once.’
‘Well, you may not have noticed, but he hardly took his eyes off you after that one dance. Emily, what is wrong? Why do you find the idea that he was interested in you so distressing? I would have said he was exactly the sort of gentleman who would appeal to you. You haven’t taken a dislike to him, have you? I do hope not. We are to see quite a bit of Sir William and the Deardons in the near future.’
‘We are?’ said Emily apprehensively. Her heart sank. How long could she avoid being recognised? She was very much afraid that William Ashenden was too intelligent a man to be deceived for ever. Sooner or later she would say or do something to remind him, and she didn’t like to think of what he might do then. Added to that was this strange power he seemed to have over her. Tonight, she had lost her balance in more ways than one. When she fell against him she had had to fight an overwhelming urge to hold him even closer, to rest her head against him even longer, to hold her head up for his kiss. It had taken every ounce of determination she possessed to stand away. He must have wondered what had come over her. He had certainly been surprised and embarrassed. She sighed. She was just as strongly attracted to him as Rosa could wish. If only she had met him for the first time at Lady Langley’s ball, she might have found someone she could learn to love. But that was now out of the question. She could never relax with him, be herself. It would be too dangerous. When she caught herself sighing again, she told herself to be sensible. It wouldn’t have done much good anyway. Sir William Ashenden was interested in Maria Fenton, a far lovelier woman than she could ever be. Meanwhile she was living with a sword over her head. How long would it be before it fell?
Emily’s worst fears were in the process of being realised. William’s suspicions were already stirring, more because of his own astonishing reactions to her than anything she herself had said or done. He had been surprised at the strength of the desire he had felt for the girl in the hollow and had been quite unable to forget her. For a man who prided himself on his self-control, this was bad enough, but now, within a space of weeks, he had experienced the same degree of desire, this time in the highly civilised atmosphere of a ballroom. And not with a practised charmer like Maria Fenton, but with Miss Emily Winbolt, of all people! He had come damned close to kissing the girl in public! But on thinking it over later, he realised how very odd her reaction had been. Far from being angry with him for holding her longer and more closely than strictly necessary, she had apologised to him! Why? Why had she felt the need to apologise? Miss Winbolt was indeed the enigma he had thought her.
He lay awake that night, still puzzling over her behaviour. The more he thought about it, the stranger it appeared—and not only after that dance either, but throughout the evening. Coolness might have been expected—after all, there was no reason why she should look more kindly on him than on anyone else. But fear? That was the emotion he had seen in her eyes before she had looked away, and her hand had trembled when it rested on his arm. Why? And why had so much about her seemed familiar when he had held her in his arms—her touch, the scent of her hair, her eyes…silver-grey eyes… Those eyes were her outstanding feature—clear silver grey, like the water in the stream which ran along the valley in Stoke Shearings.
The girl in the hollow just above the stream had such eyes, too…silver-grey… A thought came into his head at that point which appeared to be so completely fantastic that he began to wonder whether his obsession with the girl in the hollow was affecting his mind. It was impossible to believe that Emily Winbolt and that girl were one and the same… No, it was quite impossible!
But as the night wore on the idea began to seem no longer quite so absurd. It would explain a lot—her alarm at meeting him tonight, her reluctance to talk to him, the strange sense of familiarity… Was it because he had met her before tonight? Had held her in his arms before? Shearings, where the Winbolts lived, was not far from the spot where he had rescued the girl from the tree, and she had run in that direction. Could it possibly be true? If it were…
William started to smile. What a situation that would be! Emily Winbolt, born spinster, society’s model of rectitude, abandoning herself to making love with a stranger in the fields! What a hypocrite that would make her! He lay for some time thinking about the two women, and fell asleep at last still trying to reconcile what he knew of them.
William had an important appointment the next morning with his architect at Charlwood. But after his sleepless night he had decided to look first at the spot where he had met the girl who had haunted him. He rose early, and instead of setting off towards Charlwood he made for Stoke Shearings. He left his horse once again at the inn and followed the path alongside the stream. The water was as clear as he remembered, the slope above it just as steep. The hedge and even the oak tree where he had first caught sight of her soon came into view. He climbed up the slope and stood beside the oak. Someone had cleared away the broken branch and tidied up the hedge, but it was unmistakeably the spot.
‘You’re not thinking of climbing through that there hedge, are yer, sir?’ William looked down. A man was standing on the path below, shaking his head. He went on, ‘I don’t advise it. It’d be the last short cut yer’d take. There’s a vicious animal in the field on t’other side.’
‘Really?’
‘Black Samson, Farmer Pritchard’s bull. A dangerous beast, if ever there was one.’
‘Thanks for the warning,’ William said. ‘I’ll take note. And you are…?’
‘Will Darby, at your service, sir. I work close by for Mr Winbolt.’ He clambered up the slope and went on, ‘I could tell you a tale or two about that bull, I could. Job Diment. Elias Carter, they’m both still laid up after ’e attacked ’em. Not worked for weeks and weeks, they ’asn’t. Why, it’s not long since Mr Winbolt’s own sister barely got away with her life. Don’t go near ’um!’
‘I certainly shan’t. Miss Winbolt, you say?’
‘Aye, sir. You’m be looking at the very spot where she escaped. Leastways, that’s what Mr Winbolt said when he told us to mend the hedge just where we’re standing. Lucky, that’s what she was. With the branch giving way under ’er and all.’ He looked curiously at William. ‘Be you bound fer Shearings, sir?’
‘’Er, no. Not today. I’m going in the other direction. Well, thank you, Will.’ They clambered down the slope together and William slipped a coin into Will Darby’s hand. ‘I’ll be on my way—and I’ll take your advice and go the long way round!’
To William’s relief Will Darby gave him a toothless grin, touched his cap, and set off without asking any more questions. He had no desire to lie to the man, but nor did he wish to explain what he was doing in that quiet spot at such a very early hour.
William Ashenden suffered from an over-developed sense of humour and a strong sense of the ridiculous. His friends frequently told him that his major fault was a desire to tease. The situation he was in the process of uncovering was so perfectly bizarre, so exactly to his taste that, as he rode on to Charlwood, a bubble of mirth was growing inside him. He was hard put to it not to laugh out loud. Ice-cool Emily Winbolt and his passionate seductress—what an unlikely combination! Soberly dressed Emily Winbolt and a raggle-taggle, bare-legged gipsy girl—what a contrast! Oh, yes! The alarm in Miss Winbolt’s eyes, her fear of him, were both now perfectly understandable. Indeed, she must be worried out of her skin lest he should recognise her and tell the world what she had been up to. His grin broadened. What fun he would have with her! The little cheat deserved a bit of teasing before he put her out of her misery.
For a moment he paused. