The Barbara Cartland
Pink Collection

Barbara Cartland was the most prolific bestselling author in the history of the world. She was frequently in the Guinness Book of Records for writing more books in a year than any other living author. In fact her most amazing literary feat was when her publishers asked for more Barbara Cartland romances, she doubled her output from 10 books a year to over 20 books a year, when she was 77.

She went on writing continuously at this rate for 20 years and wrote her last book at the age of 97, thus completing 400 books between the ages of 77 and 97.

Her publishers finally could not keep up with this phenomenal output, so at her death she left 160 unpublished manuscripts, something again that no other author has ever achieved.

Now the exciting news is that these 160 original unpublished Barbara Cartland books are ready for publication and they will be published by Barbaracartland.com exclusively on the internet, as the web is the best possible way to reach so many Barbara Cartland readers around the world.

The 160 books will be published monthly and will be numbered in sequence.

The series is called the Pink Collection as a tribute to Barbara Cartland whose favourite colour was pink and it became very much her trademark over the years.

The Barbara Cartland Pink Collection is published only on the internet. Log on to www.barbaracartland.com to find out how you can purchase the books monthly as they are published, and take out a subscription that will ensure that all subsequent editions are delivered to you by mail order to your home.

If you do not have access to a computer you can write for information about the Pink Collection to the following address:

Barbara Cartland.com Ltd.

240 High Road,

Harrow Weald,

Harrow HA3 7BB

United Kingdom. Telephone & fax: +44 (0)20 8863 2520

Titles in this series

1. The Cross of Love

2. Love in the Highlands

3. Love Finds the Way

4. The Castle of Love

5. Love is Triumphant

6. Stars in the Sky

7. The Ship of Love

8. A Dangerous Disguise

9. Love Became Theirs

10. Love Drives in

11. Sailing to Love

SAILING TO LOVE

BARBARA CARTLAND

Barbaracartland.com Ltd

Copyright © 2005 by Cartland Promotions

First published on the internet in 2005 by

Barbaracartland.com

The characters and situations in this book are entirely

imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual

happening.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval, without the prior

permission in writing from the publisher.

eBook conversion by David Stockman

THE LATE DAME BARBARA CARTLAND

Barbara Cartland who sadly died in May 2000 at the age of nearly 99 was the world's most famous romantic novelist who wrote 723 books in her lifetime with worldwide sales of over 1 billion copies and her books were translated into 36 different languages.

As well as romantic novels, she wrote historical biographies, 6 autobiographies, theatrical plays, books of advice on life, love, vitamins and cookery. She also found time to be a political speaker and television and radio personality.

She wrote her first book at the age of 21 and this was called Jigsaw. It became an immediate bestseller and sold 100,000 copies in hardback and was translated into 6 different languages. She wrote continuously throughout her life, writing bestsellers for an astonishing 76 years. Her books have always been immensely popular in the United States, where in 1976 her current books were at numbers 1 & 2 in the B. Dalton bestsellers list, a feat never achieved before or since by any author.

Barbara Cartland became a legend in her own lifetime and will be best remembered for her wonderful romantic novels, so loved by her millions of readers throughout the world.

Her books will always be treasured for their moral message, her pure and innocent heroines, her good looking and dashing heroes and above all her belief that the power of love is more important than anything else in everyone's life.

"Love always seems so far beyond the horizon, but it is really much closer than anyone imagines."

Barbara Cartland

CHAPTER ONE
 - 1879

"The trouble with this house is that it was built for a family. Now there's only Miss Venetia."

The man's voice came from within the kitchen, and was answered at once by a female voice.

"It's her home. She wants it to be just as it was when her mother and father were alive. If you ask me, what she really needs is a husband."

Miss Venetia Baydon walked away quickly, fearful lest her servants should discover her outside the kitchen door and think she was eaves-dropping. She hurried to the drawing room, but found it as lonely as everywhere else.

It was late summer, the leaves were beginning to fall and a fine rain was drizzling down, lending a dull, bleak aspect to the grounds of Baydon Grange. Soon it would be winter, almost a year since her parents had died suddenly of pneumonia within days of each other.

The house was quiet and lonely, the more so because she was short of money and now had to make do with a bare minimum of servants. Johnson, the butler, his wife the cook and two housemaids were all she could afford. Most of her horses were sold and still she had less than she needed.

'How long before I have to sell the house itself?' she thought. 'I couldn't bear that, yet I may soon have no choice.'

Mrs. Johnson had mentioned a husband in a way that made it clear she thought of Venetia as an old maid.

'I suppose that's what I am,' she thought wryly.

Twenty-four, unmarried with almost no money, she had little chance of marrying well now. Her only asset was her beauty. Her hair was a rich blonde, set off by eyes of sapphire blue and men had been known to sigh over her. But she knew that a sensible man cared more for a good dowry than a pretty face.

She was well-born. Her mother had been the daughter of a Viscount and her father the son of a Baronet, but a third son with no hope of the title.

As she grew up, she and her parents had travelled a great deal together and it had been a happy life, even though they never had enough money for people in their position.

They had worried about her marriage prospects, introducing her to eligible young men whenever they could. At nineteen she had received a proposal from an extremely handsome young man and had accepted it, believing herself to be love with him. But the man had cried off when he realised how very small her dowry was. He was in debt and needed a bride with a large fortune.

Venetia had wept briefly, and then forgotten him so quickly that she supposed she could not have been really in love at all.

Four years later she had accepted another proposal under her parents' urging.

"Darling I know he isn't handsome," her mother had argued, "but he's well-off and will give you a home. Besides, you're twenty-three and not getting any younger."

Reluctantly she had become engaged and stayed that way for three weeks. Then she had broken off the engagement, unable to endure her fiancé's long, dull speeches about himself.

"I'd die of boredom," she said to her outraged parents. "There has to be a more exciting way to live."

"Exciting?" her Mama echoed. "Marriage isn't supposed to be exciting. What will happen to you when we are no longer here?"

That had been last year and now they truly were no longer here. She faced a dispiriting future, yet even so, she did not regret breaking her engagement.

'I will wait for true love,' she told herself. 'And if it never happens, then I won't marry at all.'

She knew that she was unlucky in that her family had not exerted themselves to help her. But her Uncle Edward, the Baronet, had daughters of his own to marry off. He contented himself by inviting her to visit his London home occasionally.

She enjoyed these visits, as they broke the monotony of her normal routine, and enabled her to see something of her cousin Mary, who was only a year younger than herself.

It was the attraction of opposites. Venetia was cool, collected, intelligent. Mary was forgetful, scatterbrained, slightly irresponsible but utterly charming in a childlike way.

Sir Edward Wenmore Baronet, had managed to secure a minor position at court, and was intent on climbing the social scale as far as he could. He had inherited wealth from his father, married more with his wife, and purchased for himself a large, elegant property just outside the town of Windsor, near Windsor Castle, in Berkshire. He had explained this choice as being necessary for a man who must continually be ready to serve the Queen.

He had married two of his daughters well, and was putting all his efforts into securing an advantageous match for Mary.

Now the family was spending the summer in the country, at Wenmore Priory, and Venetia saw them now and then, but not often enough to stop her feeling lonely and isolated. She had often felt that she was not really welcome at The Priory. Mama had told her that it was because she was so much more beautiful than Mary, but then dearest Mama was biased.

Lost in these thoughts, Venetia failed to hear a carriage draw up outside and did not realise that she had a visitor until Johnson entered, saying,

"Miss Wenmore to see you, miss."

"Mary!" Venetia exclaimed. "How lovely to see you. I had no idea you were coming."

Mary ran forward and threw herself into Venetia's arms. Like her cousin she was fair, but whereas there was a richness in Venetia's looks, Mary's were pale, almost pallid. Her admirers called her fairy-like. Others called her insipid.

"Oh, Venetia," she cried, "I'm in such trouble and I don't know what to do about it."

Venetia stared at her with surprise.

Mary had never been a very emotional person. But now there was a note in her voice and an expression in her eyes which she had never seen before.

"What has happened?" she asked.

"I hardly know how to tell you," Mary said. "It's terrifying."

She was twisting her hands together as if they were somehow giving her the strength to speak.

"Papa has been to see the Queen at Windsor Castle."

Venetia nodded, remembering how Mary's father had always been very proud of being invited to Windsor Castle.

It was known to everyone that the Queen liked having men around her. She had a court of interesting and handsome men which, they all knew, helped to take her mind off the loss of her beloved husband, Albert. She had never recovered from his death.

"And did something happen there?" Venetia asked.

"Yes. I'm desperate, absolutely desperate. Perhaps the only thing I can do is to drown myself."

Venetia stiffened and stared at her.

"Nothing can be so bad as to make you want to die," Venetia told her.

"When Papa came back from Windsor Castle yesterday, he told me that the Queen wants me to marry her godson."

Mary's voice seemed to break on the last words and the tears were running down her cheeks.

"That must have been a surprise," Venetia replied. "But why are you so upset by it? Is he a terrible person?"

"I don't know. I've never met him. And it doesn't matter what he's like. I love – David."

"Who is he?" Venetia asked. "I cannot, at the moment, remember anyone called David."

"He is – the doctor's son at Coalville," Mary managed to gasp.

Coalville was a small town not far from her home.

Venetia now remembered a rather good-looking young man she had seen with Mary at one of the garden parties she had attended last year.

"He wants to marry me," Mary answered. "But he has only just passed his medical examinations. He has no money and not even a position at the moment. Papa wouldn't think him very important, while the man the Queen has chosen is the Earl of Mountwood."

Venetia drew in her breath, understanding at once.

As it happened she had heard of the Earl. A friend of her father, with a place at court, he had visited them once, full of news of the latest scandal.

"It's Mountwood," he had said. "Decent fellow, always pays up when he loses at cards – not that he loses often. The trouble is he's too handsome for his own good, and can have any woman he wants far too easily. That is why he's never married, doesn't want to be burdened with a wife and so on. The Queen chides him for his disgraceful ways, but he can reduce her to jelly with a smile."

"But surely he needs an heir?" Venetia's mother had said.

"Of course, but I've heard him say that one day he'll marry anyone at all, just to have an heir. I don't think he means to give up his other activities, if you see what I mean."

And now the choice had fallen on poor Mary, who was crying helplessly. Venetia felt desperately sorry for her, as she suspected her situation was hopeless.

"I am sorry, darling," she said, "but I can't see how you can escape this marriage if the Queen is set on it."

"I have to escape it," Mary replied in a whisper. "Not just because I love David, but also because I think – I'm almost certain – that I am having his baby."

Venetia gasped. For a moment she could not believe what she had just heard. Her arms tightened round Mary. Then she said,

"How could you do that?"

"I love him," Mary sobbed. "I love him and he loves me."

Venetia drew in her breath.

She now knew that Mary truly loved David, but how he could have given her a child was beyond Venetia's comprehension.

Where could they have been that such a thing could happen?

Almost as if she had asked the question aloud, Mary said in a broken whisper,

"We meet in a little house in the woods when it is cold and then he wants to kiss me. He makes it very comfortable with cushions and rugs and we are always so, so happy there."

'So happy,' Venetia thought, 'that Mary had surrendered to him. Now she was having his child.'

It all passed through her mind so that she felt almost breathless with the horror of it.

'How could she do such a terrible thing?' she asked herself.

Then almost as if she was being given the answer to her question she thought,

'Love is what every woman hopes to find. Love from a man whom she loves is something almost divine. After all, it was that knowledge that made me choose a single life rather than the wrong marriage.'

"Papa has everything arranged so that I have no chance to say no," Mary sobbed. "The Earl is coming to the house tomorrow night and the wedding will be the next day."

"The next day?" Venetia gasped.

"Yes, I'm trapped. Look – " Mary put her hand in her pocket and produced an envelope.

Opening it, Venetia saw that it was an invitation to the marriage of the Earl of Mountwood and Miss Mary Wenmore, two days ahead. It was true that Sir Edward was rushing his daughter into this before she had time to think.

It was monstrous.

"What am I to say? What can I do?" Venetia asked herself as Mary went on crying.

Then quite suddenly she knew the answer.

It was almost, she thought later, as if it came from Heaven itself.

In some strange way she could not put into words, she felt it was an answer which flew from the sky and touched her heart.

Her arms tightened around her cousin. Then she said,

"Now stop crying, we will find a solution to this problem. But we have to be very, very clever. One mistake and we'll all be beheaded or whatever punishment the Queen thinks appropriate for us.

"Now listen to me, Mary. We're going to save you from marrying a man you haven't even met and make it possible for you to marry the man you love, whose child you may already have in your body."

She thought as she said the last words that this was something she had never expected to happen to anyone she knew.

She would never have considered it possible for herself.

But as it had happened, and she was very fond of Mary however difficult it might be, she had to save her.

'And if she's carrying David's child,' she thought, 'how could she pretend to her unwanted husband it was his child?'

She took her handkerchief and wiped Mary's eyes.

"You need not marry this man," she said, "because I'm going to take your place."

Mary stared at her.

"You would make such a sacrifice for me? But how can you?"

"Because I have no one that I love or who loves me. And so I will marry this man chosen for you by the Queen. I only hope that in some way we will become friends and perhaps enjoy each other's company."

Mary gave a cry.

"But how can you be sure Papa won't guess that I'm not the bride?"

"That is where we have to be very clever," Venetia said. "You must pretend to agree to this marriage. Be charming to the Earl when he comes to your house."

"How can I do that when I hate him?"

"He is of no importance to you," Venetia said. "I am marrying him but if he's ghastly as he may be, I will at least not have a broken heart, as yours would break if you have to leave David.

"So you have to listen now to exactly what you have to do. It is the same as going on the stage. One mistake and the audience will laugh at you. Or, in this case, they will be very angry with you."

"I will do exactly what you tell me to do," Mary promised. "Oh!"

"What is it?" Venetia asked, seeing her stricken look.

"There's something I forgot to tell you."

"I'm sure there is. As long as I've known you, you've been forgetful and scatterbrained. All right, tell me the worst."

"As soon as the wedding has taken place the Earl has to go to India."

Venetia stared at her.

"India?"

"Yes, for about a year."

Venetia drew a long breath and spoke with ominous calm.

"Where in India?"

"A place called – um – the North-West frontier. I think. Or it might have been Calcutta. Or do I mean Delhi?" "And you just forgot to tell me?"

"Well, I don't know anything about India," Mary said fretfully. "It's just – abroad, isn't it?"

"It's part of the British Empire. So I suppose it's still abroad. What is the Earl going to do when he gets there?"

Mary's eyes glazed and Venetia guessed that this was another detail that had escaped her attention.

"He's – he's going to be – attached to something," she said wildly.

"You didn't happen to find out what he's attached to?" Venetia asked patiently.

"It's to do with the Government – or he's carrying important documents – or something like that."

It was clearly useless to expect any more from her and Venetia gave up. Besides, a thrilling anticipation was growing inside her.

India.

The exotic East. Another world, thousands of miles away from her quiet little corner of England.

And she had thought she would never know excitement.

Now, all the excitement anyone could possibly want, was being handed to her. To refuse was impossible. This was fate.

Suddenly Venetia laughed.

"Very well," she said. "India it is. When is he going?"

"Immediately after the reception," Mary explained breathlessly.

"What?"

"He's leaving on the Angelina, a specially chartered ship that sails from Portsmouth that evening. We have to leave immediately after the reception."

Venetia gasped. Everything was rushing along much too fast for her. But she had said that she would do it and she could not back out now.

"Very well," she said. "I'll make a note of it."

"Oh, you are so wonderful," Mary said ecstatically. "The way you plan and organise things. I could never do it."

"That is undoubtedly true," Venetia said, rather amused. "How fortunate that you don't have to organise anything – otherwise the Earl might end up married to you, me, and probably your mother as well."

Mary giggled and Venetia was pleased to see her looking happier.

"But you simply must follow my instructions closely or we will be discovered." she added.

"I will do exactly as you say. But please come with me now so that you can stop me making mistakes."

"Come home with you?" Venetia questioned.

"Yes, after all you're invited to the wedding, and I'll say I wanted you to help me with my trousseau."

"Yes, it probably is better if I stay close by you," Venetia reflected. "Wait, I've had an idea. "If I have to go away to India with the Earl, this house will be empty. You must escape with your David while I am at the church marrying in your place and you two must be married at once. Then you must move into this house and live here."

Mary hugged her.

"You think of everything."

"I hope so. Now let's hurry upstairs so that I can pack."

Upstairs she packed all her very best clothes.

"Of course you must look smart when you arrive in India," Mary said.

"If I ever do arrive," Venetia answered with a smile.

"Of course the deceived bridegroom might drop me off en route or send me back by the first ship we meet which is returning home. Or I suppose he might just toss me over the side." She added cheerfully, "It'll be fun finding out."

"Oh Venetia, you're so brave."

"Well, you may have to be brave too because if he murders me I'll come back and haunt you."

It was when finally everything was packed in the carriage that Venetia took Johnson to one side and said,

"I am going to The Priory with Miss Mary and leaving everything in your hands. I might be away for quite a while. I've left some money in the desk to cover expenses."

On their way to The Priory they passed through a small village, where Mary stopped briefly at a shop.

"They take my messages to David," she told Venetia when she emerged. "I've asked him to meet me tonight in our place in the woods."

At last the carriage arrived at The Priory.

As the butler and two footmen hurried out to take their luggage upstairs, Venetia followed Mary into the drawing room.

Lady Wenmore was sitting at the writing desk. She got up when she saw Venetia had followed her daughter into the room and smiled as she heard Mary's explanation.

"How lovely to see you, Venetia," she said. "It's so kind of you to come and help."

Venetia smiled and responded politely, playing the role she had assigned herself. But she was thinking how much she disliked this chilly, haughty woman.

"I thought, with everything happening so quickly, you might need my help," she said sweetly.

Lady Wenmore smiled.

"My husband is delighted that Her Majesty should

have chosen such a charming and delightful husband for Mary."

Venetia longed to ask how it was possible to know he was charming and delightful when no-one had actually met the man in question. But she knew it was the sort of thing she should not say.

Upstairs in her room, they unpacked her clothes, and Mary said,

"Now I must slip out and see David, to tell him everything. I'll be back soon."

When she was alone Venetia did some thinking. Gradually more details of her plan were emerging in her mind. At last she went downstairs and sought out Lady Wenmore in the drawing room.

"I must speak to you," she said. "It's important. You know that Mary is unhappy about this marriage?"

"I know that the silly girl is making difficulties," Mary's mother said impatiently. "I'm happy to see that you have brought her to her senses."

"I hope so," Venetia said quietly. "But we are living more or less on a volcano. I feel that at any moment Mary will break down and have hysterics. I mean to prevent that if possible."

"I shall be very grateful. But how?"

"I feel it would be a mistake for Sir Edward to take Mary to the church. If he does so I think Mary will cling to him at the last moment and perhaps refuse to go ahead with the marriage."

Lady Wenmore gave a cry but did not interrupt and Venetia went on,

"I think it best for you and Mary's father to go to the church ahead and not to say goodbye to her. Just move away and she will know that you will be there when she arrives."

"But this is so unconventional," Lady Wenmore murmured.

"So is this whole wedding," Venetia could not resist saying. "We must take emergency measures to make sure that everything goes smoothly and the Earl is not insulted."

Lady Wenmore moaned at the thought.

"I will get her dressed," Venetia said. "She and the bridegroom must go to the church together. It's unusual, but we can't help that. If he is wise he will travel in silence."

"I will tell him that she is very nervous and very shy," Lady Wenmore said.

"Which is true," Venetia said. "I think also that it will be wise for you not to follow her and the Earl to the vestry where they will sign the register. Instead arrange for them to go there alone, and then leave immediately by the door at the back, where the carriage which will carry them back to the house will be waiting."

"You mean she won't walk back down the aisle on her husband's arm?" Lady Wenmore protested.

"I think you need to get her out of the church quickly, before she has too much time to reflect," Venetia said firmly.

"You are right, of course. I will tell my husband that he and I will go to the church in advance. We will make sure everything is arranged exactly as you want."

"Excellent. After all, we both want Mary to be happy for the rest of her life," Venetia said.

Then she hurried back upstairs to find that Mary had returned.

"Everything is arranged," she told her. "Your parents will go on to the church without you. The bride and groom will follow together. While we're all at the church you will make your escape with David."

"Thank you, thank you, darling Venetia," she cried.

"You are so kind and so understanding and I can only pray that you will not be punished for all this."

"I will be hoping the same," Venetia answered with a smile. "But don't worry about me. Just make sure that you and David vanish before they come back from the church."

"But what about the reception?"

"Neither the bride nor the groom will be there. I've made a new plan. The Queen is going to send the Earl a letter insisting that he depart immediately, without attending the reception."

"Is she?" Mary asked, wide-eyed.

"No, of course she isn't. I'm going to write it on Windsor writing paper. You told me your father had some in his office. Get it for me quickly."

Mary was back in a moment with several sheets of paper.

"There will be one letter to the Earl and one to your father," she said, "explaining why the bride and groom won't be at the reception. And a third letter to the Captain of the Angelina, saying that he must be ready to depart as soon as the Earl boards, which will be sooner than expected."

Venetia was already writing.

"There. Now it's done. Is there a servant you can trust to take this letter to Portsmouth tonight?"

"One of the footmen will do anything for me," Mary confided. "Give it to me, and I'll find him."

When she had gone Venetia sat down, wondering what on earth she was doing. Was she mad?

Well, it was too late to wonder about that now.

"It's done," Mary said, returning. "I gave him money for the train fare and he's on his way to Portsmouth. It's not a long journey so he should be back tonight."

"Then all that is left is for you and the Earl to meet this

evening. Be very careful what you say to him. In fact, say as little as possible. Try to sound shy but not in any way aggressive."

"I will be careful, I promise you I will."

"Then let us decide what we are going to wear this evening."

They decided on a soft pink gown that made Mary look demure. Venetia's gown was a deep blue satin that brought out the colour of her eyes. It was a year old, for she could not afford to replace it, but it made her seem elegant and fashionable.

At last they heard a carriage draw up on the gravel outside.

"Are you ready?" Venetia asked.

"I think so," Mary said in a trembling voice.

"Remember you have to act your part as if you are on the stage. Be quiet simple and charming. No one must suspect for a moment that we are arranging a revolution which will astound and eventually horrify everyone."

But although she sounded in command, the truth was that she felt very nervous as they descended the stairs.

Sir Edward was waiting with the Earl of Mountwood. There was another young man standing just in the background, but Venetia barely noticed him.

"Ah, my dear," Sir Edward said genially. "How pretty you look. Lord Mountwood, allow me to present my daughter and her friend, Miss Venetia Baydon.

The two girls sank into polite curtsies. Over her head Venetia was aware that the Earl was extending his hand to Mary, murmuring something.

Then it was her turn. She rose to her feet and found herself gazing into the eyes of the most handsome man she had ever seen.

CHAPTER TWO

Venetia realised that, until that moment, she had not seriously considered Lord Mountwood as a person. She had known a little about him from her father's friends, that he was a Lothario who made love to many women, moving easily from one to the other. She knew that he had resisted marriage in case it spoilt his pleasure. She had also heard that he was good-looking.

But as she looked at him now she discovered that nothing she had heard bore any relevance to the real man. He was, quite simply, overwhelming.

He was very tall and broad shouldered, with a commanding presence. He looked splendid in evening attire with a sparkling diamond in his snowy cravat. He looked as though he expected to snap his fingers and have the world dance to his tune.

Especially the female part, she thought wryly.

Then she noticed something else. Although he was smiling, there was a dark glitter in his eyes that spoke of danger. This was not a man to be trifled with and one to be wary of.

She began to wonder if her plan could possibly work after all. How would he take the deception? He might accept it with humour or his anger might be terrible.

But then Venetia felt a strange, new feeling go through her. It was so unfamiliar that at first she did not recognise it.

It was a thrill of sensual delight, something that no man had ever created in her before.

This man challenged her as nobody had ever challenged her in her life before. And something deep inside her rose willingly to the challenge.

"Miss Baydon?" he said, sounding slightly puzzled.

She realised that she had been staring at him and pulled herself together.

"Sir," she said demurely.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, madam," he said with a slight bow.

His eyes lingered on her in a way that she found disconcerting. Then he turned to the young man standing just behind him.

"May I introduce Lord Anthony Berwick, who is to be my best man?"

Lord Anthony was a willowy young man with a goodnatured if slightly vacant expression. He greeted everyone pleasantly, but with very few words. He seemed happier standing in silence.

"My daughter has looked forward to this meeting, sir," said Sir Edward to the Earl.

"As have I," the Earl said. "I hope Miss Wenmore does not find me a disappointment."

Mary coloured and said hastily,

"Oh no, not at all."

"I'm happy to know that," he said.

His manner was charming, but Venetia wondered if she detected a fine edge of irony in his tone. He must surely be aware of how incredible this situation was, yet he seemed untroubled by it.

Then suddenly he glanced in her direction. For an instant their eyes met, and she almost gasped with the conviction that he could read her thoughts.

It was as though the two of them understood each other

and nobody else did.

"Dinner is served."

The butler's announcement came as a relief. With a flourish, Lord Mountwood offered his arm to Mary, who accepted it without fuss, Venetia was relieved to see. Sir Edward and Lady Wenmore followed, while Venetia and Lord Anthony brought up the rear.

Sitting next to him at dinner she discovered him to be rather shy. He was a young man of very few words – possibly because he did not know many.

"I think Ivan and Miss Wenmore look jolly good together," he said.

"Ivan? Oh, you mean Lord Mountwood?"

"That's right. She's very pretty, isn't she? She'll just suit him."

"But will he suit her?" Venetia asked, rather indignantly.

"Eh? Oh I say, yes. Of course he will. Rich as Croesus, you know. She'll have everything she wants."

"I should have thought that rather depended on what she wanted," Venetia observed.

"Well, all you ladies want the same, surely?"

"Do we indeed? And what would that be?"

"Well, you know."

"I don't know. Tell me."

"Well – " he repeated unhappily, "a title, plenty of money, a good husband – I say, I haven't said the wrong thing have I?"

Venetia relented at the piteous expression on his face. Being annoyed with Lord Anthony would be like taking shots at a baby rabbit. She was about to tell him not to worry when he sighed and said,

"I suppose I've said exactly the things I shouldn't say,"

he admitted meekly. "I do that a lot. Ivan's always saving me from situations."

"I can imagine," she said, her lips twitching.

"Always been a good friend to me."

"Were you by any chance at school together?"

"Oh yes. Eton. He stopped the others bullying me. Come to think of it, that's what he's been doing ever since."

"He sounds like a very good friend indeed."

"Oh he is. Mind you, he's got a devil of a temper."

"Has he?" Venetia asked uneasily.

"Oh yes. He won't stand for anyone taking liberties. His past is littered with corpses."

"Corpses?" Venetia echoed, startled.

"Oh, I don't mean literally. He doesn't kill people or anything – just makes them wish they were dead."

"You mean he's cruel and vindictive?"

"Oh, he's not cruel," Lord Anthony disclaimed eagerly. "But he's got the pride of the devil and he likes to be master. He won't tolerate anyone laughing at him, for any reason. But he's the best friend in the world."

"The best friend in the world as long as you always yield to him," Venetia said.

"Well, as I said, he likes to be master. He knows who he is and he knows what's due to him and woe betide anyone who forgets that."

A tinkling laugh from across the table made them both look over to where Mary was conversing with the Earl. Obviously he had just said something entertaining and Mary was playing her part well, regarding him with admiration.

"She looks just the kind of little wife he needs," Lord Anthony said.

"You mean meek and docile, and wouldn't say boo to

a goose?" Venetia asked. "But suppose she turns out to be different?"

"I say, I do hope not! I mean, he wouldn't like her answering back, or questioning his movements or – or – "

"Or minding about his other women?" Venetia said, looking him straight in the eye.

He turned so pale that she thought he was going to faint.

"I – I – I say!"

"He's notorious for them," she went on remorselessly. "In fact, rumour says that he's only marrying because the Queen picked out his bride and practically frog-marched him here."

"Yes but – I mean, nobody's supposed to – I say!"

"Of course nobody's supposed to know. Just as we're all expected to believe that he's going to be a faithful husband."

This time the hapless young man was beyond speech. He could only manage faint burbling sounds, indicative of complete horror.

