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the man!’

      ‘Do not try to blame the Consul, you tricked me!’

      ‘No, you wanted to believe that, because you had found yourself another lover.’

      She flew out of her chair. ‘That is a lie.’

      ‘Is it, madam? Why not admit that you decided to throw your lot in with the French? After all, they had the upper hand in Egypt at that time, I had told you as much. I was trying to negotiate alliances with the Mamelukes, but they were fighting so much amongst themselves that it was impossible to form a cohesive resistance to the Pasha. And despite losing the Battle of the Nile, Bonaparte looked set to conquer the world, so who could blame you for switching your allegiance?’

      ‘I did nothing of the kind. I merely deemed it safer to leave Egypt under the French Consul’s protection.’

      ‘And leave me to learn of it from Missett. Fine behaviour from my wife, madam!’

      ‘I am not your wife!’ She flung out her hand to silence him. ‘I was taken in once by your lies, it will not happen again.’

      ‘You need not take my word for it,’ he retorted. ‘If you check now you will find the records have been amended.’

      ‘I do not believe you. I made thorough enquiries when I returned to England. I even had my lawyers go through the Chaplains’ Returns. There is no record of our marriage.’

      ‘All the papers have now been returned to England. Send your lawyers to look again, if you do not trust my word.’ He saw the first flicker of doubt in her eyes and his lip curled. ‘You are my wife, madam, like it or not.’

      * * *

      Ellen felt as if she was standing on the edge of a precipice. She could still recall the hurt and disillusionment she had felt when she and Mrs Ackroyd had arrived in Alexandria and the English Consul had told them categorically that there were no British soldiers south of Cairo. He had waved a sheaf of papers at them, detailed information on ship and troop movements.

      ‘Believe me, ladies, if there were any British units in the area I would know of it. I am afraid you have been duped by deserters who have thrown in their lot with the Mamelukes.’

      ‘And the chaplain?’ Mrs Ackroyd had asked him the question, since Ellen had been too distraught to speak.

      ‘I am personally acquainted with Dr Angus and if he were in Egypt he would have come to see me. The last letter I had from him was from Sicily and he was even then talking of a posting to South America. You have been grossly deceived, ladies, the soldiers you met could only have been deserters.’

      Ellen remembered his words all too clearly, felt again her shock. Shock and mortification so great that it had sent her into a dead faint. She had been foolish beyond reason to accept Max with no proof at all of his identity. She had fallen head over heels in love and within two weeks of their meeting she had married him. She had never before let down her guard and trusted any man, which was why his deception had broken her completely. When she had learned of it, all she had wanted was to leave the country as quickly as possible. Mrs Ackroyd had pointed out that the French Consul’s sphere of influence was far greater than that of the Allies and he could get them quickly and safely out of the country. Ellen had known how that would look to Max, if he found out, but she had not cared for that. In fact, she had been glad. It would be some small revenge for what he had done to her.

      But now, as he sat in her house, coolly refuting her arguments, the doubts crept in. Why would he suggest her lawyers should investigate unless he was sure of his facts? What if she had misjudged him all these years? She looked up to find he was watching her and his cold, assured smile chilled her to the bone.

      ‘Yes, madam, you are my wife, but not for long.’

      Ellen felt the blood draining from her face and put her hands to her cheeks. Max gave a scornful laugh and pushed himself out of his chair. As if in a dream she watched him place his empty glass carefully on the side table before turning back to her.

      ‘You should not have been so hasty in casting me off, Ellen. But four years ago neither of us dreamed I would ever become Duke. That makes you a duchess, but you may be sure I mean to obtain a divorce as soon as possible. I do not think it will be difficult, do you?’ he drawled. ‘A wife who abandons her husband for another man and a French official at that. And there is the bigamy charge, too. Divorce will be expensive, difficult and we will be a laughing stock, but I will endure it all to be free of you.’

      She barely heard him, too horrified by her own thoughts to understand his words. She had been so devastated by what she thought was his betrayal that on her return to England she had taken a false name and hidden herself away. She had given him no chance to explain himself. But if she had indeed been mistaken, this anger, this hatred he was displaying was perfectly understandable. She bit her lip and looked at him.

      ‘Oh, Max,’ she whispered. ‘I am more sorry than I can say...’

      His lip curled. ‘I am sure you are, but you should have thought of that before you deserted me.’ He picked up his hat and gloves. ‘I shall write to my lawyers tomorrow to free us both from this damnable mess.’

      Ellen looked into that cold, implacable face and her spirit crumbled. She felt physically sick at the thought that she had been wrong and she could not blame him for hating her. Leaving Alexandria under the protection of the French Consul was an insult Max would never forgive, but she had believed then that she was the injured party. Her head was reeling. If the marriage was indeed legal, then she needed to consider her situation, but that was impossible in his presence.

      She drew a breath and steadied her nerves. ‘Very well. I will show you out.’

      She waited until he had picked up his cloak, then preceded him to the empty hall, anxious to get him out of the house as quickly as possible. They had just stepped into the hall when a little voice called from the top of the stairs.

      ‘Mama! Mama!’

      * * *

      Max stopped and looked back to see a small, golden-haired boy standing halfway down the stairs. Ellen gave a little cry and rushed up to catch the child in her arms just as a flustered housemaid appeared on the landing.

      ‘Ooh, madam, I am sorry, I must have left the door ajar. I thought Master James was asleep and I’d only turned my back for a minute!’

      Ellen gathered the little boy up, hugging him close. The child laid his head on her shoulder, but for a moment he looked directly at Max, a long, unblinking stare, before his eyelids drooped. He was already asleep as Ellen handed him back to the nursemaid.

      ‘Take him back to bed, Hannah. And this time please make sure the door is properly closed.’

      She turned back, ready to usher him out, but Max did not move.

      He said, through gritted teeth, ‘This, madam, changes everything.’

       Chapter Three

      ‘Well, were you going to tell me I had a son?’

      He bit out the words, his mind working frantically. When he had first seen the boy on the stairs he had been forcibly reminded of the portrait hanging in the drawing room at Rossenhall, the one of Hugo and himself as children. When he had been barely four years old. Then he had seen the child’s eyes, green as emeralds, and suspicion hardened into certainty. Now, facing Ellen across the candlelit room, he saw the momentary panic flit across her face and he wondered if she would deny everything.

      ‘No. Yes.’ She put a hand to her head. ‘So much has happened this evening, my thoughts are in chaos.’ She took a breath, then another before saying slowly, ‘If you have told me the truth, if we are truly married, then Jamie is your heir, Max.’ With an effort she forced herself to look at him. ‘Will you take him from me?’

      There was naked fear

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