Книга - Conspiracy Of Hearts

Conspiracy Of Hearts
Helen Dickson


Taming SerenaSerena Carberry first met Lord Christopher Brodie when he saved her from assault by the wretched Sir Thomas Blackwell–who vowed revenge on them both. Horrified to learn that Kit is to stay with her father at Carberry Hall, Serena is unable to forget that the dashingly handsome young man has witnessed her unwitting indiscretion. But when her father is implicated in a Catholic plot against the king, it is Kit who comes to Serena's rescue. Loving him could only be a mistake, when the turmoil surrounding them is bound to tear them apart. Should she dare to risk her heart?









“Well?” Serena snapped irritably.


“What are you gawping and grinning at? Is it your intention to finish what Thomas Blackwell began?”

Unperturbed by her anger, Kit laughed. “If you believe that, I can only assume that the fiery color of your hair has baked your brain.”

“Do you think that because I was unwilling to succumb to his vile attentions I might be more amenable toward yourself? I have a care for my virtue and am particularly choosy who I surrender it to!”

Kit chuckled. “I don’t doubt it!”




Conspiracy of Hearts

Helen Dickson





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




HELEN DICKSON


was born and still lives in south Yorkshire with her husband on a busy arable farm where she combines writing with keeping a chaotic farmhouse. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure, owing much of her inspiration to the beauty of the surrounding countryside. She enjoys reading and music. History has always captivated her, and she likes travel and visiting ancient buildings.




Contents


Chapter One (#ua6a1b19e-1f63-5658-a61f-009e976d4f2d)

Chapter Two (#u80d46a82-cc5d-508e-869d-5806a3122e62)

Chapter Three (#u3c185807-eeda-563e-9aef-d299395fb216)

Chapter Four (#uad8a65c4-2734-5726-8ca0-1786397f432d)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


1605

Riding beside her brother Andrew—a Jesuit priest in his late twenties, who had been home to Dunedin Hall in Warwickshire for three weeks and was returning to his priestly duties at the Vatican in Rome—Serena Carberry sighed with deep regret at their parting. It had been so good having him home again.

Pride stirred her heart at the sight of him. Never had she seen a man who looked less like a priest. Officially all priests were classed as criminals by the Government, and so it was necessary for them to disguise themselves in order to avoid detection, which was why Andrew was garbed in the fine apparel of a gentleman, consisting of a deep purple velvet doublet, puffed trunk hose of the same hue, and a short matching cloak lavishly embroidered with gold thread around a high stiff collar.

His features were tanned by the hot Mediterranean sun, and his auburn hair fell to his shoulders from beneath a purple toque. With all this, together with his humorous mouth and laughing green eyes, he possessed all the charm and sophistication of a gallant one would expect to see at the court of King James.

Andrew looked at his sister with a deep and abiding affection. ‘I’m glad you accompanied me so far, Serena. I could not have wished for a prettier escort.’

‘I wish you didn’t have to go, Andrew, but I know you must. It’s far too dangerous for you to remain in England. But I miss you and James dreadfully,’ Serena said sadly.

James was their younger brother who was a pupil at the Jesuit school at St Omer, near Calais, a school which attracted the children of wealthy Catholic families in England. For a young Catholic man to be educated with the possibility of obtaining a university degree in England, it would compromise his faith, as it would involve taking the Oath of Supremacy—an oath acknowledging the supreme spiritual authority of the Crown instead of the Pope, one that no Catholic could swear, which was why any kind of education was sought abroad.

‘I’m glad you are to see him before going on to Rome,’ Serena went on. ‘You have my letter to him safe, don’t you?’

Andrew patted a pocket in his doublet. ‘I have it next to my heart. I intend spending several days with James before travelling on to Rome.’

Andrew studied his sister, struck by her beauty, by the vibrant colour of her auburn hair and the burning luminosity of her eyes. In the two years he had been in Rome, she had changed in a way that delighted him, and also filled him with misgivings, for she had bloomed into an extremely lovely and exotic creature who would be sure to draw the attention of every hot-blooded male.

At nineteen she was still headstrong, with an uncurbed wildness to her spirit. The bones of the adolescent girl had fleshed out, becoming rounded and supple. Her heart-shaped face, with its angular cheekbones, the dark wings of her eyebrows and twin orbs of her vivid green eyes were both captivating and bewitching. When she smiled her soft lips curved upwards, betraying the sensuality of the woman she had become.

‘You will take care, won’t you, Andrew?’

‘I will. But Father worries me. He follows the dictates of his religion and his conscience too rigorously for my peace of mind. He’s never slow to voice his opinion—which may lead to trouble. In this time of renewed persecution against the Catholics in England—since King James has not the slightest intention of tolerating the old faith—he must be diligent.’

‘I know. But ever since the king ordered all priests to be put to death, and imposing severe fines for recusancy once more, there is little wonder Father is angry. Nowhere in England can the Mass be celebrated. If a priest is caught saying Mass, his punishment is death by the most gruesome means. Small wonder priests live under aliases, not only to protect themselves but also their families.’

‘Which is why I am returning to Rome. There are many priests in England being forced to live in a twilight world, but their presence does enable you to maintain those rituals which are important to the faith.’

‘With great danger to all involved,’ Serena replied. Like many other Catholics who attended Church of England services as required by the state, she secretly went to Mass in one or another of their recusant friends’ houses. ‘The mood of optimism that prevailed when King James came to the English throne is not what we hoped,’ she said bitterly. ‘Indeed, he is proving to be as harsh a monarch as Queen Elizabeth was before him.’

Coming to the fork in the road where her brother would leave her, Serena halted her mount and looked at him, her lovely eyes troubled. ‘But why speak of it now, Andrew?’

‘Because I’m going away and I worry about you both alone at Dunedin Hall.’

Serena cocked her head sideways, giving him a suspicious look. ‘And do you know something that gives you cause to worry?’

‘Nothing for certain, only rumours that have been bandied about in Rome. But ever since the king introduced the bill in April classing all Catholics as outlaws—and the signing of the Anglo-Spanish Treaty in August, dashing all hopes of Spanish intervention to aid the Catholic cause—it has caused a great deal of unrest.’

‘Are you saying there are those among us who would conspire against the king?’ Serena asked in a shocked voice.

‘If so, it will not be for the first time. I suspect that something ugly is about to manifest itself, but I must stress that that is all it is—suspicion. I will not reveal the source of my information. The less you know, the safer you will be.’

‘I respect your concern for my well-being, Andrew, but if something is afoot I’d rather know about it. I suspect your information comes from a reliable source, otherwise you would not have come all this way to warn Father. That is your reason for coming to England, isn’t it?’

Looking into her questioning eyes, Andrew began to regret speaking of so grave a matter which would only trouble her. ‘I came because I wanted to see you and Father. I miss you both greatly. The information I have is not all that reliable. Indeed, what is these days?’

‘But how did you learn that something is afoot in England when you live in Rome?’ Serena asked, determined to glean as much information from her brother as she could before he left her.

‘The king’s chief minister, the Earl of Salisbury, has an energetic network of spies everywhere—not only in Flanders and Spain but also in Italy—so we do hear of the occasional conspiracy being hatched in England. The treacherous intriguers abroad provide a rich source of information for Salisbury in exchange for pardons and their own advancements. There are Catholics in England who hold on to the hope of liberalisation in the wake of the treaty with Spain, but there are those who are impatient and will not be quiet and will do whatever they can to bring about change.’

‘And would you have them be quiet?’

‘Yes. England and Spain were at war for many years and now we have peace. The diplomatic solution must be allowed to prevail over the Catholic situation in England. I believe we should trust in God to bring about toleration in His own good time. Be vigilant, Serena. Should you hear of any conspiracies being hatched, I beg you to persuade father to distance himself. If not, then I fear that he and any conspirator will be crushed and not escape with their lives.’

After bidding him a fond farewell, Serena, deeply troubled, watched her brother go on his way. There had been a deep concern in his eyes, a warning when he had told her to be vigilant.

Eliza Nugent, the housekeeper at Dunedin Hall, which was a rambling rose-coloured brick house situated on the outskirts of the village of Ripley, between Stratford-on-Avon and Warwick, threw her arms up in despair when she caught Serena sneaking out of the house when it was almost time for Sir Henry’s guest to arrive.

In the five years since her mother’s death, Serena had changed in a way that worried Eliza. Her wilfulness would lead her into trouble one day if Sir Henry didn’t set about finding her a husband soon. Perhaps if he’d spent as much time guiding her along the path of goodness and beating the waywardness out of her, as he did on religious matters and travelling across to Flanders to see young James, then perhaps she would have turned out as her dear departed mother would have wished.

‘Upon my soul,’ Eliza scolded, ‘where do you think you’re off to? Your father wants you here when the marquess of Thurlow arrives.’

Serena threw Eliza a cross look, which relaxed into a sweet, disarming smile as she set about trying to placate her. Eliza would be outraged if she knew the reason that drew her towards the village. The ageing housekeeper would go directly to her father with the information, who would be equally outraged and order Serena to her room immediately.

‘Don’t fret so, Eliza—and please don’t lecture me,’ Serena complained with a toss of her lovely head. ‘The marquess should have arrived hours ago and I will not sit about waiting for him any longer. I won’t be gone very long, I promise.’

‘But it’s almost dark.’

‘I’m going to the stables. I want John to saddle Polly first thing in the morning. It’s hoped that the marquess will buy two of our horses, and I suspect that he and Father will be in the saddle early to try them out before leaving for Woodfield Grange. Lord Payne has invited them to take part in the hunt, and it’s expected that a large party from nearby Coughton Court—which Sir Everard Digby has rented for a few weeks—will attend.’

Horses, after his religion, were her father’s abiding passion. Possessing some prime horseflesh, he was immensely proud of his large stable, which was envied and praised by many in the surrounding counties. He was also an expert horseman, who adored his gun dogs and his falcons.

Sir Henry was also a devout Catholic who had led an eventful and troubled life, having frequently wielded his sword during the reign of Queen Elizabeth in the hope of improving the Catholic lot. This and being a leading recusant—a man among many others of his faith who refused to submit to the authority of, or comply with, the Protestant religion—had resulted in hefty fines and frequent spells of imprisonment; on one occasion when he was confined in the Tower, torture was applied.

However, his spirit remained undimmed, and his crusade for toleration and liberty for Catholics to be allowed to practice their religion openly in England went on. Serena wished he would take Andrew’s advice and be more acquiescing, trusting in God to bring about the conversion in His own good time.

An additional worry was the apprehension she felt each time he went to Flanders. Ostensibly he went to visit James and some of his friends, who chose to live there in order to practice their religion freely, but Serena was uncomfortably aware of his close association with a widow, a Mrs Davis, whose husband had left her a wealthy woman with two children.

According to Andrew, who had met Mrs Davis on the occasions he had passed through Flanders, she was hankering after a proposal of marriage from their father. But he was as reluctant to leave England and his horses as Mrs Davis was to leave Flanders and her freedom to practise her Catholic religion unhindered. Unless a compromise was reached, this was how things would remain between them; secretly Serena, not wanting to see another woman take her mother’s place, hoped it would stay that way.

After leaving John, foolishly and heedless of any dangers, Serena took the darkening lane to the village, all thoughts of her father’s guest, the marquess of Thurlow, banished from her mind. The man was a stranger to her, definable only by his name; the only interest he aroused in her was because he might want to buy two of her father’s magnificent horses.

The name of the man Serena wanted so much to set eyes on blazed through her like a comet. Her mind had been in a whirl ever since Eliza had let slip earlier that Thomas Blackwell had returned from fighting in the Low Countries. Prolonged and boisterous celebrations to welcome his return were taking place in the White Swan in the village, and would no doubt go on well into the night.

Thomas Blackwell lived at Ashcombe Manor on the outskirts of Ripley. It had been a year since Serena had last seen him, when she and her father had been invited to his home and she had looked into his eyes. They hadn’t exchanged more than a few words in all the years of their living in close proximity to each other, and yet that one look, that stirring of pleasure, had spoken volumes. From that moment her life had changed. She had become aware of her womanhood for the first time.

On reaching the village green Serena paused, hoping Thomas would still be at the White Swan. Sounds of laughter coming from the inn across the green beckoned her and she ran towards it, cautiously entering a passageway at the side of the building from where she would be able to observe the occupants in the rooms without being observed herself. The stale odour of ale pervaded every corner of the crowded inn, and light from a guttering lamp inside the taproom was dim as Serena took her place in the shadows out of sight. The air was hot and fetid and she scanned the faces of the men inside the room, recognising some, others strangers to her.

But she only had eyes for one man, whose mere presence commanded the attention of all present. Charismatic Thomas Blackwell exercised an extraordinary influence on his contemporaries. He possessed the kind of qualities that captured the hearts of men and women alike. Almost six foot tall and well proportioned, his deep brown eyes and persuasiveness and charm drew the eyes of the village girls and set their hearts aflame. But he was also wild and hotheaded, swaggering and boorish in his arrogance and opinionated ways, and Serena, dazzled by his masculinity, could not imagine the ferocity of his violence if provoked.

Having looked her fill and eager to return home before her father discovered she was missing, Serena slipped out into the darkening light. The opening and closing of the door caused a draught and the lamp inside the taproom to flicker. Several in the room glanced absently towards the door, and Thomas was just in time to see a woman’s skirts disappear round the jamb.

Having drunk heavily with his friends and in dire need of another kind of entertainment, suspecting the woman who had been looking in to be one of the village wenches and arrogantly aware of the fever his presence never failed to arouse in them, he followed, just in time to see Serena disappearing along the lane in the direction of Dunedin Hall. Through the liquor fumes that fogged his mind, Thomas recognised her. More important, he recalled that her brother was a Jesuit priest—no doubt hiding at this very minute in a dank and miserable hole behind a chimney in one of the many spacious recusant houses that were thick across the Midlands, offering sanctuary to these criminals.

Thomas was implacable and inordinately cruel in his hatred of Catholics, which went way beyond the call of duty. He had killed many in the battles in the Low Countries; now that he was home and the estate his to administer as he wished since his father was dead, he would be ardent in the pursuit of priests and recusants.

He recalled the last time he had seen Serena, when she had accompanied Sir Henry to dine at Ashcombe Manor. Thomas’s father had offered to buy a large chunk of Sir Henry’s neglected land, which he had coveted for years, but Sir Henry had surprised and angered his father by firmly declining the offer.

A grim, calculating smile spread across his full lips. His eyes narrowed with mingled lust and menace when he pondered on the fun to be had with this deluded Papist wench. Clearly she wanted to see him so much that she had come looking for him. It would be a mortal sin to disappoint her now, he thought, and deny himself the pleasure of enjoying her delectable anatomy.

Darkness shrouded the countryside as Serena hurried along the narrow lane. Having left Ripley behind, she did not look back, and yet every nerve tingled when she sensed she was being followed. Breathlessly she paused and turned to find that Thomas was right behind her.

‘Oh!’ she gasped, amazed and overjoyed that he must have seen her at the inn and followed her. Her heart began to beat unevenly in her chest and an embarrassed flush rose to her cheeks at being caught out.

With a smouldering light in his eyes and a smile beginning at the corners of his mouth, spreading slowly into a grin of pure lechery, Thomas’s gaze moved hungrily over her delicate features, pausing at length on her softly parted lips. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t follow you when I saw you flee from the inn?’ he whispered huskily. ‘How could I possibly resist such a blatant invitation? It was me you came to see, wasn’t it?’

Serena stared at him in confusion. Thomas laughed softly. His strong fingers closed around her wrist and he drew her, unprotesting, away from the lane into the shelter of some bushes, his touch almost destroying her will power. ‘Come now,’ he murmured, pulling her into his arms, clumsily and without tenderness, ‘don’t deny what is in your heart, my sweet. You want me—admit it. Let’s enjoy a kiss before we get down to more serious matters, shall we?’

Without ceremony Thomas’s mouth clamped down on to Serena’s and she quivered, the heat of his lips searing her own. Fighting to retain her sanity, to quell the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, with chilling reason and her body rigid, Serena told herself this was wrong. Thomas should not be doing this to her. Hovering above her face, his eyes were heavy with desire, his mouth slack and insistent. His breathing became ragged as his embrace tightened around her, his breath fanning foul liquor fumes over her face. Suddenly it was an ugly face she saw, one that disgusted her.

Sensing her withdrawal, Thomas raised his bewildered gaze. ‘Don’t tease, Serena—don’t be coy,’ he said with mounting impatience when he sensed her lack of response. ‘There’s nothing to fear, my pretty. No one will see. You’re quite safe.’ Once again his mouth clamped over her moist lips, his hands moving greedily over her body, and Serena was shocked to feel them fumbling at the intimate parts no other hands had touched but her own.

Although she was inexperienced, she could tell Thomas’s words were glibly spoken, coming from the lips of a practised seducer. Immediately she pulled back, her sanity, which had momentarily left her in the heat and excitement of the moment, returning, triggering her anger. Pushing against his chest when his fingers boldly began to fumble with the laces of her dress, cupping and squeezing her breasts, she stepped back as though he had struck her.

‘Stop it. Let me go.’



Thomas’s face twisted angrily, the handsome mouth which Serena had so recently yearned to feel on hers becoming a savage leer of pure evil. ‘Damn you for being a temptress. You want me, I know it, and I shall have you.’

‘No,’ she cried but, as his mouth ground down on to hers once more, her cries of outrage were smothered. His strength overpowered her. Feeling his arousal pressed hard against her thigh, she was overwhelmed with horror and disgust at the violation he intended, without decency or tenderness. She retaliated by jerking away from him and swinging her arm with a cry of unleashed fury.

Thomas lifted his head at the same moment that she hurled her clenched fist into his belly, finding it hard to believe such a hard punch could have been thrown by such a winsome and fragile young woman.

‘How dare you?’ Serena shrieked accusingly. ‘If you think I’m game for a quick tumble in the grass, then you’ve lost your wits, Thomas Blackwell.’

Intent on having his pleasure and determined not to be cheated out of it, Thomas grabbed her wrist and pulled her against him once more.

‘So you want to play it rough, do you?’ he hissed, his features contorted with cruelty. ‘I can be as rough as you want me to be, you little hellcat,’ and he lunged for her again, his face ugly now and twisted with lust, filling Serena’s vision so that she could see nothing else.

Dreadful visions of what her possible fate might be flew through her mind. What a fool she’d been. How could she have imagined for one minute that she was in love with this crazed beast, intent only on his own pleasure? The passion, which had been so intense that she had been unable to think of little else, withered and died. Her year-long infatuation with Thomas Blackwell was over. Now she felt only loathing and disgust—and anger directed against herself for foolishly wasting her time dreaming of him.

Undaunted and determined to free herself, driven by self-preservation, she reacted violently, struggling and twisting in a frenzied effort to escape as her rage peaked. Hearing the rending of the silk ruching that trimmed the neck of her bodice, she felt the cold air on her exposed body. One glimpse of the creamy flesh that swelled out of her bodice seemed to incite Thomas even more. Driven by some kind of demon inside her Serena lashed out, kicking his shins like a wild thing, clawing and raking her fingernails down his cheek which drew streaks of blood.

With cold sweat drenching her body, Serena managed to thrust herself away from him as, with a grunt of pain, Thomas raised a hand to his injured cheek. Unable to conceal her loathing, Serena glared at him with a challenging gaze, daring him to attack her again, her fists clenched and ready to strike if he made a move towards her.

‘Don’t you dare touch me again, you vile wretch,’ she fumed with unladylike vehemence, in the grip of an ice-cold, venomous rage, unable to still the shaking in her limbs. ‘Find someone more pliant to lust after. You disgust me, you clumsy oaf, with your clawing hands and foul breath.’

‘Disgust! Ha!’ Thomas roared with a savage snarl, his face having turned a mottled red. Tiny droplets of blood gleamed and trickled down his lacerated cheek to the small white ruff circling his neck. ‘It wasn’t disgust that brought you to the village in search of me like a bitch on heat, was it? Your behaviour is hardly in keeping with the pious little virgin you profess to be.’

‘Better to remain a virgin and die an old spinster than to acquaint myself with the likes of you,’ Serena flared in outrage.

Seeing red, Thomas advanced menacingly towards her once more. ‘Shut your mouth, you hellcat—you dirty little high-minded Papist bitch,’ he snarled in a flying rage, raising his hand to cuff her.

Surprised by what he was witnessing, Kit, the marquess of Thurlow, Lord Christopher Brodie—just two of his many titles—who was on his way to Dunedin Hall accompanied by his servant Robin, quickly dismounted. Having seen a flurry of hair, petticoats and creamy flesh, and heard much of what was taking place between these two, he had formed his own conclusion as to what was happening.

Kit had not intervened sooner because he thought the young lady seemed well able to take care of herself, but when he saw the man raise his fist to strike her he was impelled to act. If there was one thing he had been taught from an early age it was to respect the opposite gender, and this show of brutality against such a dainty wench was too much to ignore. Drawing his sword, he was diverted when his eyes settled momentarily on the face of the woman—a face of unforgettable beauty.

It was white, as white as alabaster in the gathering gloom, with eyes glittering like darting chips of ice, and her utter contempt for the man who intended to violate her was manifest in their translucent depths. Her lips were clamped together in a savage line, her small chin set in forceful determination, and the assertive and compelling steeliness in her expression told Kit that had she been in possession of a dagger, she would have had no qualms about thrusting it into the pulsating centre of her aggressor’s heart.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ Kit said, his tone deadly calm. ‘It would be a pity to mar a face of such exquisite beauty—and if you do, it will cost you your life.’

Unprepared for the interruption, Thomas gave an enraged curse and spun around in his fury, but then he felt the cold and hungry tongue of a rapier pressed threateningly against the soft flesh of his neck. He stared askance at the black garbed figure at the other end of the steel blade, seeing the wicked pale blue light that danced along its length, and he felt his skin prickle and the hairs at the back of his neck stand up on recognition of the intruder, who commanded both his own and Serena’s attention with his awesome presence.

‘So, you remember me, Blackwell—even though we are a long way from the Netherlands?’ The tone was sardonic, the faint smile sneering.

Beginning to sweat profusely, his face darkening to an apoplectic crimson, Thomas continued to gape as his sluggish mind fought to grasp more clearly what was happening. Respectful of the threatening blade, he felt its point already penetrating his flesh and a slow trickle of warm blood begin to run down his neck and mingle with that from his torn cheek. He stood stock-still, eyeing warily the man who was taller than himself, whose eyes bore into his like dagger thrusts.

‘You seem surprised,’ Kit remarked, speaking lightly, but his mildly amused smile and cold dark stare did not waver from the face of the man opposite, who was eyeing him with a profound hatred. ‘What’s the matter? Have I sprouted horns? I’ve never seen you sweat so much, Blackwell. It does not surprise me to find you up to your old tricks. Violating maids appears to be your favourite pastime—but it seems to me that you annoy this particular lady…that your attentions are unwelcome.’

‘And your interference in a matter that is none of your concern I find most unwelcome. Although it’s hardly surprising you come to the maid’s defence, considering the comradeship that exists between yourself and certain members of the Catholic hierarchy,’ Thomas sneered with derision, angered at finding himself at a disadvantage, and knowing he faced an experienced soldier who did not flinch under adversity.

To begin with, Brodie set Thomas on edge. He was taller than Thomas, with shoulders as broad. The man was also extremely wealthy and a smooth sort, being close to the king and his courtiers, although the fact that he could count many Catholic noblemen as his close friends—among them Sir Everard Digby and that other Catholic magnate, Sir Thomas Tresham—suggested to Thomas that Kit had Catholic sympathies himself.

To make matters worse, Brodie’s equestrian skills had attracted the eye of many a commander in the Low Countries, and he had proved his military prowess in combat many times. His reputation with both sword and pistol was an enviable and well-known fact, and Thomas had neither the means nor the clarity of mind to test it just then. But most chilling of all was the fact that Kit Brodie was also the man responsible for having Thomas and his regiment recalled from the Netherlands in disgrace—which was a score he had yet to settle.

‘And you believe that because the lady does not share your faith that it gives you the right to violate her?’ Kit’s lips curled with contempt. ‘I think it must have slipped your mind that you are no longer fighting the Spanish in the Netherlands,’ he said with heavy sarcasm. ‘The lady is right, Blackwell. You are even more of a lecherous swine than I took you for. It is my opinion that you should have been hanged for your violation and massacre of those unfortunate women at the convent near Ghent.’

‘You remember too much, Brodie,’ growled Thomas.

‘Some things are unable to be forgotten, Blackwell. That is one of them. However,’ Kit said with a savage taunt and a look to indicate the still bleeding scratches on his face, ‘I think enough bloodletting has been done for one day, so you have a reprieve. At least the lady has left you a momento to remember her by—which is more than can be said of the unfortunate women you so brutally murdered.’

Kit moved back and held his weapon aloft as Thomas tried to shake the cobwebs from his brain. Feeling the blade relinquish its position on his flesh, Thomas took a desperate, threatening step forward, at which Kit quickly wielded his sword once more, the dark wings of his eyebrows snapping together, the hard gleam in his eyes becoming brittle and his mouth tightening into a line of aggravation.

‘Have a care, Blackwell. Do not force my hand.’ Kit’s voice was like steel, his expression the same, and Thomas checked himself, knowing that Brodie was a man who brooked no argument from anyone.

‘You find me at a disadvantage, Brodie,’ growled Thomas, breathing heavily and holding his arms out from his sides to indicate he did not carry a sword. ‘As you see, I am without my weapon so I cannot defend myself. But the next time we meet you will not be so fortunate. You will discover I am as skilled with the sword as you purportedly are.’

Kit’s cold gaze travelled over Thomas with contempt before settling on the side of his face that was dark with blood. ‘I shall look forward to it. Now—be on your way and have your face tended before you bleed to death before my eyes.’

Thomas’s face was set in lines of violent, menacing rage, his gaze going beyond Kit to Serena, whose eyes were smouldering with unsuppressed hostility. With her colouring and snapping eyes she resembled a wild vixen, and did nothing to conceal her newfound hatred and revulsion for him. Drawing his upper lip into a snarl, his eyes settled on her pale features with cruel contempt.

‘I’ll make the Papist bitch sorry she ever drew breath. I swear I’ll find her.’



‘Then take care, Blackwell, lest she finds you first,’ scoffed Kit, his chiding laughter mocking the other. ‘After what my eyes have just witnessed between the two of you, you may not fare so well the next time either. The lady has clearly taken her measure of you and appears to have quite a temper.’

‘I’ll not give the spitting she-cat another chance to sink her claws into me.’ Thomas’s eyes settled once more on Kit, the cords of his neck standing out quivering and tense. ‘I have a score to settle with you both. I shall have my revenge for what you have done to me this day—and before that, Brodie. Our paths are destined to cross again, so prepare yourself for when they do. I will give you no quarter.’

As he strode away, hatred nestled like a tiger in Thomas Blackwell’s heart. Time would tell if Brodie was all his compatriots extolled him to be, when he had reaped his revenge and crushed Kit beneath his heel.

Thomas was determined to prove ruthless in his ambition to destroy both Lord Brodie and Serena Carberry, and to gain that end he would slander and scheme without the least regard for the truth. Unbeknown to him just then, an event was about to occur that would rock England with its infamy and would assist him greatly in his efforts. His grievance against them would not be assuaged until they were dead.




Chapter Two


Serena looked at her rescuer’s visage, seeing that this was no lust-crazed beast but a strikingly handsome man with aristocratic features, hair and eyes as black as jet and the lean, hungry look of a hawk. The elegance of his attire and accompanying servant told her he was a gentleman.

However, the brutish treatment she had just undergone ignited all the fires of rage which she unfairly directed at this stranger. He appeared to find the whole incident highly entertaining and to take an infuriating delight in her sorry plight yet, if Serena had paused to consider, he had just saved her from an ordeal so terrible she could never have imagined it.

The disquieting, contemplative smile gave her no assurance that her treatment at this stranger’s hands would be any better, and all she could think of at that moment was that he had borne witness to her humiliation. It was this that penetrated her paralysed thoughts and she hated him for it. It was to form a tempestuous foundation to their future acquaintance—one that might have been so very different had they met in more conventional circumstances.

Her pride seared, with elbows akimbo and her fingers drumming impatiently on her waist, Serena flung her hair back from her face, sending it spilling down her back, and glared into the black, humour-filled eyes sweeping over her with a rakish gleam.

‘Well?’ she snapped irritably, treating Kit as if he was somehow responsible for what had happened. ‘What are you gawping and grinning at? Is it your intention to finish what Thomas Blackwell began?’

Unperturbed by her anger, Kit laughed. ‘If you believe that, I can only assume that the fiery colour of your hair has baked your brain.’

‘I would have sent him on his way without your intervention—and you can expect much of the same if you dare come any closer. I have a care for my virtue and am particularly choosy who I surrender it to.’

Kit chuckled. The fire-spitting green eyes seared right through him as he raked her with a brazen gaze, amazed by her spirit. At first sight he had thought her too slender and fragile for such a furious onslaught but, after seeing her in action, it was clear there was nothing timid or docile about this young woman. Kit was convinced that she would have defended her virtue until her last breath was drawn.

‘I don’t doubt it, and you are right, you were doing splendidly without my intervention. Blackwell’s face will smart for a month and he will bear the marks of his encounter with you for a good deal longer.’

‘For ever, I hope,’ Serena said heatedly, dabbing at a nasty scratch on her wrist with a handkerchief.

Kit’s lips twitched with ill-suppressed amusement, his gaze lightly caressing her face. ‘The poor man must be in torment at being cheated out of what he intended. The glare you gave him would have shrivelled the pride and the passion of any man.’

‘And you would do well to remember it,’ she snapped, fired up with ire, her eyes flying to his brazen and overconfident smile.

‘You are much too fragile to get the better of a man of Blackwell’s size and strength,’ Kit chided. ‘I doubt you would have the stamina to oppose him for long. Had I not come along when I did, you would have been ravished most cruelly.’

Serena ignored the fact that his words held some element of truth. ‘Fragile! Sir, I am more resourceful than you give me credit for, not some meek, simpering milksop. What I lack in strength I make up for in agility—so, if you value your looks, I advise you to keep your distance.’

Kit could only marvel at her tenacity. His eyes glowed as he gave her a lazy smile, realising that both her dignity and pride had been mightily bruised. ‘You, dear lady, are a veritable tigress. But you have judged me before I can voice a plea—and unfairly, too. Rest assured that I am not in the habit of taking that which is not freely given,’ he said, his voice soft and deeply resonant, grinning leisurely as his perusal swept slowly over her delectable form, liking what he saw.

Her figure was slender, her features fine and soft, and yet he had borne witness to the fact that she wasn’t nearly as fragile and delicate as suggested. There was also a proud courage in the way she had leapt to defend her honour. She was a firebrand, and he could easily understand how she had captured the salacious attention of Thomas Blackwell, who had been left with more than a little wounded pride.

This young woman was in possession of a tempestuous will, and Kit could be forgiven for taking her for a gypsy wench—with her tumbling auburn hair and flashing eyes. Looking at her with heightened interest, he noted that her attire proclaimed her to be the daughter of a gentleman. If so, he was curious as to the circumstances that had brought her to this place alone to be set upon by Thomas Blackwell. Had she enticed him, and how well did she know her tormentor?

Serena smarted beneath the closely perusing eye of the stranger. His gaze seemed to touch her everywhere, stripping her body bare as he made no attempt to hide his interest. Becoming aware of the object of his gaze as it dipped, she followed it, realising the twin peaks of her breasts were taut and pointing high above the ripped fabric of her gown. Feeling her cheeks burn hot with embarrassment, she was immediately prompted to check her appearance and gather the torn bodice of her dress together, dropping her handkerchief into the road.

‘You, sir, are the most despicable man I have met in a long time.’

‘Come now. Not since half an hour ago at least,’ Kit laughed. ‘Do you mean to tell me you prefer Blackwell’s company to mine?’

‘I cannot say that because I do not know you. I can only hope you are enough of a gentleman not to gossip about what has just occurred.’

‘My lips are sealed.’ Highly amused by her angry confusion, Kit swept an arm across his chest and bowed low in a courtly manner, the quirk in his lips deepening into an amused, lopsided grin. ‘I am happy to have been of service, and would wish to hear your gratitude rather than your anger. Your eyes are more lethal than a set of duelling pistols.’ Bending to retrieve her handkerchief, he made no move to return it.

Relaxing a little, Serena deliberately softened her manner, thinking that if she appeared to relent a little she could escape his odious presence and be on her way. ‘Very well. I suppose I must thank you for arriving when you did. Perhaps you did help save me from a terrible fate,’ she conceded reluctantly whilst remaining aloof. ‘I am indebted to you, sir.’

Kit’s look became serious suddenly. ‘Did Blackwell hurt you?’

‘I told you. I can fend for myself. Now, if you will allow me to go on my way, I will bid you goodnight.’ Unfortunately it was not as easy as she hoped to be rid of him, for he briskly ignored her request.

‘You may still have need of my services. I insist on offering my protection and escorting you to your home. Who knows—your tormentor may come back.’

‘I don’t think so. It’s my guess that he will have returned to the White Swan where he will consume more liquor before the night is out and he seeks his bed—or someone else’s.’

‘Nevertheless, I do insist.’

His insistence was beginning to stretch Serena’s nerves. ‘You are extremely gallant, sir, but that will not be necessary. I can see myself home. It is not far,’ she replied tersely.

‘And where is that?’

The softness of a moment before left Serena’s eyes, turning then to flint. Her mouth hardened to an unsmiling resentment as her temper rose once more. Feeling less than proud of herself for the way she had acted, the mere thought that this arrogant and impertinent man had heard and witnessed the scene between herself and Thomas Blackwell was too embarrassing to contemplate. ‘What has that to do with you?’

Kit suppressed a smile with amused patience as he sheathed his rapier. ‘Absolutely nothing. Tell me, do your parents often let you out alone like this—to make assignations with men of Blackwell’s ilk?’

Icy fire smouldered in Serena’s eyes as she faced him with chilled contempt. ‘My encounter with Thomas Blackwell was not an assignation—and, no, my father does not even know I have left the house. But I am a gentlewoman, if that is what you mean.’

Kit’s bold eyes sparkled with merriment in the face of her anger, and his strong, animal white teeth gleamed in the gathering gloom. ‘No gentlewoman remains a gentlewoman after doing and saying what I have just overheard,’ he answered airily.

‘Then I would be grateful if you would forget what you have overheard, sir, and forget your encounter with me. Good evening.’

Spinning on her heels, Serena stalked ahead with an indignant swing of her hips. Grinning broadly and, with a soft chuckle, grasping the reins of his horse, Kit tucked the young lady’s handkerchief into a pocket inside his doublet. Quickening his stride he followed, indicating for Robin to do likewise, who was watching his master with an amused expression on his boyish face.

‘Wait,’ Kit said, having no mind to let her go lightly.

Serena turned and waited for him to approach, taking stock of him for the first time. Attired in the manner of a wealthy lord, he was a magnificent man—as handsome in physique as he was of face. Her eyes wandered over his strong shoulders encased in a black velvet doublet, tapering to a narrow waist, and long, lean, muscular thighs—so unnervingly masculine.

Her anger began to drain from her and a small frown of perplexity creased her brow when he came close and stood looking down at her. His mere presence touched her senses with an acute sensual awareness that left her weak. She flushed, angered by her wayward thoughts. No proper lady would think such things and allow such imaginings to take root in her mind—but then, no proper lady would have done what she had done and gone searching for a man she had foolishly become infatuated with.

‘Well?’ she said, her tone brittle.

‘Since we seem to be going in the same direction, perhaps we might walk a little way together? Being a stranger to these parts, I would be glad of the company.’

Serena stared into his eyes, which still sparkled with unbridled humour. After a lengthy pause she slowly released her breath, relenting a little, if reluctantly; the sooner she was rid of this disconcerting man, the better she would feel. They were going in the same direction and she would only have to suffer his company for a little while.

‘Very well,’ she conceded, beginning to walk on. ‘My home is not far. Are you just passing through Ripley, or visiting friends?’

‘I am here on business—although Sir Henry Carberry, who I am visiting, is also my friend.’

Thunderstruck, Serena froze, and with an expression of stunned horror she stopped dead in her tracks and looked up into his dark eyes, realising who he was. ‘You are visiting Dunedin Hall?’

‘I am. Do you know it?’

‘Yes—I—I should,’ she stammered hesitantly, suddenly wishing the ground would open and mercifully swallow her up. For the first time since meeting him she was almost at a loss for words. ‘I—I am Serena Carberry. Sir Henry is my father.’

Seeing the horror and dismay on her face, Kit smiled slowly, his gaze sparkling and taunting. Cocking a handsome eyebrow, he gave her a lengthy inspection, his teeth gleaming behind a lopsided grin. ‘Well, well,’ he murmured, letting his breath out slowly. ‘I see.’

Serena was unable to prevent the onslaught of shame that engulfed her. Of all the people in the world to visit her father, it had to be this terrible person who had witnessed that awful scene between herself and Thomas Blackwell that would haunt her for ever.

‘You—you must be the marquess of Thurlow?’

‘Yes—and I can quite understand why you would rather I weren’t.’ Kit chuckled, seeming to enjoy her discomfiture. ‘I realise how uncomfortable it will be for you having me under your father’s roof for a whole night—knowing what I do,’ he said quietly, meaningfully. Looking up at him, Serena saw something in his look that challenged her spirit and brought back her strength and a surge of dislike.

‘I would appreciate it if you did not mention any of this to my father. He would be extremely angry, you understand.’

‘I consider he would be better off knowing in order to deal with his wayward daughter so she does not repeat her misdemeanour.’

‘I will remind you, sir, that this is none of your affair. You are here to see my father’s horses and to ride to Woodfield Grange tomorrow for the hunt. I am reluctant to lend myself to my father’s anger should my encounter with Thomas Blackwell become known, and I would be more than grateful if you did not tell him. If he should hear of it, his tirade will challenge the loudest broadside and my reputation will be in ruins.’

Kit gave her a wolfish grin. ‘Then let me set your mind at rest. You can rest assured, dear lady, that your guilty secret is quite safe with me.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said as graciously as she was able under the circumstances, walking briskly on her way.

Kit fell into step beside her. ‘I am Lord Brodie by the way—Christopher Brodie—Kit to my friends.’

‘Because I do not know you, sir,’ Serena replied testily without looking at him, her nose in the air, ‘I shall address you as Lord Brodie. To be more familiar would be inappropriate.’

Kit grinned. ‘As you wish.’

With Robin following at a discreet distance, they walked side by side. Serena felt herself enveloped in Kit’s perusal which brought a flush to her cheeks; if she had turned and glanced at him and noted the attention he was paying to her gently swaying body—his gaze passing with leisured interest over her hair and slender hips swinging provocatively in unison—her flush would have deepened to poppy red.

Kit’s thoughts turned to his sweet-natured betrothed, Dorothea Carberry—this young lady’s cousin—with relief. His betrothal to Dorothea was recent, and he would call on her and Lord Carberry after the hunting at Woodfield Grange. The gentle nature of Dorothea was far more favourable than the fiery nature of her cousin. Any man finding himself attached to this particular firebrand would know no peace. Kit felt heartily sorry for anyone this wench unleashed her tongue on. And yet, he was beginning to understand how a man could so easily succumb to a woman’s charms that he would forget the troth so soon made to another.

Serena slipped into the house ahead of Lord Brodie. Not until she reached her chamber did she allow her mind to conjure up an image of Thomas Blackwell’s face—the man she had foolishly allowed to dominate her every waking hour since she had last laid eyes on him. The image she had of him now was distorted and ugly beyond recognition.

Unbidden, the humour-filled black eyes of her rescuer took its place, and she realised he posed as much a danger and threat to her emotions and senses as Thomas Blackwell had before. Collecting her scattered wits, she formed a firm resolve not to let the marquess of Thurlow intimidate her. Earlier he had stung her pride by playing humorously on her own confusion, and she was determined that tonight she would be more in control of her emotions and herself and set the marquess of Thurlow agog.

She chose to wear an extremely fetching ruby-coloured velvet gown, one Andrew had brought as a present for her from Italy. The full skirt draped luxuriantly over hoops, and the sleeves were puffed, the ruche-edged stomacher emphasising the slimness of her waist. The collar, elevated at the back, framed her delicate, heart-shaped face.

After her maid had quickly and deftly arranged her hair in soft, high curls and Serena felt confident that she looked her best, she went downstairs to the great hall with its vaulted, rib-caged roof, unable to think of a plausible excuse to remain in her room. A murmur of voices came from one of the chambers leading off from the hall. Serena advanced towards it, her footsteps on the tiles heralding her arrival. Her father and Lord Brodie were standing before the giant hearth where a fire burned bright, the lively flames sending dancing shadows over the richly tapestried walls.

At fifty-five, Sir Henry should have been a rich man. The fact that he was a relatively poor man was largely due to his own recklessness throughout his life—the large recusant fines, the funding of the Catholic cause and the amount of money he spent on his beloved horses. He was still a handsome man, jovial and of average height, with twinkling blue eyes and thinning dark hair liberally sprinkled with grey. Like that of King James, a small square-cut beard covered his chin.

Conversation between the two men ceased when Serena made her entrance. When she stepped into the range of Kit’s vision, he could not believe the beautiful and well-groomed lady—who seemed the very spirit of virtue and moved with all the poise, grace and cool dignity of a queen—was the same bedraggled shrew he had encountered earlier.



Serena’s gaze flicked over Lord Brodie before coming to rest on her father, sensing his displeasure that she had absented herself from his side on his guest’s arrival.

‘Ah, Serena! You have finally deigned to grace us with your presence,’ Sir Henry rebuked. ‘Kit, may I present my daughter, Serena, and apologise most profusely for her absence on your arrival. I would like to say she is not usually so absent-minded or so ill-mannered, but I am sorry to confess that when other matters of interest crop up to occupy her mind she is forgetful of all else.’

At nineteen, the frequent flashes of childlike ardour and deep affection in Serena’s eyes whenever they settled on her father blinded him to her wilfulness and often reprehensible behaviour. Despite his gentle reproach there was a warm admiration in his eyes when they rested on her. It was no secret that he doted on his daughter unashamedly, and was in no hurry to marry her off. She was just one more reason why he had not yet succumbed to the quiet charms of Mrs Davis.

Kit watched Serena approach with interest. She came to stand close, tilting her head as she gazed into his handsome visage from beneath eyebrows delicately sweeping like a winged bird’s. A bloom of rosy pink heightened her high cheekbones, and her eyes—emerald green orbs flecked with brown—were thickly fringed with silken black lashes tipped with gold. The firelight gave her hair a rich warm hue the colour of rosewood, and the heady fragrance of rosewater on her skin was intoxicating.

Kit felt his pulses leap and the blood go searing through his veins at her nearness and the coyness of her little smile as she demurely lowered her eyes. Drawing his dark eyebrows together in a frown he became cautious, strongly suspecting he was being beguiled and led into a trap. Serena lifted her gaze, the eyes beneath the thick fringe of lashes steady and disconcerting, shining with an intelligent brightness which proclaimed an agility of wit and a craving to taste all that life had to offer.

Her beauty fed Kit’s gaze, rekindling the ache he had felt earlier. Never had he met a woman who intrigued him more, but because he had given his troth to another, the tantalising Mistress Serena Carberry was forbidden fruit—and he was beginning to thank God for it. She would bring him nothing but trouble.

‘Mistress Carberry, I am honoured to meet you.’ Kit’s eyes met hers with amusement as he bowed with a grand, sweeping gesture.

‘Lord Brodie,’ she acknowledged.

‘Don’t be disheartened,’ he murmured, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. His dark eyes, holding hers, sparkled with humour when he felt her fingers tremble involuntarily on coming into contact with his lips—which told him she was not altogether as in control of her senses as she would like him to think. ‘You are forgiven.’

Snatching her fingers from his strong hold, Serena favoured him with a sweet smile and feigned a slight curtsy. ‘Thank you, sir. I apologise for keeping you waiting.’

‘You are forgiven,’ Kit replied, his voice deeply resonant, his eyes, openly unabashed, displaying their appraisal of her attire as they travelled the full length of her body. ‘The wait was well worth it,’ he murmured.

Kit’s perusing eye left no curve untouched, no article of clothing intact, until Serena felt completely naked. She felt a sudden impulse to retreat before his smouldering gaze, but held her ground admirably.

‘We are waiting to eat, Serena,’ said her father with impatience, unaware of the secret play that was taking place between the other two as he led the way into the dining room. ‘The meal is getting cold.’



With reluctance Serena placed her slender fingers on Lord Brodie’s gallantly proferred arm to be escorted into the dining room. Feeling his gaze on her face, she looked up at him inquiringly. ‘Is something troubling you, my lord?’

‘Forgive me. I do not mean to stare, but you seem familiar. I have a rather peculiar feeling that we have met somewhere before. But then, I ask myself, how can that be? I am not one to forget a face—especially not when one is as unforgettable as yours.’

Kit spoke casually, his words faintly teasing and meaningful. In alarm Serena’s fingers tightened on his arm and she threw him a savage look, appalled that he might be about to betray her misdemeanour to her father when she had begged him not to. Earlier, her qualms had been eased by his promise not to speak of the incident, and she was incensed that he should continue to find so much humour in what, to her, had been the most brutal and embarrassing experience of her entire life.

‘I can assure you we have not met before,’ she answered firmly.

Kit smiled calmly into her glare, a corner of his lips lifting roguishly. ‘No? Then I must take your word for it.’

‘Perhaps it’s the likeness my daughter bears to Dorothea,’ said Sir Henry, with a low chuckle. ‘They are very much alike.’

Bemused, Serena glanced from one to the other. ‘Dorothea? Do you know my cousin, Lord Brodie?’

‘Kit has recently become betrothed to Dorothea, Serena,’ her father explained. ‘No doubt she will tell you all about it when you visit Carberry Hall in a day or so.’

Serena stared at Kit in astonishment, and so amazed was she at this announcement that she almost overstepped the bounds of decorum and laughed out loud. It was impossible to believe that this overbearing man was to marry her gentle cousin. Her eyes were bright with humour as they met his with disbelief. ‘You? You are to marry Dorothea?’

Kit’s black eyebrows lowered in a frown. ‘You find it amusing that I am to marry your cousin?’

‘I find it strange and intriguing that someone as fainthearted as Dorothea would agree to wed someone so—so—’

Kit raised a questioning eyebrow, watching her closely. ‘So what?’

‘So very different from the type of man I expected her to settle for.’

‘And do you find it so incredible that she has settled for me?’

‘Yes. I can only think that my cousin must have taken leave of her senses.’

A smile touched Kit’s lips. ‘I can assure you she has not.’

‘Nevertheless, you cannot know each other well, otherwise she would have mentioned you to me.’

‘And you see your cousin often, do you, Mistress Carberry?’

Serena had not seen Dorothea for several weeks. Dorothea’s father, William Carberry, and Serena’s own father were half-brothers, their father having married twice. William, the elder of the two, like his mother was staunchly Protestant and had a strong dislike for the Catholic religion. Over the years this had been the cause of much contention between the two brothers and was deeply felt by Serena, who resented her uncle’s lack of tolerance. Serena and Dorothea were close, but of late, because of the volatile situation that existed between Uncle William and her father, and knowing that whenever she went to Carberry Hall her uncle tolerated her presence only out of family duty, Serena had not visited her cousin.

‘Of late I have not seen Dorothea,’ she replied quietly, on a more serious note. ‘I wish you both every imaginable happiness. You are indeed fortunate in your choice of bride, sir.’

Kit looked at her thoughtfully, curious as to the sudden change in her. ‘I couldn’t agree with you more. In the short time I have known Dorothea, I find her to be an exceptional woman.’

‘I know she is,’ Serena agreed.

Kit held the heavy, high-backed chair as she slipped into it. As the meal progressed and Sir Henry conversed about political matters, Serena was aware of his guest’s unrelenting stare. Meeting his gaze, she found in his black eyes a glowing intensity and a slow, brazen perusal that brought the colour mounting to her cheeks and ire to burn through her.

Having him so close was agonisingly distasteful to her. Bestowing on him a cool stare, she tried her best to ignore him, but it was difficult when he sat directly in her sights. The man bedevilled her. He was insufferable and doing his best to antagonise her. Clenching her teeth in irritation, she tried concentrating on her food until she was drawn into the conversation by her father.

‘You know Kit is here to look over our horses, don’t you, Serena?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled, glancing at her father at the end of the table.

‘It’s my intention to purchase three or four of your finest mares available to replenish my stable at Thurlow—if they are as magnificent as they are reputed to be,’ Kit said.

‘I don’t think you will be disappointed,’ Serena told him, ‘although, had you come two weeks ago you would have had more to choose from.’

Kit glanced at her sharply. ‘Oh?’

‘Yes. Several are promised to Mr Grant and Sir Robert Catesby—isn’t that so, Father?’



Sir Henry suddenly looked discomfited and coughed nervously, causing Kit’s brow to become furrowed with a deep frown as he contemplated his host. No comment was made, but Serena had a peculiar feeling that her father would rather she had kept quiet about the matter. She also sensed that Lord Brodie had taken particular note of what had been said and that he would not forget it.

At the time she had been curious when Sir Robert and Mr Grant from Norbrook—Mr Grant’s home at nearby Snitterfield—had come to look over the horses, purchasing twenty of a strong and heavy breed. When she had inquired of her father afterwards the reason for the purchase, he had told her that Catesby was to form a troop of horse to enter the service of the archdukes in the Spanish Netherlands.

Knowing this was legal since the peace with Spain the previous year, Serena’s curiosity had been appeased. But, as she recalled Andrew’s words of warning, a feeling of disquiet settled on her. She prayed her father had not become involved in something she knew nothing about.

‘Are you acquainted with Robert Catesby?’ Serena asked in an attempt to cover the awkward moment.

‘I am. As your father may have told you, I have only recently come into my inheritance at Thurlow on the death of my cousin. It was necessary for me to spend some time in London to attend Parliament until it was prorogued until November. The lodgings I took in the Strand were adjacent to Catesby’s.’

‘And what was your opinion of him?’

Kit smiled and his eyes twinkled at Serena. ‘He is certainly a popular gentleman.’

‘And handsome, too,’ chuckled Sir Henry. ‘At least my daughter thought so when last she saw him.’

‘Father!’ gasped Serena, hot colour flooding her cheeks. Wasn’t it enough Lord Brodie knowing she was involved with Thomas Blackwell without adding another to the list?

Kit laughed good-humouredly. ‘I’m not surprised. Robert—or Robin as he is called among his friends—in spite of his rather headstrong disposition is an irresistible charmer and very much admired. He left London for Stratford with some associates at the same time as myself.’

Kit had spent many long hours in the company of Robert Catesby, an ardent Catholic, whilst in London. He was a likeable man with a dominant personality, and deeply involved with religious malcontents. Kit had been present at several of their gatherings when they had met at the Mermaid or the Mitre Inn on Bread Street. A silent, curious observer, he had supped with them whilst thinking it prudent not to become too involved. Their conversations had been discreet, but he sensed a strong agitation manifesting itself, and felt that something might occur during the next session of Parliament.

‘You are to visit Dorothea, I understand,’ Kit remarked to Serena. Turning the conversation to more pleasurable topics, he thrust unpleasant thoughts of conspiracies, which were forever being hatched against the king, from his mind.

‘She is expecting me tomorrow afternoon. I am to stay at Carberry Hall for a few days. In the light of your betrothal we shall have lots to catch up on.’

‘Then you will still be there when I call on Dorothea and Sir William before I have to return to Thurlow,’ Kit said, a smile touching his lips and his eyes taking on a new gleam as her bewitching beauty fed his gaze. The light of the tapers illuminated her to advantage, and he found himself dwelling with a good deal of pleasure on the tantalising vision she presented across the table.

Having hoped that when he left for Woodfield Grange she would not have to see him again, Serena was disappointed and extremely vexed that she might. ‘Perhaps.’ She met his dark eyes with resentment, thinking furiously that even though he was aware of her dislike he was amused by it. Shoving her chair back, she intended leaving the gentlemen to drink their port in peace, but her father halted her.

‘Eliza informs me you that you intend riding early in the morning, Serena?’

Serena had decided to forgo her ride and have one of the servants go to the stables to tell John not to bother saddling her horse after all. Not even an early morning ride over her beloved heath could tempt her to ride in the company of Lord Brodie.

‘That—that was my intention,’ she said hesitantly, ‘but I—’

‘Then you can accompany Kit,’ her father said quickly before she could finish what she was about to say. ‘Forgive me if I don’t accompany you,’ he apologised to his guest, ‘but you will find that not only is my daughter an excellent horsewoman, but she also knows as much about the horses as I do myself. John will also be on hand to assist you and tell you anything you wish to know.’

Serena looked at her father in alarm. Usually he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to show off his horses. ‘What is it, Father? You’re not ill?’

‘Nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t cure.’ Sir Henry laughed lightly in an attempt to allay his daughter’s concern—but the truth of the matter was that his joints pained him a great deal—especially now the weather had taken a turn for the worse. Unfortunately, his sufferings were a lasting legacy of the year he had spent in the Tower at Queen Elizabeth’s pleasure.

‘I fear that an early ride will put me out of sorts for the hunt later—and I have no wish to disappoint Lord Payne by not turning up. If you find a horse to your liking, Kit, try him out at the hunt—or you are more than welcome to take mine. He’s a strong, spirited brute, but I’m sure the two of you will get along.’

‘That’s generous of you, Sir Henry,’ Kit said, easing back in his chair, his heavy-lidded gaze speculative as his dark eyes leisurely watched the tension and emotion play across Serena’s expressive face, sensing she had been about to cancel riding out early to avoid his company.

He reserved little hope of establishing any kind of peace between them, for she glared at him as if it would be pistols at dawn and she contemplated a duel to the death, instead of a gallop upon the heath. A mocking smile curved his lips and he found himself looking forward to his ride with this intriguing young woman, although he told himself there was a dire need for caution.

‘I am honoured to have Mistress Carberry accompany me,’ he murmured. ‘It will be a privilege.’

The subtle way Lord Brodie’s smile changed was not to Serena’s liking. Irate sparks flared in her bright green eyes as she thought how easily she had been snared, and she lowered her eyes to hide her annoyance, standing up.

‘Very well. I will see you in the morning, Lord Brodie.’

Beset by emotions quite new to her, Serena went to her room. She was seized by a biting, raging fear at the knowledge that the marquess of Thurlow, having been privy to her degradation earlier, was enjoying every moment of her misery and was determined to play it out to the bitter end.




Chapter Three


When the light of dawn was struggling to show itself, Serena rose and went to the stables. The weather was blustery, cold and wet, which suited her mood. The sharp air sent shivers along her flesh, but the stables were a cheery glow of lantern light against the dark, unwelcoming exterior.

As the familiar warm smell of hay assailed her nostrils, she found the stables were already a hive of industry. Under the watchful eye of John, the stablemaster, on Sir Henry’s instructions the stable lads and grooms had been hard at it for over an hour to have the horses ready for the marquess’s inspection at first light. John hurried over to Serena, his shirt open down the front to reveal his barrel chest.

Pulling on her kid gloves and with her crop tucked beneath her arm, Serena paused beside a mare which had been led out of its stall and was being held by one of the grooms. She was vaguely aware that someone was on the other side of it, but because he was hidden from view she paid scant attention. ‘Good morning, John,’ she greeted him. ‘Such as it is. I’ve known better mornings for riding over the heath.’

‘Aye, the rain looks set in for the day, miss—but I know it’ll take more than that to put you off your ride.’ John chuckled. Having known Serena since birth, ever since Sir Henry had introduced her to the horses as a toddler, he was aware that riding had become her abiding passion.

‘I shall be leaving just as soon as our guest stirs himself. Is Polly saddled?’

‘She’s all ready for you—but the marquess has been here for the past half hour looking over the horses.’

Serena stared at him in astonishment. ‘He has?’

‘Yes,’ replied the marquess, rearing up from the other side of the mare, startling Serena almost out of her wits. ‘I was impatient to see for myself your father’s splendid horses. I couldn’t sleep, anyway,’ he said, almost as an afterthought, as he ran practised hands over the horse he was inspecting.

Disappointed that he had reached the stables ahead of her, Serena stood and calmly watched Lord Brodie examine the horse in silence. He stood back and looked at it from every angle, picking up a hoof and going on to examine its teeth with a thoroughness that did not surprise her. She sensed that everything the marquess did would be controlled, certain and sure. Distracted, she saw he had removed his doublet, and that his white silk shirt was open at the throat to reveal the strong muscles of his neck.

He had the supple body of an athlete, vigorous and arresting, and with his wicked smile and shoulder-length raven black hair—a rogue wave spilled over his brow and shone like glass in the lantern light—Serena thought he would have made the most handsome pirate. His tight hose detailed his narrow hips and tautly muscled buttocks, bringing a flush to her maidenly cheeks.

Satisified, Kit slapped the horse’s flank, nodding for the lad holding it to take it back to its stall, before giving Serena his full attention. Observing the soft flush on her cheeks, he raised a questioning eyebrow and studied her for a long, drawn-out moment. A slow smile curved his lips. The sparkle in his eyes gradually evolved into a rakish gleam, and Serena’s flush deepened. She had no way of discerning the workings of Lord Brodie’s mind or where his imagination wandered.

‘I’m sorry to have dragged you from your bed at such an early hour,’ Kit said, his gaze unyielding. There was a suave, almost teasing note in his voice.

Collecting her crumbling poise and wanting to shatter his cocksure arrogance, Serena gave him a steely flash from her green eyes. ‘You didn’t,’ she replied curtly. Looking at him with a stilted coolness, she tried to overcome the resentment she felt, although why she should feel such antipathy towards him when he had rescued her from being brutally ravished by Thomas Blackwell confused her. ‘I’m in the habit of rising early to ride before breakfast. I’m sorry you had difficulty sleeping. The bed was comfortable, I hope.’

‘Perfect. It was the noise of the storm that kept me awake.’

‘And the horses? What do you think of them?’

‘Splendid,’ Kit replied, casting an appraising eye down the length of the stable. ‘Their reputation has not been exagerated. John has been helpful in showing me those which are available.’

‘And? Are you interested in purchasing any?’

‘There are three I have my eye on—good, strong mares. I have a stallion from a good strain, big and in his prime. I’m keen to breed off him, which is why I want only the finest mares. I’ll have a word with Sir Henry over breakfast.’ Retrieving his doublet which was draped over a stall, he thrust his arms into the sleeves. ‘Having decided to reserve my own horse for the hunt, I have taken the liberty of having one of the lads saddle your father’s horse—one he won’t be riding in the hunt, I’ve been told. You are up to riding in weather such as this, I hope,’ he said, throwing her a challenging look.

Serena bristled. ‘I never allow weather to put me off my ride.’

‘Shall I accompany you, Mistress Carberry?’ John inquired.

Much as she hated the idea of riding out alone with the marquess, Serena could see John was much too busy to leave the stables. ‘That won’t be necessary, John. I’m sure I shall be perfectly safe with Lord Brodie,’ she said, cracking the crop against her skirts and moving to the stall where her mare Polly was waiting.

On seeing her mistress, Polly responded by arching her neck and whickering gently. One of the lads led her out into the yard followed by another leading a huge stallion. It was Monarch, Sir Henry’s horse, black and as smooth as silk, with a long flowing mane and tail. Kit ran his hands over its quivering flanks.

‘He’s a splendid horse,’ he breathed admiringly.

‘Yes—my father’s. Andrew also rides him when…’ Serena faltered, biting her lip to stem the flow or words. She was usually so careful not to speak of her brother to strangers.

Kit looked at her with a keen eye. ‘Your brother! You can speak of him to me, Mistress Carberry. He is a priest, I believe.’

‘Yes,’ she replied crisply, looking away. ‘He’s in Italy at present.’

‘I know. Out of harm’s way.’

Stung by his remark even though it had been spoken lightly, and ever sensitive about her brother’s profession, Serena swung her head to look at him, on the defensive. Sparks of indignation flashed in her eyes, sorely incensed by what she thought Lord Brodie might be implying. ‘My brother is no coward, Lord Brodie.’

‘I did not imply that he was, and I hold nothing against him. I am merely saying that he would be wise to stay where he is. It’s no secret that Catholic priests are being hunted the length and breadth of the country and are dealt with most severely when caught.’

A deep pain entered Serena’s eyes, her expression suddenly one of anguish. ‘Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I don’t know the fate that awaits my brother if he were to return to England? Which is why I hope and pray he remains in Rome. At least there I know he is safe.’

Towering over her, Kit’s lean, hard face bore no hint of humour or mockery. ‘I apologise if my words offended or distressed you. It was not intentional, I do assure you. Now—shall we go?’

Kit locked his hands together to accept Serena’s small booted foot, and was not surprised at the agility she displayed when he raised her up to the side-saddle, where she sat arranging her skirts while he strode towards his own mount.

Serena threw him a look as he hoisted himself into the saddle, seeing Monarch bunch his muscles and flare his nostrils. She smiled, wondering if she was about to see the arrogant marquess of Thurlow stripped of his dignity and tossed into a puddle on his backside.

‘Take care, my lord. Monarch is not usually pleased at having strangers ride him. He is swift and also temperamental. You have to show him who is master right from the start. He’s thrown many a stranger who sits on his back.’

Serena might as well have saved her breath. Kit controlled Monarch superbly as the horse reared up and pawed the air, his hooves hitting the cobbles so hard when he brought them down that it would normally have unseated the most experienced rider. But Kit remained firmly in the saddle, his lips drawn across his gleaming white teeth in a devilish grin. He flashed a triumphant look at Serena.

‘A horse after my own heart. We’ll get along splendidly,’ he laughed. The lean, hard muscles of his thighs gripped the horse, and he kept him on a tight rein to control his high-stepping prancing as they clattered out of the yard.

The landscape was stark and colourless against the grey sky, the wind buffeting them, exciting the horses. Shrouded in long cloaks they rode in silence, the fine drizzle washing their faces and dampening their hair exposed beneath their hats. Serena couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at her companion. The sight of him on the black horse with its highflying tail drew her admiration. Horse and rider flowed along together. After a while she halted, waiting for Kit to do likewise.

‘My compliments, Mistress Carberry. You ride well.’

‘Praise indeed coming from you, my lord,’ she answered, not without a hint of sarcasm. ‘Have you ridden with Dorothea on your visits to Carberry Hall?’

‘I have not yet had that pleasure. Does she ride well?’

Dorothea hated riding and did not sit a horse at all well, but Serena would not abuse her by saying so. ‘She rides well enough but, as you will have observed, Dorothea and I are not alike. Apart from being cousins and extremely fond of each other, we have little in common. She is quiet whereas I talk a lot. She is sweet tempered and mild mannered, whereas I am often quite the opposite. Dorothea also has a high opinion of almost everyone she comes into contact with, whereas I—well,’ Serena said, throwing her companion an intriguing smile, ‘my judgement is often critical and harsh. So you see, Lord Brodie, faults I have in plenty.’

Secretly, Kit couldn’t complain about that. Serena was too warm and vitally alive for him ever to reprimand her for faults such as these.

Buoyed up by the ride and feeling a little mischievous, Serena had no qualms about laying down a challenge. Under normal circumstances Polly was no match for Monarch, but these were not ordinary circumstances. Lord Brodie was not familiar with the stallion and nor was he familiar with the tricky terrain, so she was confident she would win.

‘We’ll ride towards the woods over there,’ she said, pointing towards the trees in the distance. ‘But before we do I’ll make you a small wager, my lord.’

Kit’s eyes danced at the idea. ‘A wager? When I recall your actions of yesterday, it seems to me that you are hellbent on self-destruction.’

Serena’s eyes flashed with a feral gleam. ‘Must you remind me of that?’

A leisurely smile moved across Kit’s lean brown face as his perusal swept her. ‘I apologise, but you seem to have a genius for getting yourself into impossible situations. I might even be so bold as to say that not only do you go looking for danger, but you actually seem to thrive on it. What kind of wager have you in mind?’

‘If I reach the woods before you, if I win, you return my handkerchief—the one you took from me yesterday, if you recall. If you win, you can keep it.’

Kit laughed heartily. ‘I’ve accepted some wagers in my time, but a lady’s kerchief? Never. I must point out that I never wager on certainties.’

‘That’s an arrogant assumption. Are you saying I will lose?’

Kit bowed his head in mock deferential respect. ‘My dear Mistress Carberry, I wouldn’t dare. It would be more than my life is worth. All I am saying is that I intend to win. Would you like a start?’



‘What? And put you at an unfair disadvantage?’ Serena laughed, warming to the chase, her cheeks dimpling quite deliciously. ‘Come, my fine lord, you’re wasting time.’ Like lightning she headed in the direction of the woods, her swift and agile mare galloping off ahead of the marquess.

The heath was undulating with many open ditches and brackish, swampy bogs, making the going dangerous and the riding hard, but Serena and her horse knew every inch of the terrain. In exhilaration she exerted all her skill as she snaked her way around bogs and avoided ominous patches of slate-coloured water, clearing open ditches boldly and unheeded, urging Polly in a final burst of energy towards the woods.

Within the dripping confines of the trees stood the sinister figure of Thomas Blackwell. There was a cold gleam in his eyes as he watched Lord Brodie prancing along beside Serena Carberry, observing the apparent closeness between them.

It had come to his notice that Brodie had recently become betrothed to Dorothea Carberry, a young lady he himself had a fancy for. Dorothea had all the necessary requirements Thomas considered important in a wife. She might bore him weary, but she wouldn’t complain at being left tucked away in the country while he sought his pleasures in London. More important, Dorothea was of the same Protestant faith as himself. Lord Carberry was also extremely wealthy and would drop a fortune at his feet as soon as they were wed, which would not go amiss.

But it would seem he had been supplanted in Dorothea’s affections by Brodie, which was not acceptable. He would succeed in making Lord Carberry loath the arrogant marquess of Thurlow almost as much as he did himself. Thomas touched the livid wounds on his cheek where Serena’s fingernails had raked the flesh raw. He was not done with her, either. But he would reserve his punishment for that hellcat until he had dealt with Brodie, and then he would show her how futile it was to struggle against him. He would call on Lord Carberry at the earliest opportunity, but for the present his vanity prevented him from doing so.

Pounding hoofbeats sounded alongside Serena and she turned to see Kit separated from her by several yards, his cloak spread out behind him like the wings of a giant hawk. Monarch’s hooves sent up splatters of water in his wake, and his tail whisked like a pennon in the wind. With a triumphant yell Kit pulled ahead on the big stallion, outpacing Serena’s mare and reaching the woods first. With a broad smile he whirled round to wait for her, his horse’s ebony coat slippery and shining with rain and sweat. Serena reached the trees a few yards behind him, her face flushed and breathing hard, her heart pounding.

‘Congratulations,’ she gasped. ‘The race is yours.’

‘And you are a gracious loser, Mistress Carberry,’ Kit laughed, his voice full of admiration, thinking how delightful she looked with damp curls clinging to her face, her cheeks as pink as pink could be and her green eyes sparkling like early-morning dew drops on summer grass. ‘I must congratulate you, also. You are an excellent horsewoman.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘However, I am glad I get to keep your handkerchief,’ he said, producing it from a pocket inside his doublet. After placing it to his lips and sniffing its delicate perfume, he returned it to his pocket.

‘We’ll give the horses a chance to breathe and take a steady ride back. With any luck the rain might hold off until we reach the stables.’ He glanced across at Serena as her horse fell into step beside his own. ‘Did you really believe your mare could win against the power of Monarch?’



‘Why not? You and Monarch may be superior in both stamina and strength, but I am familiar with the terrain, which is an important advantage. You can’t deny that it’s a testing course for any horse and rider—it could prove disastrous to someone unfamiliar to it.’

‘My experiences have taught me how to read every kind of terrain.’

‘Of course. I forget you are a soldier.’

‘Was,’ Kit corrected. ‘I did serve for a time in the Low Countries, which was where Blackwell and I became acquainted—but we were never friends.’

‘What’s he like?’ Serena ventured to ask tentatively. ‘Our homes are close, but I cannot say that I know him well—not even after what occurred between us yesterday. It would not have happened had he not been drunk.’

Kit lifted a dark, winged brow, knowing that drunk or sober made no difference to Blackwell’s behaviour. He was often to be found frequenting brothels where there were women aplenty to gratify his sexual appetite. But Kit could not tell this young maid the full extent of Blackwell’s bestiality, of his brutal methods when dealing with others.

Blackwell’s reputation was sealed by the aftermath of a massacre of nine Catholic women—five of them nuns—at a convent a short distance over the border from the United Provinces in Flanders. By all accounts Blackwell had stood and watched his soldiers violate the women before butchering them, and afterwards had drunk a toast to their deaths.

But well before that his arrogant bullying style had made him feared by his enemies and hated by the soldiers beneath his command. Kit had not met Blackwell before the massacre; in his opinion Blackwell was one of the cruellest, most dissolute officers he had ever known. Coming upon the murdered women at the convent, Kit had considered Blackwell’s behaviour so outrageous that he was moved to complain to a higher authority. Shortly afterwards Blackwell’s regiment had been recalled, but his reputation was blackened forever.

‘I shall not offend your senses by giving you an account of Blackwell’s crimes in the Low Countries. Be satisfied when I tell you that they were committed with the utmost barbarity, and that he should have been hanged for them.’

‘Then why wasn’t he? Lesser mortals would have been.’

‘True. But Blackwell has friends in high places—not least Salisbury, the king’s chief minister. Blackwell is famed more for his valour in the boudoir than on the battlefield,’ Kit told Serena with a cynical smile. ‘He is not a particularly savoury character and made many enemies when he was in the Low Countries. Living his life on a short fuse, he has a penchant for excessive carousing and brawling. Wherever he is to be found wars are not always confined to the battlefield. In between fighting he has led a pretty dissolute life, both in London and abroad.’

Kit was still curious as to how Serena had come to be alone with the villain yesterday. Did Blackwell accost her or did she meet him of her own free will? He had a strong suspicion it was the latter. ‘Take care, Mistress Carberry,’ he said, his tone grave. ‘You would do well to steer clear of Blackwell. He is not a man to be trifled with or made a fool of.’

‘Which I have discovered to my cost,’ Serena replied drily, yielding her gaze to Kit’s unwavering regard. ‘Do not underestimate him either, Lord Brodie,’ she advised. ‘You may have cause to regret stepping in to rescue me. Since his father’s death, Thomas has become a man of importance and influence.’

‘Blackwell is also a man of arrogance,’ said Kit, a wry twist curling his lips. Grinning suddenly, his eyes gleamed across at her wickedly. ‘Do I detect a note of concern for me in your voice, Mistress Carberry? If so, I am deeply touched.’

Serena’s cheeks burned and she lifted her head imperiously. ‘Oh! You insufferable beast. You are mistaken.’

Kit laughed softly at her confusion, enjoying watching the fluid motion of her body as she sat her horse. His gaze dwelt on the rain running down her hat and settling on her hair, fascinated by the mass of tiny curls that clung to her face. Droplets of moisture clung to her thick lashes and upper lip. Unconsciously she licked them off with the point of her tongue, and Kit found this small action provocative in the extreme and felt the heat flame in his belly.

He felt the urge to pull her on to his horse, to hold her, to have her body pressed close and have his own mouth kiss away the droplets of rain from her lips, to taste their velvety softness, sure they would taste as sweet as honey. He looked straight ahead, the rain swirling all around them, knowing it was madness to think like this when his thoughts should be directed towards his betrothed, to that gentle creature soon to be his wife in shared tenderness, faith and mutual respect.

Forcing his mind along a different path, Kit remembered there were things he wanted to ask Serena concerning her father that had troubled him before leaving London and which, since reaching Dunedin Hall, now troubled him more.

‘I’m glad to have this opportunity of speaking to you alone. There’s a serious matter I wish to speak with you about,’ he said after a long interval, his voice grave and his expression serious. ‘If you will permit me, that is.’

‘What is it?’ Serena asked, glancing across at him curiously.

‘Last evening you mentioned that Robert Catesby came to see your father to purchase some horses.’



Serena stiffened. Although she didn’t look at him, she felt Lord Brodie’s scrutiny. The time her father had spent alone with Sir Robert and Mr Grant when they had come to Dunedin Hall concerned no one but them, and was not to be discussed with this Protestant stranger she had no particular liking for.

‘Yes, he did, but if you don’t mind, Lord Brodie, I—’

‘Understand that I have no wish to pry or to meddle in your father’s affairs,’ Kit interrupted quickly. ‘I do so on this one matter only out of deep concern, for I strongly suspect that the purchase of those horses will, in time, have a far-reaching and disastrous effect on a great many people.’

With a growing dread, Serena looked at him, a feeling of doom curling itself round her heart. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Tell me—how many horses did Catesby and John Grant purchase?’

‘Twenty, in all,’ Serena told him with reluctance. ‘Why is it important for you to know?’

Kit shrugged easily, watching her reaction closely. ‘I’m interested. I consider it a number far beyond domestic requirements. Come. Why the secrecy?’ he demanded, his eyes narrowing in question.

‘I wasn’t aware that I was being secretive. But if you are to see Mr Grant at the hunt later, perhaps you should ask him why he purchased them.’

‘But would I get the right answer?’

‘Why ever not?’ Serena bestowed a brittle smile upon him. ‘Although he might surprise you and tell you to mind your own business.’

‘I expect he would—and I would not blame him in the slightest.’

‘Don’t concern yourself, my lord,’ Serena said lightly, trying to ease the sudden tension that had developed between them. ‘Let me put your mind at rest. The reason for the purchase is quite simple and can easily be explained.’

‘Then tell me.’

‘Mr Catesby is hoping to obtain a military commission under the Archduke Albert in Flanders, which, as you will know, being a military man yourself, is a perfectly legal venture after the signing of the peace treaty with Spain last year. He needs horses to form a troop of horse and my father has horses to sell. Have you reason to doubt what I tell you?’

‘Yes, I do. Who told you this?’

‘My father,’ Serena replied, trying to sound calm, but she was more troubled than she cared to show.

‘And you believe him?’

‘Of course I do,’ she flared, indignant. ‘My father does not lie.’

‘I would not insult him by accusing him of such. But I suspect that if this is what Catesby told your father, then it’s a useful piece of dissembling on his part.’

‘Please explain why you raise this matter with me and not my father? I find it extremely alarming and fear your reason for doing so.’

‘You are right to fear it, since I do myself. I raise the matter with you because I feel you should know—that you must be warned. It’s only right that you should be prepared should something of a vicious nature occur that may prompt awkward questions to be asked of Sir Henry. What we are discussing is of an extremely serious nature—one I have not discussed with anyone else. If something should happen—and my instincts tell me it will—events have a nasty way of implicating the innocent. I have no wish to see my own head roll by making myself conspicuous.’

Serena stared at him in horror, swallowing against a restricting tightness in her throat. ‘Is it as serious as all that?’ she whispered.

‘Yes. I’m afraid it is.’

‘And do you trust your instincts?’

‘As a soldier I had to—and they could usually be relied upon. Since the king’s renewed persecution of the Catholics, I suspect there is something afoot, that a scheme is being devised to bring down the king and his government. I also fear your father may have unwittingly been drawn in to become a part of it.’

‘And how do you know this?’ Serena asked with a sinking heart.

‘Whilst in London I often supped with Catesby and his friend Thomas Percy at various taverns and eating houses, where they and their associates would meet. Robert Catesby, as you know, is a man of powerful charm and a dominating personality, who cuts a wide swathe in most company. He also has the easy ability of a man who can talk anyone into doing anything. I believe he is a convert to Catholicism—and, indeed, he has a typical convert’s passion for his faith—with an ill-conceived ardour which will make him as willing to kill for it as to die for it.

‘It’s no secret that he is deeply involved with religious malcontents like himself. I can name several—all opulent and obstinate followers of their religion, most of them living in the Midlands in their large mansions. Some you know well,’ Kit said, speaking gravely, his dark eyes surveying Serena closely, ‘whose houses you visit to conduct the rituals of your faith—where priests are condemned to secret refuges to hide from pursuivants.’

Serena met his gaze calmly. ‘You are well informed, Lord Brodie. The rituals are conducted with some trepidation, but their importance overrides any disquiet we might feel at the possible consequences should we be discovered.’



Kit nodded slowly. He admired her words, which were repeated by many courageous Catholic women playing a crucial part in the survival of the Catholic faith in the face of ruthless persecution.

‘Bravely spoken,’ he commented quietly. ‘It is no secret that Catesby has been involved in failed conspiracies in the past. When Queen Elizabeth was moved to save him from a premature death after his involvment in the Essex conspiracy in sixteen-oh-one, he was fortunate to leave the Tower with his head intact. On the surface there was nothing unusual in the meetings I was privy to, but I am no fool and strongly suspect some enterprise more serious than cards or dice to be their reason for meeting.’

‘And they let you, a Protestant, listen in?’ Serena commented with irony. ‘I beg your pardon, Lord Brodie, but that I cannot believe.’

‘There was nothing secretive in the gatherings, which were social, jovial affairs, where not everyone was of the Catholic faith.’

‘Then tell me this. Are you saying that my father could be endangering his life by selling his horses to Robert Catesby?’

‘That depends on his true reason for doing so.’

‘You don’t believe they are to go towards raising a troop of horse for the Spanish Netherlands?’

Kit shook his head in consternation. ‘I don’t know. I doubt it and believe it to be a smokescreen to conceal the true purpose of the purchase of so many horses. But I have not the slightest inkling of what is going on.’

‘What other reason could there be?’

‘Unfortunately I cannot answer that. I only know that since King James has crushed Catholic hopes for liberty of conscience and will not meet certain concessions, there are those of a violent, impatient nature who will not wait with passive endurance for change to come about.’

Serena was appalled at what he was implying. ‘But any violent means to bring about tolerance can never be justified. The sentiments of honest Catholics would never support this. If there is a conspiracy, then those involved must desist from such wicked actions that can only result in weakening the cause. But why does it interest you? Why involve yourself—especially since you are not of the Catholic persuasion?’

‘I don’t take religion seriously, I confess. I worship God in my own way and believe others should be allowed to do the same. I concern myself because your father is my friend, and I value his friendship. All I know is that it has been hinted that something of a seditious sort will be attempted by Catholics when Parliament reconvenes next month.’

Serena paled. ‘But that is treason.’

Kit looked at her steadily. ‘Only if it fails will it be called treason.’

‘There have been failed conspiracies before. How can this be any different?’

‘Well may you ask. Who is to say at this stage what will happen? But I believe that the Catholic cause, the throne and succession itself, could hang on this.’

‘If my father is in danger I should know about it. If you have discovered a conspiracy against the king, which may include him, please tell me.’

‘I wish I could tell you more, but what I have are suspicions, nothing more.’

‘Aye!’ Serena exclaimed irately, clutching the reins tighter as at a threat. ‘My brother said much the same to me before he returned to Italy.’

Kit looked at her sharply. ‘Your brother has been here recently? He gave you warning?’



‘Yes. Andrew has heard rumblings as far away as Rome, which brought him to England to see Father—no doubt to warn him about a scheme he was already aware of,’ she uttered bitterly. ‘He said much the same as yourself—that something ugly is about to manifest itself.’

Kit’s brows drew together as he contemplated this latest information. ‘As early as that! Then it is worse than I thought. Any conspiracy will have been deep laid and well and truly thought out by now—and I suspect Catesby, who is capable of great ambitions and is multitalented in the subtle stratagems of devising a master plot, of being the clever mind behind it. However, I very much doubt that Sir Henry is part of any such scheme.’

Serena was both angry and hurt, strongly suspecting that Andrew had withheld information because he believed such things were not a woman’s concern. But how could it not be when she was the one left alone with their father? If it was her father’s concern, then it was hers also.

‘Why not?’ Serena flared bitterly. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time. I love my father dearly, Lord Brodie, but he has been playing the Catholic cause since he was old enough to understand. He is not likely to stop now—even if it means dragging me in, too.’

‘I’m sure your father loves you too well to involve himself in anything that would cause you harm.’

‘His past behaviour leads me to think otherwise, and if he is involved then so am I by association.’ Serena looked at Kit beseechingly as they rode into the stable yard, her lovely eyes wide and deeply troubled, stirred despite her earlier animosity by what he had confided to her. ‘Lord Brodie, will you speak to him—discover how deeply he is involved? Please tell him of your suspicions and warn him.’

Kit shook his head slowly, jumping down from his horse when a stable lad came to take it from him. ‘If he is embroiled in any conspiracy, then I doubt he would disclose it to me. But after saying that, my instinct tells me most assuredly that he has no hand in any scheme.’

The sky loomed dark and impenetrable, and by the time they reached the house a heavy downpour was unleashed on them. Kit paused, taking Serena’s arm and turning her to face him. Knowing full well what she was going through, he was genuinely reluctant to leave her, but he had been right to speak to her. She must be warned in order to prepare herself should his suspicions be realised.

Serena blinked droplets of rain from her lashes as she looked up at Kit in question, seeing his expression was grave but calm.

‘I won’t speak of this matter again,’ he said, ‘but if it will make you feel easier I will have a word with Sir Henry later.’

It was his tone that caught all Serena’s attention and made her look long at the swarthy, rather saturnine face. As she searched those dark eyes which studied her closely, she realised that Lord Brodie had not spoken to her casually. He was deadly serious about what he had confided to her.

‘Yes, thank you. I would appreciate that. But please don’t involve yourself further on my father’s behalf. It could prove dangerous to you. But what can I do?’

‘There is nothing you can do except wait for events to unfold.’

‘What? Wait for my father to be arrested?’

‘Let us pray it doesn’t come to that.’




Chapter Four


As soon as Serena’s carriage drew up outside Carberry Hall, Dorothea hurried out of the house with a welcoming smile.

‘Serena! I should scold you severely for staying away so long.’

‘The same could be said of yourself, Dorothea,’ Serena laughed, embracing her cousin affectionately. ‘Your absence from Dunedin Hall has been noted, too.’

‘I’m sure it has. Father will not hear of me visiting Dunedin Hall for fear of me being converted to your faith. He’s terrified I’ll become so involved that I’ll take the vows of a nun and live out my life in a convent abroad. I tell him I’m much too sinful to do that,’ she said on a slightly cynical note, ‘but he won’t have it.’

‘You? Sinful? If ever there was a person without sin, Dorothea, it is you,’ Serena told her, and was sure this was true. Yet there were times when her cousin puzzled her, times when she suspected Dorothea was not the quiet mouse she would have everyone believe. She submitted herself to her father’s authority without complaint. But, despite her poise, which she always managed to maintain throughout his angry blusterings, Serena suspected that rebellion stirred within her breast.

Serena entered the high impressive hall of Carberry Hall, the house in which her own father had lived before his marriage to her mother, Lady Anne, who had brought with her Dunedin Hall. A welcoming fire blazed in the hearth of a small sitting room; pulling her down on to the sofa, Dorothea hugged her cousin again.

‘I have missed our chats. I have so much to tell you. How long can you stay? A few days at least, I hope.’

‘I have nothing to hurry home for. Father’s days are so taken up with hunting that he won’t miss me too much. You look wonderful, Dorothea—and I hear dramatic changes have been taking place in your life. You are to be married, I believe…to the marquess of Thurlow.’

A fleeting frown touched Dorothea’s brow and she looked a little pensive. ‘Yes, that is so. Have you heard of him?’

‘He stayed at Dunedin Hall last night, as a matter of fact. Lord Brodie came to purchase some of Father’s horses for his stable at Thurlow.’ Sensing that Dorothea felt no joy in her betrothal, Serena’s curiosity was kindled. ‘You can’t have known each other long, Dorothea. When I last came to stay there was no mention of Lord Brodie.’

‘You are right, and I confess I don’t know him very well. The match was hastily made three months ago. Father has a high regard for him, having come to know him through the old marquess before he died. Since then, when Lord Brodie returned from the Low Countries to take over his inheritance, they have become better acquainted and he has called here on occasion.’

‘It is a good match,’ said Serena. ‘According to my father he is influential in government and court circles—and thought very highly of by the king, too, by all accounts.’

Dorothea’s lips formed a tremulous smile. ‘I know. Since titles and wealth are paramount to Father, he was determined to choose the man with the highest rank who offered for me. Since the marquess was the only one who did, there was no choice to make. Lord Brodie is a fine man and always polite and very charming. He is also extremely handsome—as you will have seen for yourself.’

Yes, Serena thought, Lord Bordie was that—but he was also the most arrogant, insufferable and confounding man she had ever met.

‘And do you want to marry him?’ Serena asked gently, concealing her own tumultuous thoughts where that gentleman was concerned. Sensitive and sympathetic to her cousin’s concern, she sensed Dorothea was far from reconciled to becoming Lord Brodie’s wife. Marriage to that particular gentleman would be enough to raise troubling disquiet in any woman. If their roles were reversed, Serena would consider it just cause for complaint and violently oppose it. ‘Are you happy about it?’

‘I am happy enough and contented,’ Dorothea replied, without enthusiasm, Serena observed. She noted a fleeting, wistful look enter her cousin’s eyes which puzzled her. Was it possible that someone else had won a place in Dorothea’s heart?

‘I have no sentimental illusions about my betrothal,’ Dorothea continued, ‘and there have been no courtly love games between Lord Brodie and I. We do not know each other well enough for that.’

‘But you will.’

‘I know, and I can think of worse men to be paired off with. I have to obey my father. Neither he nor Lord Brodie are men to be refused lightly. Whatever Lord Brodie says and every impression he makes are serious and permanent. He’s so formidable—so frightening, in a way—that I can’t help feeling he will exert so much influence on me that I will not fulfil his expectations as a wife.’ Dorothea sighed deeply. ‘How I wish Father had chosen someone with a quieter disposition for me to wed.’

Serena was deeply sympathetic. ‘Dorothea, if you have any doubts about this marriage you must make them known to your father.’

‘How can I? Father is not to be gainsaid.’ She smiled softly into Serena’s eyes. ‘I’m not like you, Serena. You have more nerve than the devil himself. I would never dare question my father’s judgement or his wishes—but I feel that he, too, is having doubts about the match.’

Serena’s eyes opened wide in amazement. ‘Oh?’