"Are you all right?" the Earl asked, noticing his friend in extremis.

"Yes," Lord Anthony gasped.

"Something seems to have upset you, old fellow."

"No, no – nothing I do assure you."

"Lord Anthony and I were having a most interesting discussion," Venetia told him.

"About any particular subject, ma'am?"

"About character, sir. Personality. About how some people are easy to live with, some difficult and some impossible."

Lord Anthony made choking sounds.

"You got my friend to discuss all that, ma'am?" the Earl said admiringly. "My congratulations. I had not suspected him of such depths."

Lord Anthony recovered his tongue.

"It wasn't me," he said wildly. "It was her."

"That I believe," the Earl said gravely. His eyes were gleaming.

"That is – I mean – I say!"

Across the table the Earl's eyes met Venetia's and the look in them was the same, a look of pure, wicked glee. For a moment the rest of the world vanished as they were united in a joke that only they could understand.

"Won't you share your thoughts with us, old fellow?" the Earl teased. "I mean your thoughts on the subject of character."

Lord Anthony turned appalled eyes on him.

"Well," he said at last, "it's hard to – I mean – "

"Do not answer him, sir," Venetia said, laying her hand on his. "He's only trying to make fun of you."

"Oh yes, he does that all the time," Lord Anthony said abjectly.

"Well, don't give him the satisfaction. Lord Mountwood, my friend's thoughts are too deep to be shared with anyone, until he has reflected on them further."

Again there was that interchange of looks across the table, the wicked humour in his eyes and the invitation to share it with the same feeling that the two of them were set apart from the others.

"Very wise of you both, ma'am," he said.

Sir Edward's eyes were flickering suspiciously between them. He did not like the Earl paying attention to anyone except Mary.

At the end of the meal there were polite speeches. The Earl said,

"May my bride and I remember tomorrow as being the happiest day of our lives."

Sir Edward made a pompous speech about nothing very much and then they all adjourned to the library for coffee, where Lord Mountwood sought out Venetia.

"My congratulations, ma'am," he said. "Not many ladies could engage my friend in such sprightly conversation."

He was smiling at her and she could not help noticing how well shaped and attractive his mouth was. But she would not allow her thoughts to be reflected in her demeanour, which she kept severe.

"For shame sir, to mock Lord Anthony. How can you call him your friend and yet make him the butt of your humour?"

"You made him the butt of yours," he pointed out.

She was about to deny it when she recalled their shared amusement across the table. He read her thoughts accurately and gave her a teasing grin, saying,

"Poor Anthony was born to be the butt of someone's humour."

"Everyone's, you mean," she couldn't help saying.

"No, not everyone's. I tease him myself, but normally I would permit nobody else to do so. For you I made an exception, for I could see you were being gentle with him."

"Well, he's a very nice man," she said.

"He is, indeed. And you, ma'am, are also a very nice person."

He gave her a small bow and turned away before she could think of a reply.

The Earl had slipped his hand into his pocket and brought something out.

"Miss Wenmore," he said, "there is something I should like to say to you."

Mary turned nervous eyes on him.

"We are marrying under somewhat unusual circumstances," he said. "Our marriage is tomorrow, and our betrothal is today. Will you, therefore, please wear this betrothal ring?"

Without waiting for an answer, he took her left hand and produced the ring. Everyone watched, startled, as the largest diamond they had ever seen was slid up Mary's finger.

"This ring has been in my family for generations," Lord Mountwood said. "My father gave it to my mother, and on her death it became mine. I now give it to you, as my future bride."

"Thank you," she stammered.

He tipped her face up and laid his lips lightly on hers.

"Now we are betrothed," he said gently.

Mary was almost in tears, agitated by this development. Seeing that she was becoming flustered, Venetia murmured to Lady Wenmore,

"Mary should go to bed. She's becoming overwrought."

Because it was obviously the sensible thing to do, Lady Wenmore agreed with her.

"A charming gesture, Lord Mountwood," she said. "But now my daughter is tired and should go to bed, so that she can be at her best tomorrow."

The men inclined their heads respectfully. As Venetia bid Lord Mountwood goodnight his eyes flickered over her with a kind of careless ease that she found almost insulting.

Even she, inexperienced as she was, knew that he was assessing her as a woman, trying to strip away her clothes with his eyes. It was monstrous, she thought, that a man should behave in such a way on the night before his marriage.

Of course, Mary was a stranger to him, but that was all the more reason to treat her with respect.

She found herself feeling quite indignant on behalf of her cousin until she found herself remembering, with a jolt, that it was she herself who would be marrying him.

When they were safely in Mary's room, Mary let out a long breath.

"I was so nervous," she said. "I don't know how I got through the evening. Oh Venetia, what did you think of him."

"I'm not sure. I suppose we must admit that he is very good-looking.

"He is big and he frightens me," Mary answered. "I hated it when he kissed me. I don't want to be kissed by anyone but David."

It crossed Venetia's mind that she would not have minded at all feeling Lord Mountwood's lips on hers. Slightly shocked at herself, she tried to dismiss the thought.

"Yes, I don't think you would be at all happy married to him," Venetia replied thoughtfully. "I don't think he has a nice temper."

"Oh but then how will you manage if he shows you a nasty temper?"

"Don't you worry, I'll cope. I've got quite a temper myself."

"Take this," Mary said, pulling off the huge diamond ring as though it burned her. "I hate it."

Venetia took the ring, kissed Mary goodnight and went to her own room. There she undressed and lay in bed, staring into the darkness, wondering what was going to happen to her. The evening had left her astonished, excited and fascinated.

She had been warned about the Earl. He was the very last man in the world on whom she should be playing such a trick. His anger and insulted pride would be overpowering and she would be at his mercy.

Yet her courage was up and she knew she must not back out now.

'I can't let Mary down, after all my promises,' she thought. 'She must be allowed to marry her true love. If one really loves someone, it's impossible to switch one's emotions off. Love comes from the heart and whatever else we can force ourselves to change, the heart remains true to reality. It is impossible to alter what one feels in the very depths of one's being.

'So I can't turn back now. I refuse to be afraid of him, and who knows? Perhaps he'll find he's met his match in me?'

*

The next morning the whole household was in a bustle. Following Venetia's instructions Mary dressed in the bridal gown. Lady Wenmore looked in to say that she and Papa were about to leave. Lord Mountwood and Lord Anthony would arrive soon and travel to the church with her. She kissed her daughter and departed.

As soon as she was gone the two girls were galvanised into action. Swiftly they changed clothes so that Venetia was now the bride. Luckily they were the same size, and with the heavy veil concealing her face nobody could tell that there had been an exchange. Mary slipped away for a moment and returned in triumph.

"I've told the footman to change the luggage that is waiting downstairs to be loaded onto the carriage," she said. "He's removing mine and replacing it with yours.

"And John is back from Portsmouth, where he delivered the letter to the captain of the Angelina. I've given him the letter 'the Queen' wrote to Lord Mountwood. He is going to give it to the best man when he arrives with Lord Mountwood and Lord Anthony will pass it on to the Earl. He'll give the other letter to Papa as soon as he returns from the church."

"Well done," Venetia said. "Listen, do I hear them?"

Mary looked out of the window to where a carriage had just arrived below. Inside it were Lord Anthony and the Earl, who looked up, saw her and waved. Greatly daring, she waved back.

