticed again how unusual his eyes were, of a brown so bright as to be almost gold.

'Yes.'

'And he is not known in these parts, you say?'

'No. But as I told Trudie, we are in no danger from him,' she said, misunderstanding his interest. 'His leg has been badly damaged and although he can hobble around it will be some time before he can walk easily again.'

'That was good of you,' he said slowly. 'To take him in. Particularly if he is a stranger in these parts.' Then, as if recollecting himself, he added, 'but not very wise.'

'I couldn't leave him out in the snow,' replied Marianne simply. 'He was badly hurt, and in too much pain to tell us who he was or where he came from, otherwise I would have arranged for him to have been taken home, so in the end I thought it best to take him back to the Hall. But I am concerned. There are other traps, you see. Tom has seen them.' She raised her eyes to him appealingly. 'I don't want those traps on my - on neighbouring land,' she said. 'Will you remove them for me?'

He gave her a mocking smile, his eyes roving over her gentian blue eyes and her delightfully rosy lips. 'When you look at me like that,

I can deny you nothing,' he said with a quirk of his mouth.

'Not often.' He paused. 'But I promise you I will be serious over this, Miss . . .?'

'Travis.'

His face froze. There was a moment of unnatural silence. And then he said. 'Miss Travis.' His smile this time was not mocking. In fact, it seemed forced.

'Well, my lord?' asked Marianne, too concerned about the traps to notice his strange expression and response. 'Will you order their removal?'

He let out his breath. 'Mantraps are an abomination. Yes, I will. I will give orders that they are to be cleared immediately. You are right: the winter is hard. A little poaching is to be expected.' Marianne breathed a sigh of relief. 'Thank you. I knew I could make you see reason. I am only sorry to have troubled you before you have even unpacked.'

'It was no trouble.'

She looked at his suspiciously, but for once there seemed to be no hidden meaning in his words. 'Well, now that is settled I will not keep you. I must be getting back to Seaton Hall.'

She stood up.

'I will see you again before long, I hope?' he asked as he, too stood up; all six feet and more of him.

She hesitated. 'Perhaps,' she replied.

'With that it seems I must be content.' He made a low bow then rang for Figgs, and she was escorted from the room.

'So that's Kit's sister.' Figgs's voice was speculative as he returned to the drawing-room, having shown Marianne out.

'It is.' Lord Ravensford, standing by the window, was watching Marianne as she drove away in her rustic cart. She made a lovely figure, sitting erect as she skilfully handled the reins, her cloak reflecting the blue-grey of the sky and her black ringlets cascading down her back.

'And you weren't tempted to tell her?' asked Figgs.

'What? That I am a friend of her brother's, and that I am here to give Kit any support he needs in his venture to rescue his beloved Adèle from the revolution in France? That her brother did not need money to pay gambling debts as she supposes, but that he needed it to mount the rescue attempt, and that even now he is on the other side of the Channel, facing God knows what perils in order to bring Adèle safely back to England?' he asked with a lift of one eyebrow.

'Any of that. Or all of it,' Figgs said. He had lost the deferential look of a servant and was now talking to Lord Ravensford with the air of a comrade in arms.

Lord Ravensford's eyes lingered on Marianne until she was out of sight. 'No,' he said, reluctantly turning away from the window and giving his full attention to Figgs. 'I gave Kit my word that I would not tell her anything: he does not want her to worry. Even so, I wish I'd known who she was from the outset. I should have guessed, I suppose, but I hadn't imagined her to be anything like that. Somehow I'd got the impression that Kit's sister was a large-boned, mannish woman -'

'Because Kit told you she'd be able help her father with the estate whilst he was away,' Figgs suggested.

'Probably so,' Lord Ravensford agreed. 'I certainly never imagined such an intriguing beauty, with such a delightful figure or such gentian-blue eyes. But that's no excuse. I should have guessed who she was, or at least guessed who she might be. Particularly once she revealed we were neighbours. Then, if not before, I should have had the idea at the forefront of my mind. It isn't like me to get so carried away.'

'What's done is done,' said Figgs practically.

Lord Ravensford frowned, settling himself in a Sheraton chair. Figgs sat down opposite him.

