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‘We are not so difficult to fathom, my lord.’

      ‘You smile, Miss Winslow, you are obviously mocking me.’

      It was he who was mocking her, she was certain. ‘No, I would not dream of it. Everyone is different, of course, but I think that all women would want to feel wanted, needed, to have a loving family and to know that they are useful in whatever way they can be.’

      ‘That is very laudable, ma’am, but I cannot help but feel we are back to ladies not admitting to enthusiasms! What about rank and status, riches and luxury? Do ladies not covet those?’

      Marina felt that she should piously point out that covetousness was a sin, but the crinkle of humour at the corner of his eyes made the unspoken thought seem prissy. ‘To have enough money to indulge in little luxuries is very pleasant, of course.’

      ‘And rank and status?’

      ‘Those would bring great responsibility,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘but I can see that they might have a certain allure.’ He smiled and she laughed back at him. ‘But you are teasing me again, my lord; I can tell.’

      ‘Why should I do that?’ Justin’s voice dropped, became warmer. ‘You speak as though you are immune to such temptations and I see no reason why you should be.’ She opened her mouth to protest, but he carried on remorselessly. ‘You are about to remind me of your advanced age and that is, if you will forgive me saying so, a nonsense. Now, Miss Winslow, may I tempt you?’

      ‘T...tempt me?’ What with, for goodness’ sake?

      ‘These almond fritters look almost irresistible to me.’

      ‘They are,’ Marina agreed, seizing the opening with gratitude. ‘They are quite the best of Cook’s specialities and I defy anyone to refuse another once they have sampled one.’

      The meal proceeded harmlessly, much to Marina’s relief, with conversation about the difficulty of finding a really reliable cook, the latest balloon ascension and if the weather could be expected to continue so fine.

      Eventually Lady Winslow rose, gathered the attention of the other ladies with a glance and made her way out of the dining room. Marina followed meekly at the back, unsure whether she was glad or sorry the meal was over.

      Conversation in the drawing room was animated, for it seemed that Mrs Thredgold had heard the most fascinating intelligence about the Brighton Pavilion, now supposedly reaching completion after years of building work, and was anxious to share it with the other ladies. As she was too deaf to hear their replies and raised her own voice almost to a shout, a number of cross-conversations were soon in process, allowing Marina to muse on her conversation with Lord Mortenhoe in peace.

      If she had not known better, she would have thought he had been flirting with her. Perhaps he was, she thought, a little frown line appearing between her brows. Men did not flirt with Marina any more, a circumstance she accepted without rancour. Men flirted with young, pretty girls and even when she had first come out she had known herself not to be pretty. And they expected girls to giggle and flirt back, to make sheep’s eyes over the edge of their fans and gaze at them as though they were wonderful.

      Marina had rapidly discovered that she was really very bad at flirtation and that nothing would persuade her to gaze with wide-eyed admiration at some callow youth simply because he was male, had a title and a respectable degree of wealth—she felt rather an instinct to laugh at them. She also discovered that sensible, poorly dowered young ladies with a satirical twinkle in their eye eventually found themselves seated firmly on the shelf.

      ‘May I sit here, Miss Winslow?’ The men had entered the room without her noticing.

      ‘Yes, of course, my lord.’ Please go and talk to Mrs Hinton, my lord. Mrs Hinton is pretty and amusing and will flirt very elegantly with you.

      But Lord Mortenhoe appeared oblivious to the fact that her friend had left a carefully judged space on the sofa next to her and sat down beside Marina, settling back and regarding the drawing room with every appearance of approbation.

      ‘This is a very charming room, if I may say so.’

      ‘Why, thank you, my lord.’ Marina could not help but feel flattered. The room had cost her much work and careful budgeting, but she did feel that it had turned out well and showed no sign of having been created on a shoestring.

      ‘And may I presume to deduce from that modest look that you are the creative hand behind it? I suspect that Lady Winslow relies very much upon you.’

      ‘Mama does let me run things more or less as I will, my lord. I find it interesting to manage the household.’

      ‘Then perhaps I might ask you for some advice—can you recommend a good agency for domestic staff? I will be engaging a complete household for a rural estate shortly and it is not something with which I have much experience.’

      ‘My goodness! A complete household? I would have to think about that, for there are several agencies that I could recommend and I think that it would be prudent to approach more than one. You have acquired a new shooting lodge, I imagine?’

      Now, what have I said to amuse him? Lord Mortenhoe’s lips quirked in a wry smile. He really did have the most expressive mouth. I wonder what it would be like to be kissed...

      ‘No, not a shooting lodge, a mansion of, if I recall correctly, twenty bedrooms.’

      ‘My goodness, that is large.’ Marina wrenched her eyes and her unruly imagination away from Lord Mortenhoe’s mouth. ‘Then you will most definitely need more than one agency. There are no staff there at present?’

      ‘I am not sure, I must ask your brother, but I imagine only a skeleton staff, and he will doubtless wish to retain them and move them to one of his other establishments.’

      ‘My brother? You mean Charlie is selling you a house?’ Marina’s brow furrowed, then cleared. ‘Then he must be selling Knightshaye. I had no idea it was not entailed like everything else.’

      ‘It used to be in my family. Your father acquired it, I am retrieving it.’ Marina shivered. Lord Mortenhoe’s voice was pleasant and unemotional, yet she felt a sudden frisson of danger as though a blade had been drawn hissing from its sheath.

      ‘That is good for all of us, I am sure,’ she commented, more for something to say than anything else.

      ‘Indeed? Do you dislike it so?’

      ‘I have never been there—in fact, I do not believe Charlie has either. No, I meant it is good that you have been able to get it back and that Charlie has realised money on it.’ His profile looked somewhat forbidding, so, in an effort at lightness, she added, ‘I shall have to tease a new pair of dining-room curtains out of my brother on the strength of the sale.’

      ‘I should imagine you could tease rather more than that out of him should you try, Miss Winslow. Your brother strikes a hard bargain. But the deal has not yet been concluded.’

      Was that resentment in his voice? No, not that, more a wry admiration. Perhaps that was why she had sensed so much tension on his first visit—Charlie had set too high a price and they were still negotiating. But the thought of what realising the value of a large mansion would do for the shaky family fortunes was thrilling—just so long as Charlie did not promptly gamble it away. Why on earth have Charlie and Mama not mentioned it?

      ‘Have you ever been there?’

      ‘It was my home until three weeks after my eighth birthday.’

      ‘Then it must have a most sentimental attachment for you,’ she said warmly. ‘I am so glad you are regaining it. Is it as you remember it? I always find that going back to places I knew as a child is most disconcerting—they either seem bigger or much smaller than I recall.’

      ‘I have never been back.’ He seemed to hesitate, then added, ‘I swore as we drove away that I would never return until I owned it again.’

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