"Did he see that you weren't in your bridal clothes?" Venetia asked anxiously.

"It doesn't matter. When you go down he'll just think that I changed very quickly."

"True. And since he saw you smiling at him, he won't suspect anything. Now, you know what to do. As soon as we have all driven away, you make your escape to David."

They looked at each other.

"I wonder when we'll meet again," Mary whispered, "and what adventures will have befallen us by then. Oh my dear cousin, I owe you so much."

They embraced warmly. Then there was a knock at the door.

"Lord Mountwood is waiting below for you, miss."

"I'm coming," Mary called. "Please go downstairs and tell Lord Mountwood that I will only be a moment."

Venetia was at the window, where she could see the Earl's carriage. Footmen were putting her luggage aboard.

It was time to go.

She had a last moment of panic. How could she be

doing something so reckless?

But then she saw Mary's face and knew that she must go on with it now.

They embraced each other again and Venetia left the room, walking slowly and carefully along the corridor and down the stairs. When she entered the hall, she saw a bouquet waiting for her on the table.

She picked it up and was aware as she did so that the outer door was open and she could see that her future husband was waiting for her.

As she left the house he held out his hand and she took it.

"So heavily veiled?" he asked, peering at her. "May I not see your face?"

She shook her head, dropping it a little so that it was impossible for the Earl to see through the veil, and pointing to Lord Anthony, to suggest that he was the reason for her extreme modesty.

She saw the footman handing the two letters to Lord Anthony, who received them with an air of faint bewilderment. Then he handed her gallantly into the carriage and soon the three of them were on their way.

"What's this?" the Earl asked, looking at the letters.

"This one's for you, the other is for Sir Edward," Lord Anthony said. A brilliant idea seemed to strike him. "I suppose I'd better give yours to you."

"That's an excellent idea," the Earl said gravely.

Venetia gave a faint choke of laughter which she instantly suppressed.

Lord Mountwood glanced briefly at her before opening his letter. She heard him draw in his breath as he read over the contents. Then he looked at her again, seemed to make up his mind about something and thrust the letter inside his jacket.

Venetia breathed a sigh of relief. It would have been awkward if he had wanted to discuss the contents with her now.

It was only a very short distance to the village where the church was situated.

As they drove along Venetia was aware that everyone by the roadside waved when they saw them.

"Now that the moment has come," the Earl said, "I hope you have no last minute doubts."

Venetia shook her head.

As if he thought she was shy and perhaps a little frightened of being married to a man she had only met the previous evening, the Earl said no more.

When the church came in sight, Venetia saw a crowd of village people waiting outside it. They cheered as the carriage drew up.

Then Venetia saw her Uncle Edward waiting for them at the Church door. She stepped out of the carriage, helped by one of the footmen.

Keeping her head down and her face hidden, she reached Sir Edward.

"Anthony – " Lord Mountwood said significantly.

"What – er – oh yes!"

He handed Sir Edward the other letter, triumphant at having performed his task.

"Let's go, old fellow," the Earl said.

They walked on ahead. Sir Edward stared at the letter.

"We must hurry," Venetia murmured.

"Yes, I'll read this later."

He took her arm and they moved quickly into the church.

Then he increased his pace as they moved towards the

altar. A glance showed Venetia that every seat was filled. There was quite a large choir sitting next to the organ.

There was a slight pause while they waited for the Earl and Lord Anthony to take their places, then she and Uncle Edward started on their journey down the aisle to where the priest was waiting for them.

She kept her eyes on Lord Mountwood, standing there, watching her approach, and it dawned on her forcibly how much taller and finer he looked than any other man there. Nobody else had shoulders so broad or carried himself with such an air.

At last she reached the altar and he came to stand by her side. The music ceased and the priest immediately began the service.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today, to join together this man and this woman – "

Venetia had been to many weddings. She knew exactly what was happening without the need of a prayer book. But as the words of the service rolled over her, they seemed to have gathered a new and terrible significance.

"If either of you knows any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it."

What could she say? That the bridegroom was being cruelly deceived?

In a firm voice the Earl made his promises, clasping her hand in his. Then it was her turn. The priest intoned,

"Wilt thou obey him and serve him, love, honour and keep him – forsaking all others – ?"

In a dazed voice she promised that she would do all this. She could feel her hand enclosed in his and no power on earth could have prevented her from promising to obey, serve and love him.

She wondered what was happening to her. She was almost dizzy.

When the priest blessed the ring which the Earl put on her finger, she felt as he touched her, that she somehow quivered, but hoped he was not aware of it.

He took the hand she extended, now wearing his diamond engagement ring and slipped the wedding ring onto it. Then he spoke.

"With this ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship – "

When they knelt and were blessed, the Earl put his hand on her arm.

He helped her first to kneel and then when they had both repeated the vows, he helped her to her feet.

He then offered her his arm as they walked towards the vestry.

The marriage service had taken only twenty minutes.

It was rather dark in the vestry and she had no difficulty in signing Mary's name and the Earl signed his.

Venetia was glad to see that her aunt had taken her advice and neither she nor her uncle came to the vestry with them.

As the bridegroom gave the priest an envelope which Venetia knew contained the money for the wedding and she hoped a large donation for the church, she moved towards the door, which the priest opened for her.

To her relief the carriage was waiting there, just as it should be.

Lord Mountwood helped her into the carriage and sat beside her. As they began to move out of the churchyard, Lord Anthony stood there, beaming with happiness for his friend, eagerly waving them off.

It was done.

CHAPTER THREE

As the carriage turned onto the road that led to the railway station, Venetia looked about her, as if puzzled, remembering that she was not supposed to know of the change of plan.

"You may wonder why we're taking this road," the Earl said.

It was the first time he had spoken to her since they had been married.

"Just a little," she said softly.

"I am afraid this will come as rather a shock to you, but the letter Anthony brought me contained orders from Her Majesty to proceed straight to the ship and not to the wedding reception. It seems she's had some information from India which has told her we are needed there as quickly as possible."

Venetia smiled to herself as she thought how carefully she had written those words. Then she replied,

"But of course we have to do what Her Majesty requires however difficult it may be."

She spoke in a soft, low voice which she felt he would not question. She had obviously been successful because he merely said,

"You are quite right and the sooner we get to India the better. It's only a short trip to the railway station and then we catch the train for Portsmouth. And now that we are man and wife, don't you think you could remove your veil?"

For a dreadful moment Venetia felt her mind go blank. Then a gust of wind saved her. Clutching her veil against the wind she said,

"Not in this wind. I must protect my complexion."

He gave a grin that, to her eyes, looked wolfish and said,

"Very well, madam. I'll wait until we are safely locked in the railway carriage."

And there was something about the way he said it that filled her with alarm.

At the railway station footmen hurried to take down their bags and load them onto the train. The first class carriage was ready for them. The Earl assisted her aboard, the whistle blew, and they were on their way.

For the first ten minutes they travelled in silence. Venetia was nervous in case the Earl should demand that she remove her veil, but he seemed absorbed in looking out of the window at the scenery.

'Almost as if I wasn't here,' she thought. 'If I was really his wife, I'd probably find that insulting.'

Then she remembered that she was his wife.

