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where Lydyard’s Pride is. What’s your name—your full name?’
    ‘I’m Marie-Claude Hallaston. I was Marie-Claude de la Roche before my marriage.’
    Hallaston. Marriage.
    Why hadn’t he discovered this pertinent piece of information in the first place? It had never crossed his mind. His lips curled in cynical acknowledgement of this unexpected turn of the cards. So the gift from the hand of fate had all been a mischievous charade after all. Well, he had been taught a short hard lesson, had he not? It was as if he had been offered his heart’s desire only to have it snatched away in some malicious game. Zan took a step back, his brows meeting in a black bar.
    ‘Zan…?’
    He took another step. When he could think, memory struck to fill in the gaps.
    ‘Ah, yes. Of course. I should have known, I suppose. You’re the widow of the noble Earl of Venmore’s brother.’
    ‘Yes. Captain Marcus Hallaston. He died in Spain.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Do you know the Hallaston family? And Harriette’s family, the Lydyards? I suppose you must since you are a neighbour.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I’m staying here for a few weeks.’
    ‘I see.’
    ‘Harriette and Luke are at The Venmore, but I—’
    ‘I must take you home,’ Zan interrupted. ‘I’ve kept you here long enough.’
    She was a Hallaston. Of all the families she could have been connected to. Striding to the door, he flung it open, raised his voice in the direction of the kitchen.
    ‘Sal! Bring the lady’s shoes. Now!’
    When they arrived, Sal at a run, he took them with a brief word of thanks, handed them over.
    ‘Put your shoes on.’
    Not understanding, Marie-Claude simply did as she was ordered. What point in attempting an explanation when the man who had first saved her life and then had kissed her into mindless delight had inexplicably decided that he wanted nothing more to do with her? Without a word, spine straight against the humiliation, Marie-Claude took the little boots, then sat, just as rigidly, struggling with the soaked fabric to pull them on. They were, sadly, past redemption.
    ‘Never mind.’ Impatiently, Zan all but snatched the boots from her, tucking them with her stockings into his capacious pockets. ‘Put your arms around my neck, Madame Mermaid.’ When she obeyed because his sly mockery seemed to rob her of any will to do otherwise, he effortlessly lifted her and carried her out of the parlour.
    ‘I can walk!’ Flustered, mortified by her response to his nearness, hurt by his rejection of her, Marie-Claude pushed against his chest. ‘There’s no need for this! Put me down.’
    ‘Not in bare feet you can’t,’ he responded, as cold as January.
    Without further comment he carried her outside, where he boosted her into the saddle, then swung upbehind her, immediately gathering up the reins and turning the mare’s head in the direction of the Pride. His mouth curved in what was not a smile at this change in plan. Had he not intended to allow the mare to walk as slowly as she wished, to make her own way so that his time with the girl was stretched as far as possible? Now he kicked her into a canter, holding the Hallaston widow before him as impersonally as he might. Trying not to be aware of her warmth and closeness, the subtle perfume from her hair, the brush of her body against his. He clamped his mouth shut. There was nothing more to be said between them.
    Thus a tension-filled, uncomfortable journey, until they reached the long drive to the Pride and Zan turned the mare in.
    This was no good, Marie-Claude decided, trying to clear her thoughts. Did the baffling Mr Alexander Ellerdine intend to deposit her at the door without another word? Not if she had any influence on the outcome.
    ‘Do you know Harriette and Luke well?’ she asked against the wall of his silence, lifting her chin so she could see his face.
    ‘Once I did.’ His eyes were grimly fixed on the approaching house. ‘But no longer. We’re not on visiting