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place and the foyer was a hive of activity with people coming and going, piles of luggage awaiting transport, porters and messenger boys criss-crossing the floor with dizzying speed.
    Leading off the well-appointed dining room was a pleasant conservatory full of beautiful begonias and potted tropical plants of every shape and colour.
    Pretty white and green striped chairs were gathered around wicker tables and Ravina sank back against the cushions, glad to be free of the carriage for a while.
    Coffee and almond biscuits were brought in by a smiling waitress and Ravina admired the patterns made on the floor by petals falling from a huge golden flower.
    Sir Michael followed her gaze and frowned,
    â€œWhat a mess that plant has made. Shall I ask for the floor to be swept, Lady Ravina? I am surprised that an establishment of this class cannot keep its public rooms tidier.”
    Ravina stared at him, startled, then lowered her eyes and murmured something non-committal under her breath. She had suspected he was joking, but it was obvious from his expression that he was deadly serious.
    â€œGoodness, how pompous can you be?” she thought. “A few flower petals hardly constitute chaos.”
    And she felt a twinge of regret. For all his charming manners and compliments, Sir Michael suddenly seemed a little old and stuffy.
    â€œBut he is educated and charming,” she scolded herself. “Perhaps it is my views that are unschooled and undisciplined.”
    Feeling guilty, she tried extra hard to be attentive to Sir Michael, who was telling her the history of hothouse plants and listing in alphabetical order the varieties that he would grow at the Priory when his greenhouses were in full working order.
    â€œWhen you come to stay for a few nights, you will see exactly what I have planned,” he said, smiling warmly at her. “I am a great believer in order. I insist that my gardeners group all the plants together by colour and size. I dislike gardens where red and pink and purple are allowed to intermingle indiscriminately.”
    â€œI shall look forward to it immensely,” Ravina replied faintly. “I am sure I shall be most impressed.”
    And she crossed her fingers silently under her napkin as she spoke – a childish habit she had never quite grown out of when she told a little lie.
    At last, with the coffee drunk, Ravina felt she had smiled and complimented Sir Michael enough and that it was time to continue their journey.
    â€œI will pay our bill,” Sir Michael said, looking around for the waitress who was nowhere to be seen.
    With an irritated exclamation about inefficiency, he hurried out of the conservatory and Ravina rose, smoothing down the skirt of her blue travelling suit.
    She could hear water running prettily somewhere close by and wandered round to the back of the flowers to find a small indoor fountain and then –
    â€œOh!”
    A man was sitting in a chair on the other side of the display, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
    His tanned hand shot out to grasp her wrist as she almost fell over his feet.
    Ravina was laughing as she raised her eyes to his face and then gulped.
    It was the same dark-haired man again.
    â€˜Sir! Are you following me?’
    Deep brown eyes looked at her as he slowly stood up, a tall slim man with a strong handsome face.
    â€œIf I have the misfortune to be in your vicinity when you are playing the flirt, madam, I assure you that it is not by choice.”
    Ravina started.
    She had not been flirting with Sir Michael!
    Well, maybe a little, she conceded, her innate honesty coming to the surface, but only because he had been kind and she was guilty at feeling bored by his conversation.
    â€œEavesdropping is not a very gentlemanly action, sir. May I know who it is whom I have so offended by my behaviour?” she snapped.
    The stranger bowed briefly.
    â€œSir Richard Crawford at your service.”
    â€œI am Lady Ravina