At last he said,

"It isn't a long journey to Portsmouth. We should be there in half an hour. Her Majesty's letter said that the Captain of the ship has been alerted to leave as soon as we board, and of course her word is law, which is why we are here and not at the reception."

Venetia inclined her head. "Naturally Her Majesty must be obeyed," she said.

"I hope you're not too disappointed at missing the reception?" he continued.

"We have more important business to pursue," she said dutifully.

"Indeed we have," he replied in a suddenly altered tone that sent a frisson down her spine. "A newly married couple always has important things on their minds. Is that not so?"

"I – yes – but – "

"But?" he echoed in a soft voice. "How can there be a but? What can matter more than – each other?"

"Nothing. But may I point out to you, sir, that we have barely met?"

"Are we any the less married for that? You knew the terms when you agreed to this marriage and you're just as much a stranger to me as I am to you."

"And we must both work to get to know each other – "

"Indeed we must. It would help if I could see your face. Come, this is excessive modesty. A new husband should at least be allowed to kiss his bride."

He had been in the seat facing her, but suddenly he moved swiftly so that he was sitting beside her, seizing her hands in his. Venetia gasped.

"You do agree that I may reasonably ask for that much?" he asked.

"I – yes, but – "

"Very good. Then we are in perfect agreement."

Before she could think of a reply, he drew her into his arms so that her head rested on his shoulder. For a moment he looked down into what he could see of her face behind the thin white silk of the veil, but he did not, as she had feared, try to remove it. Instead he lowered his mouth onto hers.

For a moment she was too astonished to react. The sensation of being kissed through her veil was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. It was mysterious and tantalising. She could not touch his mouth but she could feel its shape and sense how firm and mobile it was, how urgent and persuasive.

She was unable to do anything but cling onto him while unfamiliar sensations possessed her. She could feel his hot breath on her skin through the silk, and see his face looming over her in a way that was almost menacing, yet mysteriously exciting.

Whatever that excitement was she knew that it affected him too. His heart was beating hard enough for her to feel it against her own chest and his breath came swiftly. And, although she could not be sure, she had a feeling that his eyes were closed.

The next moment he muttered, "Damn this veil!" and swiftly pulled it aside. She was too overwrought to be alarmed. His lips touched hers with nothing between them. Now she had what she wanted, the touch of his lips directly on hers. She could feel their warmth and their firmness, but she sensed that behind them was an urgency and determination she had never met before.

She gasped at the fierce sensations that were coursing through her and pressed tentatively against him, seeking a respite. But there was none. He merely drew her more closely against him and intensified his assault on her mouth.

"Sweet," he murmured, "sweetness and honey – mine – all mine – "

"Wait," she gasped, becoming alarmed, "let me go."

He gave a soft laugh.

"I shall never let you go. You belong to me now – or at least, you will soon. In the darkness I shall make you mine so completely that your own self will become a stranger to you – "

Even through her inflamed senses she could feel a flicker of indignation. She did not want to lose her own self to any man. And he had no right to take such a thing for granted.

"I think I'd rather keep myself in my own possession," she managed to say, although it was hard to speak.

His reply was a laugh that vibrated through her, almost destroying her strength.

"That's what you think now," he whispered, "but when the darkness comes and I clasp your naked body against mine so that we become one, then you will be mine, completely mine. And I shall brook no argument."

He kissed her again before she could reply and for a while the sensuous pleasure that swamped her left no room for thought. How could she want anything, ever again, but to be drowned in such feelings?

But her true self would not be denied. She was an intelligent, thinking being and she could never give herself to a man who denied that.

"No," she gasped, beginning to struggle. "Let me go."

"I shall never let you go."

"Yes, you will!"

Exerting all her strength she managed to free herself from him just long enough to jump up and hurl herself into the opposite seat. He made to come after her, but stopped, his eyes fixed on her face with an expression of shock.

With horror she realised what had happened. He had ripped her veil away in a moment of passion so intense that he had been oblivious to her face. He had seen only her lips, covering them too quickly to be aware of anything else.

But it was different now. He could see her clearly and her deception was exposed to his angry gaze, long before she had meant it to happen.

"What the devil are you doing here?" he demanded in a voice of thunder.

Her mind went blank. What, after all, was there to say?

"Did you hear me madam? What are you doing here, dressed as my bride? And where is my bride? What have you done with her? Answer me."

Venetia glared back at him, trying to look braver than she felt.

"If you mean Miss Wenmore – "

"Certainly I mean Miss Wenmore. I don't have any other bride, do I?"

"Well – actually, yes, you do," she said cautiously. "You have me."

"Stop talking in riddles. Where is the woman I married today?"

"Sitting right in front of you," she said, recovering some of her spirit. "I was that woman, in the carriage, at the church, at the altar."

"And where is Miss Wenmore?"

"I have no idea," she said truthfully. "She slipped out of the house as soon as I had left it. By now I hope she is married to the man she loves."

He stared at her as though unable to believe his ears. Then he said sharply,

"Start at the beginning and tell me exactly what has happened."

"Mary has been in love with someone for a long time, but her father would not have thought him grand enough to be his son-in-law.

"Out of the blue she was told that she had to marry you and she was desperate to escape. So she came to me."

"I suppose it never occurred to her or to you to consult me."

"How could we? You had your orders from the Queen

and I doubt if you are brave enough to defy her. Mary even threatened to kill herself if she had to marry you."

"Then why the hell did no one tell me?" the Earl asked angrily.

"Because if she had done so no one would have listened. And you may as well know that she is having a baby by the man she loves. She couldn't possibly have married you."

"Evidently," he said curtly. "But I still say you should have got a message to me. I would have helped her to escape and talked my way out of it with the Queen."

"And risked her wrath?"

The Earl scowled at her.

"I'm not quite the milksop you seem to imagine, madam. I would simply have told Her Majesty that I arrived too late to prevent my bride eloping with another man. Even a Queen-Empress could have done nothing about that.

"Instead, the two of you invented this incredible farrago which might have been designed to make a fool of me. It's intolerable."

"I'm very sorry," she said. "But Mary was desperate to avoid you at all costs."

"Thank you!"

He was clearly in a terrible temper.

'I expect it is the first time,’ Venetia thought to herself, 'that he's ever met a woman who wasn't flattered at the thought of becoming his wife. It'll do him a lot of good.'

"You realise what you've done?" he snapped. "We are now married. Tied to each other for ever."

"Perhaps not," she said, also becoming angry. She was rapidly deciding that the sooner this 'marriage' was ended the better. "After all, I used a false name."

"It makes no difference."

"We could ask to have the marriage declared null and void – "

"If you think I am going to let you make me a laughing stock over two continents, you are very much mistaken."

"You'll be that anyway when the facts are known," she was rash enough to say.

"But they are not going to be known. In a few minutes we'll be pulling into Portsmouth, where we will embark for India."

"And suppose I don't want to go to India?"

"You've left it a little late to decide that. You are now my wife and you will do exactly as I say."

"I most certainly will not."

He gave her a sardonic smile.

"May I remind you that only a few hours ago you vowed to love, honour and obey me? I may not have known who you were, but you knew exactly who I was when you made that vow, so I shall have no compunction about holding you to it."

"You can't want to be married to me," she said wildly.