‘Yes, it’s true. At first he was keen for me to marry the marquess, but it has come to his ears that Lord Brodie may have Catholic sympathies. A large number of his friends are not just of the Catholic faith, but are also well-known recusants—and you know Father’s views on that. He is afraid that Lord Brodie will by persuaded to become a convert, and that I, too, will be drawn in when we marry.’

‘And what is wrong with that? I am of that faith—and so is my father,’ Serena exclaimed in a rush of indignation.

‘But you are blood kin. I suppose that’s different.’

‘No, it isn’t, Dorothea. It’s hypocritical of your father to practise standards contrary to his beliefs. If he denies one then he should deny them all. But I don’t think he need worry on Lord Brodie’s account,’ Serena said, recalling the conversation she’d had with that gentleman on this very subject. ‘I think if he had any Catholic leanings at all he would have been converted long before now.’

Lord Carberry chose that moment to enter the room, having been told of Serena’s arrival. Immediately and simultaneously both Serena and Dorothea rose from the sofa. In a calm and dignified silence they waited for him to speak.

Lord Carberry was a hard and dispassionate man. Tall and gaunt with the profile of a hawk, he bore no resemblance to his brother. His grey eyes under drawn-together bushy eyebrows were grim and full of scrutiny as he looked at his Catholic niece. It rankled sorely that his own brother belonged to that faith, and he was determined not to allow his daughter to follow suit by marrying into a Catholic family. As meek and pliant as she was, she would become corrupted in no time at all.

Despite his grand title and vast estates, the marquess of Thurlow would have to make his views and opinions on that subject absolutely clear before any vows were exchanged between that particular gentleman and Dorothea at the altar.

It had recently come to his attention that Sir Thomas Blackwell was expected to return at any time to Ashcombe Manor. Should it be proved that the marquess did have Catholic leanings, it was not too late to give his daughter’s hand in marriage to someone else—and Thomas Blackwell was eminently suitable. It did not cross his mind to consult Dorothea on the change he might make to her suitor, and he was selfishly insensitive to the fact that she might feel deeply resentful. The advantage would be in having a son-in-law whose religious opinions matched his own.

Lord Carberry greeted his niece stiffly. ‘So, Serena, you have come to spend a few days with Dorothea,’ he said at length.

‘Yes. It’s good of you to have me stay, Uncle. Dorothea and I have much to catch up on,’ Serena replied respectfully. When she looked into her uncle’s cold eyes that glared down at her, she could see that nothing had changed. No matter how agreeable she always tried to be when she came to Carberry Hall, it never would. Because of her religion her uncle did not want her in his house, and only tolerated her presence out of family duty and to please Dorothea.



‘And Henry? Am I to expect a visit from him?’

‘No, Uncle. Father has been invited to Woodfield Grange by Lord Payne for the hunting. It is expected to be a large affair. I believe Sir Everard Digby and other guests from nearby Coughton Court are included in the party.’

Lord Carberry chose that moment to clear his throat, unable to converse on this matter without sounding contemptuous. He had no particular liking for either Lord Payne or Everard Digby, both of them Catholics. Digby was a handsome, easygoing young man who was passionately fond of every kind of field sport and lived very well with his wife at Gayhurst in Buckinghamshire.

For hunting purposes, Digby had only recently rented the imposing Coughton Court from Thomas Throckmorton, who had gone abroad the previous year—another of his neighbours, Lord Carberry thought with deep condemnation, whose fortunes were heavily depleted by recusancy. No matter which way he turned, he was bedevilled by Catholics.

‘We’re expecting company in a couple of days,’ Lord Carberry told Serena coldly, moving towards the door. ‘Lord Brodie, Dorothea’s betrothed, is to pay us a brief visit. He will be accompanied by a friend of his, Sir Ludovick Lamont. Sir Ludovick is a Scottish gentleman and highly thought of by King James—although I cannot say as much myself,’ he grumbled without enlarging on the fact that he shared the resentment of most of the English for these greedy northerners, on whom King James lavished his attention and had been quick to promote to exalted positions at court. ‘No doubt Dorothea will be impatient to introduce you to Lord Brodie. He’s a fine man and is highly respected.’

‘Lord Brodie and I are already acquainted, Uncle,’ Serena stated.

Lord Carberry halted and turned sharply. ‘You are?’



‘Yes. He came to see Father yesterday to purchase some of his horses. After staying overnight Lord Brodie rode to Woodfield Grange with Father for the hunting.’

Lord Carberry went white. ‘Did he, by God!’ he responded explosively, his face reddening to the colour of a cock’s comb.

‘Yes,’ Serena replied, undeterred and secretly amused by her uncle’s irate response. After what Dorothea had told her about her uncle’s unease following reports about the subversive company Lord Brodie often kept, she could well imagine what horrors must be passing through his mind on being told that his future son-in-law was cavorting about the countryside in the company of some of the most notable Catholic gentlemen in the land.

‘Lord Brodie shares Father’s enthusiasm for hunting and was reluctant to forgo an opportunity to indulge his passion for the sport in this part of Warwickshire, where, as you know, Uncle, some of the finest hunting is to be enjoyed.’

‘And no doubt Henry gave Brodie every encouragement,’ her uncle growled with heavy criticism, not missing Serena’s subtle gibe as he opened the door. His bushy eyebrows drew closer together when he realised his niece was making light of the situation. But it would be wrong of him to unleash his anger on her for Lord Brodie’s misdemeanours.

‘The enjoyment is lessened if the company is not to one’s liking,’ he went on. ‘It is my opinion that Lord Brodie should stop his foolery and would be better off employed elsewhere. There are those who would be more discriminating than to value the presence of subversives in their midst.’

Lord Carberry retreated to his study, unaware of the unspoken words of indignation that tempted Serena’s tongue, for she knew perfectly well that her uncle considered her father to be one of those subversives. But however much she wanted to speak out in defence of her father and their faith, she must not forget that she was a guest in her uncle’s house. Any protestations she might make would promptly be considered by him to be of a quarrelsome nature, and he would lose no time in having her dispatched back to Dunedin Hall. This would serve no purpose and only succeed in upsetting Dorothea and angering her own father.

Lord Carberry’s sense of disquiet where the marquess was concerned increased by the minute, for it was becoming more apparent to him that he could not be trusted. However, feeling the need for caution, he decided not to raise the matter with the marquess until he had met with Sir Thomas Blackwell. There was no need to upset the apple cart altogether in case Sir Thomas did not find the idea of marriage to Dorothea agreeable and no other suitor was forthcoming.

Lord Brodie and Sir Ludovick Lamont, with their two respective servants, arrived at Carberry Hall on horseback. They were not expected for several hours. Lord Carberry had not yet returned home from visiting an acquaintance the previous day, which meant Dorothea would have to receive her betrothed alone. She was reluctant to meet Lord Brodie—and so was Serena, but for diffent reasons.

If it were not for the fact that the cold fingers of apprehension continued to claw at Serena over her father’s activities of late, making her want to ask Lord Brodie if he’d had the opportunity of speaking to him on the matter, nothing would have tempted her to await his arrival, even at the risk of disappointing Dorothea.

Lord Brodie stepped into the hall with an arrogant stride, and when Serena’s eyes travelled surreptitiously over him, it was blatantly obvious that he had much to be arrogant about. She noted with some surprise and annoyance the warmth that sprung to her cheeks and how her heartbeat quickened its pace at his presence.

Kit’s dark eyes flicked over both young women, locking briefly with Serena’s, who felt the impact of his ruthless vitality and pride, but it was on Dorothea that his gaze settled and softened.

Because he wanted to pursue a military career, Kit had always avoided marriage but, when his cousin had died and he had inherited Thurlow in Northamptonshire, at thirty years old he had considered it time he settled down and had put his mind to finding a wife. On meeting Dorothea, he had been appreciative of her in every aspect, and decided that she was a prize worth seeking. Lord Carberry had encouraged the match, and Kit was pleased that he did not insist on a long courtship, for he was impatient to take her to Thurlow. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips.

‘Dorothea! You are well, I trust?’

Dorothea flushed, her serious expression lightening. ‘Perfectly, my lord,’ she murmured shyly. ‘But you are early. Your arrival has taken us by surprise. My father is not here to greet you.’

‘Think nothing of it.’ Kit smiled, his eyes twinkling. ‘I was impatient to see you. I would have sent a note but it would have been a waste of time. The note and I would have arrived together.’

Dorothea turned to Serena, who had taken a stance a little behind her. ‘Serena,’ she said, ‘you remember Lord Brodie.’

Serena stepped forward, her heart tripping a beat when she looked up into the handsome visage, struck by his stern profile. The strength of Lord Brodie’s gaze held hers, and for the first time she had a glimpse of hidden qualities that would delight the senses, but quickly dismissed the thought. It was out of keeping with what she really thought of him.

‘Of course. How good to see you again, my lord.’



‘It is a pleasure to see you again, Mistress Carberry. You are more charming than I remember.’

Kit’s tone was natural yet formal—almost ceremonial, Serena thought, experiencing a twinge of disappointment.

Kit turned to his companion. ‘May I introduce a good friend of mine, Sir Ludovick Lamont. Ludovick this is Dorothea, my betrothed—and this is Mistress Serena Carberry, Dorothea’s cousin,’ he said after Ludovick had bowed over Dorothea’s hand.

Serena turned her attention to the flaxen-haired gentleman, whose eyes swept over her appraisingly before giving her a decorous, courtly bow. She smiled charmingly.

Ludovick had been unable to take his eyes off Serena since entering the hall. At first he could only stare in mute appreciation—which was peculiar in one usually so bold. Sunlight lancing through the windows drenched her in its glow, caressing and playing on every delectable hill and hollow of her body. He noted her rich abundance of deep auburn hair and large green eyes staring calmly out of a face unblemished and milky smooth, and he found it hard to identify her with the young woman Kit had described to him on their journey to Carberry Hall.

Kit had informed him that she was exceedingly pretty and unattached. When Ludovick had raised an interested brow, his friend had laughed and warned him in mocking tones that it would take a courageous man to take on Serena Carberry. In Kit’s opinion she had more mettle than most maids, and was a veritable virago when provoked. Kit had told him jestingly that while he was still in one piece it might be advisable to bypass Carberry Hall after all and continue on their way to Thurlow.

Seeing her in the flesh, Ludovick was all admiration and cocked a practised eye, happily relieved that he’d agreed to accompany Kit instead of returning to London as he had originally planned to do after the hunt. Had he done so, he would have missed the opportunity of meeting this gorgeous creature.

‘It’s indeed an honour to make your acquaintance, Mistress Carberry,’ Ludovick said warmly, bent on winning this beauty for himself. Her smile melted his bones.

Serena considered him to be a buoyant, truly debonair young gentleman, with a bold look not unlike that of Lord Brodie’s. His fine apparel, which was the height of fashion, lent him a rakish look. She already knew he was a Scot, so his accent—which was not as pronounced as some she had heard, and was derided by many in England who considered it uncouth—came as no surprise. Prior to his arrival at Carberry Hall, Dorothea had told her he had come south on King James’s accession to the English throne, and that he was highly thought of by Their Majesties. Having been a member of their inner circle for many years, like most of the Scots who had come with the king and been given lavish positions of advancements at court, he was extremely unpopular.

Sir Ludovick was not as tall as Lord Brodie and was a little heavier and perhaps a few years younger, Serena thought. Unlike Lord Brodie, who was clean shaven, he sported a small, neatly trimmed square beard and moustache. There was an open honesty in his face and humour in his firm lips, and a quiet amusement in his alert blue gaze that could not fail to draw one’s attention.

Serena liked him at once. Experiencing a spirit of mischief and moved by some feminine impulse of coquetry, she favoured him with a dazzling smile, without realising how devastatingly lovely she looked to the scowling marquess.

Kit noticed that she was much taken with Ludovick. Having drawn back a little, he watched his friend’s unabashed perusal of Serena with a cocked eyebrow and a careless arrogance to hide a perplexing emotion that troubled him. His irritation began to stir against Ludovick—a man he had been at Cambridge with and who had remained his closest friend ever since. He took stock of this latest feeling, for it surprised him. It was not a feeling he was familiar with, and nor was it one he liked.

‘And I imagined life would be dull in Warwickshire,’ laughed Ludovick good-humouredly. ‘I came to partake of a spot of hunting to enjoy the freedom and escape the confining, plague-ridden city for a few days, expecting to be bored witless and to find the company stilted, yet I have been pleasurably surprised. Not only did I find the hunting splendid—but the company gets better all the time,’ he said meaningfully as his eyes quite shockingly raked Serena in her buttercup-yellow gown. ‘Your beauty slays me, Mistress Carberry.’





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