'Perhaps,' Lord Ravensford said. 'But it's unfortunate all the same. I'd planned things quite differently. I was going to be charming and respectable at our first meeting. I have promised Kit I'll keep an eye on his little sister whilst he is away,' he said. 'And since I've arrived I've been even more determined to help her. I know Kit said she would be able to help her father with the running the estate whilst he was in France, but according to the local gossip Mr Travis has turned into something of a recluse since Kit's departure. He has taken it hard and has retreated to his room, where he nurses his grievances. He rarely comes out, and Marianne has been left to run the estate by herself. I wanted her to feel she had a friend in me; someone she could turn to if she needed any help, so that if the burden of running things at Seaton Hall became too great she wouldn't have to feel she was alone. '

Figgs nodded. 'As we have to be here anyway, to be a back up for Kit, so to speak, it makes sense for you to keep an eye on Marianne. We don't want Kit returning home to find her on the brink of exhaustion from looking after the estate - he has enough troubles.' He looked around the room thoughtfully. 'It's lucky we were able to rent this place. It's ideal: right next door to Kit's home, and with its own coves and beaches so that if we're needed we can put a small boat out to sea without attracting too much attention. And, once Kit's rescued Adèle, we can help him to land.'

Luke nodded. 'Yes. It was fortunate Mr Billingsdale was looking for a tenant. This place makes an excellent base. But that doesn't solve the problem of Marianne. As things stand, she doesn't like me. She doesn't even trust me - though I can't say I blame her,' he said, angry with himself at having so misjudged the situation. 'Even so, if she neither likes nor trusts me she won't turn to me for help if she needs it.'

'Oh, well, it could have been worse,' said Figgs with a shrug. 'At least you didn't tell her to call you Luke.'

Luke gave a wolfish smile, which widened into sardonic laughter.

'That would have put the cat among the pigeons, would it not?' He sobered suddenly. 'It goes without saying that she must never learn who I am. If she discovers that the Earl of Ravensford and Luke Somerville are one and the same person, she'll refuse to trust me altogether. With all the rumours that are flying round she will blame me for leading Kit into temptation and will fight me at every turn. Marianne is no milk and water miss: she would not forgive me if she thought I had injured her brother.'

'You could always tell her you didn't lead Kit into temptation,' Figgs said practically.

'And you think she would believe me?' asked Luke with a lift of one eyebrow. 'No. Of course not. Not unless I could prove it. Which I can't - at least, not unless I tell her the truth, which would mean telling her that Kit has gone to France. And that is something I have promised not to do.'

'It's just a pity Kit couldn't tell his family what he's really up to,' said Figgs.

'He didn't want to worry them. Besides, his father wouldn't have given him the money to fund the expedition if he had known what it was for. On the contrary, Mr Travis would have done everything in his power to stand in Kit's way. Which is why Kit had to make up the story about needing the money to cover gambling debts.'

'The old man would have objected, then? Doesn't he approve of Adèle?' asked Figgs curiously.

'Oh, he likes her well enough: in fact, as Adèle is his god-daughter, he likes her very well. But Kit is his heir, and his only son. He wouldn't have wanted him to take any risks.'

'Kit is happy to take them,' shrugged Figgs.

Luke nodded. As he did so he was conscious of a twist inside. It wasn't that he was envious of Kit, but it was something close. Because he realised that Kit, who, at twenty-five, was three years his junior, had found something in life that he himself had been denied. Kit had found a woman he would willingly risk his life for, whereas he himself had found nothing but idle distractions: barques of frailty and bits of muslin with whom he had had a string of unsatisfactory affairs.

It's no wonder Kit's determined to marry Adèle, he thought. If I found a woman I'd risk my life for, I'd marry, too. But it's hardly likely.

'I don't like deceiving Marianne - or Miss Travis, as I must try and remember to call her, at least to her face; although it will be hard, when I am so used to hearing Kit talking about her as Marianne.' He rose and went over to the mantelpiece. Then, standing with his back to it, he turned his eyes towards the window, through which he had seen Marianne leave the house. 'I never liked the idea of deceiving Kit's sister, and now that I've met her I like it even less. However, to spare her the worry and anxiety she will feel if she knows that Kit is risking his life in an attempt to rescue Adèle from France, it's something I have to do.'

Figgs nodded slowly.

'There is one thing, though,' said Luke thoughtfully. 'Marianne told me she has taken in a man whose leg has been caught in a trap: a stranger, not someone from around these parts. Fortunately, he wasn't too badly hurt. But the thought crossed my mind that he could be Henri.'

'Ah. That would be useful,' said Figgs. 'If it is him, he may be able to win her trust even if you can't. And it would explain why he didn't join us last night as arranged. But how will you discover if it is Henri?'

Luke turned his eyes back to his friend. 'Because I intend to go over to Seaton Hall and find out. In the meantime, we need to get things moving here. Has the luggage arrived?'

'Yes. It came yesterday.'

'And the servants?'

'They should be here this afternoon.'

'Good. The house needs putting in order. We might as well be comfortable: after all, we will be here for some time.'

Extract from Anything But A Gentleman by Amanda Grange, published by Robert Hale