"I don't. But I'm damned if I'll be laughed at. Do you understand? What did you think was going to happen when I discovered the truth? When were you going to tell me, by the way?"

"When the ship had set sail."

"So you meant to go through with it? Then why are you trying to get out of it now?"

"Because I had no idea what you were like. I thought you'd be – more reasonable."

He laughed aloud at that.

"You imagined you could play such a trick on me, expose me to derision and I'd just shrug and put up with it? Were you mad when you thought of that?"

"I think I must have been," she admitted. "But we still have time to put it right – "

"I've told you, you're going through with it. We are married and we are going to India. By the time we return nobody will remember that you were anything but the Countess of Mountwood, a title you will do your best not to disgrace."

"How dare you!"

"I dare because your behaviour so far has given me serious misgivings about your rearing. No young woman of my acquaintance would indulge in such a mad romp, putting herself in the hands of a man she knew nothing about. But it can't be helped. You are now Lady Mountwood and must remain so to the bitter end."

"The bitter end," she repeated in a hollow voice. "I wonder just how bitter that end will be."

"That depends on you. Learn to behave yourself as a docile, obedient wife and you won't find me too difficult to live with. But there must be no more such pranks. I won't tolerate that."

"You talk as though I was a slave, not a wife," she cried.

He shrugged.

"There's very little difference in the eyes of the law. You have made yourself my property, to do with as I please. If you don't like that prospect, you shouldn't have done it. You chose this situation, but from now on the choices will be mine."

She stared at him in horror as the full import of these words sunk in. What he said was true. A wife belonged to her husband. She had no rights, save those he granted her, which could be withdrawn at any time.

Why had she not thought of all this before? When she had envisaged her plan, Lord Mountwood had been as insubstantial as a phantom. Now she found herself confronted by reality and she knew that she simply must escape.

It was just a question of being firm.

"You are mistaken, my Lord," she said emphatically.

"There's no need for you to call me 'my Lord'," he replied. "It's very flattering, of course, and implies a submissive attitude that is very proper in a wife. But since we are married I shall permit you to call me Ivan."

"Since we are not married I shall call you 'my Lord'. And even if we were married I should not be submissive."

"Oh, but you will be. I shall insist upon it."

"You will not get the chance."

"You think so, do you? I can see that this is going to be a battle royal between us, but I shall win, because I shall tolerate nothing else. And while we're on the subject I may as well make it clear here and now that in future you will not contradict me. That's what submissiveness means, by the way. I thought I had better explain that, since I have a feeling you didn't know."

Unwisely Venetia allowed her temper to get the better of her.

"Oh, I know what it means. I've seen women treating their foolish husbands like deities, never having any opinions of their own – "

"Excellent!" he said cheerfully. "You do understand, after all. I see we're going to get on famously together."

"We are not going to get on together in any way," she told him sharply. "Since I am not going to India with you."

"Indeed?"

"I shall leave when we reach Portsmouth. I am sure an annulment can be managed discreetly."

"But there isn't going to be an annulment," he said

calmly. "And you are coming to India with me."

Venetia's eyes glinted.

"And how do you intend to get me on board, my Lord?"

"Oh, I shall drag you by the hair if I have to," he said brightly. "Or toss you over my shoulder, like a sack of meal. I really don't mind which."

"And I thought you didn't want to be laughed at! Just think of the scandal that will cause."

He seemed to consider this seriously.

"Do you know," he said at last, "I think you're right. Dragging you by the hair is out of the question."

"Good, and so – "

"And so I shall have to employ other methods."

He spoke so calmly that she did not realise what he meant to do. Moving too quickly for her to react, he came to sit beside her, seized her in his arms and drew her hard against him, looking down into her face with an expression that she could not read.

She just managed to whisper a wild, "No!" before his mouth descended on hers, silencing her protest, although inwardly she continued to protest vehemently.

But she knew now that he cared nothing for her inner thoughts. Mentally she might refuse him, but as long as he held her body in his arms, her mouth beneath his, he had all the consent he wanted.

She was his property. He had said so. And now it was clear that he intended to treat her as such.

Her thoughts whirled furiously, but already she knew that the real threat came from her own senses, which insisted on responding to this terrible man, despite the outrage he was inflicting on her.

The feel of his lips on hers was a wicked delight,

teasing and inciting her to respond. She wanted to experience that touch, wanted it desperately and with increasing fervour, so that she could not stop herself from moving her mouth against his, even while she was bitterly ashamed of herself for doing so.

She must resist him, she must! But how could she resist him when her senses yearned towards him, aching for him to claim her more deeply.

He drew back to look down on her and with one finger he traced the outline of her mouth. She gasped with the intensity of the sensation, but still she tried to fight.

"Let – me – go – " she stammered.

He laid his fingertip on the base of her throat where a pulse was beating madly.

"No," he said simply. "You want me as much as I want you."

"No," she cried frantically.

"Your mouth tells me one thing, your body says another."

He laid his lips over the little beating pulse, causing her to draw her breath in sharply, and dig her fingers into him as she was swamped by physical delight. She hated him for making her feel it, and hated herself even more, but nothing made any difference. She was invaded by a pleasure that made a mockery of her mind's rejection.

His kisses were moving up the length of her neck, to her chin, her mouth, renewing his assault there, purposeful, threatening, inviting, until she was dizzy.

She felt faintness begin to overcome her and fought to stay alert, but he was too much for her. He overwhelmed her with his virility and his sensual mastery, until there was nothing in the world but him.

She felt the train come to a halt, doors were opening.

She heard the Earl say,

"My wife has fainted. I will carry her."

She felt herself lifted up into his arms and was vaguely aware that he was descending from the train, walking a few steps, then climbing into a carriage.

This was the time to save herself, her last chance of escape. But her limbs were heavy, and her whole body was full of a terrible lassitude, as though she had been drugged.

And in a sense she had, but the drug was her own sensuality, unsuspected until now. But this fearsome man had detected it at once and used it unscrupulously against her, overcoming her independent will that she had thought so strong.

"To the ship, quickly," she heard him say. "My wife needs to rest as soon as possible."

The carriage was moving. She could already sense the salt air and hear the cry of the seagulls. In a few minutes they would reach the ship and it would be too late.

At last they rumbled to a halt. He was getting out and drawing her after him, lifting her high against his chest.

"Let me go," she whispered in despair.

"Never," he replied simply, and began to mount the gangway.

As they climbed higher and higher, she looked back over his shoulder at the ground falling away from them. It was too late. There was no escape now.

She heard the Earl say,

"Her Ladyship is unwell. Kindly show me at once to her cabin and set sail without delay."

As he began to carry her down some stairs and along a corridor, she could hear the sound of the engines, all ready for their departure.

At last the Captain threw open a pair of double doors.

"This is the Royal Suite, my Lord," he said. "I do hope her Ladyship will be better soon."

"I'm sure she will," the Earl said, carrying Venetia inside and laying her on the bed. "The excitement of our wedding day has overcome her. Please leave us now."

Only when the Captain had left did the Earl release her.

"Alone at last with my bride," he said in a mocking voice.

"How – dare – you!"

"Why should I not dare? We have the whole world before us and time to enjoy the delights of each other's company. In a few minutes the ship will depart and our honeymoon will have begun."