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wi’ her.’
    He shook his head and looked around him. ‘I’ve seen her, yeh, but not spoken to her. She’s getting too proud to talk to ’likes o’ me.’
    ‘Nonsense,’ Mrs Marshall said. ‘She likes you all right, but you know what these young girls are for pretending otherwise. Find her for me, will you? There’s a good fellow.’
    He gave a deep bow, almost falling over. ‘For you, Cook, anything! Especially if it means talking to ’lovely Ellen.’
    ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Tell her I want a word back at ’house as soon as she can.’ She smiled encouragingly. ‘Just find her.’
    ‘Well, Ellen.’ Christopher stumbled over his words. ‘What a splendid evening. Tomorrow’s party will feel quite tame after this.’
    ‘I hope it will be a night to remember, sir,’ she said softly, touching his fingers.
    ‘You don’t have to call me sir, you know, not tonight anyway.’ He clasped her hand and looked blearily at her. ‘Didn’t we—’ He took a hiccuping breath. ‘I thought we used to be friends.’
    ‘So we were,’ she agreed in a whisper. ‘So what’s changed?’
    He shook his head and swayed a little. ‘I don’t know, Ellen. Do you know? You’re looking very – very—’ He hiccuped again. ‘Very pretty.’
    ‘Would you like to sit down, Christopher?’ she murmured. ‘Just for a minute.’
    ‘I think I would,’ he slurred. ‘I think I might have had a drop too much to drink.’
    She led him towards the shelter of the trees. ‘The grass is quite dry,’ she said. ‘Not damp at all.’ Christopher carefully lowered himself on to it.
    He patted the grass beside him. ‘Come and sit with me, Ellen, and tell me what you’ve been doing since I last saw you.’
    ‘Well, just the usual things, you know.’ He’d obviously forgotten that he had seen her only the day before. Or, perhaps, she thought hopefully, he means since he last saw me on our own, away from the house.
    Boldly, she held his hand and lifted it to her lips. ‘Life is not as pleasant now that we don’t meet any more.’
    ‘I know.’ He leaned towards her. ‘But if we should be found out . . . ’
    ‘I understand,’ she whispered, leaning into him. ‘Don’t worry, we won’t be. We’ll still be able to keep our secret.’
    ‘You’re very lovely, you know, Ellen.’ He touched her face with his fingers. ‘But I shouldn’t be doing this.’
    ‘But I want you to,’ she murmured. ‘And I like it.’ Her lips brushed his. ‘I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.’
    ‘Have you? Have you really? I didn’t know.’ He returned her kiss and closed his eyes, pulling her down to lie beside him.
    His head swam. I’m not used to drinking. Not strong ale. Usually he only had a glass of wine at dinner. He wanted to sleep, but this girl – Ellen – she was loosening his belt, and yes, that was better, he’d eaten far too much, but her fingers were wandering beneath his shirt and undergarments on to his flesh, and oh, how many fingers did she have because now she was directing his hand beneath her skirt.
    ‘Ellen,’ he murmured. ‘We shouldn’t . . . ’ but she shushed him, and he had to agree when she asked him that it was very pleasant there, such silky skin, warm and moist and inviting, and he had never . . . never yet been with a woman, although he had wanted to. And as he rode astride her and she wrapped her pale thighs around him he felt empowered and she gasped as if she was hurt but no, she said, no, it didn’t hurt and even if it did she didn’t mind, it was what she wanted and she knew it was what he wanted too. But in any case he couldn’t stop, for his head didn’t know what his body was doing.
    Ellen buttoned up his shirt and breeches; she couldn’t fasten his belt because he was lying on it. He was fast asleep, lying on his side as if he were tucked up in bed. She sat gazing at him. She heard voices calling his name and knew it was only a matter of time before they were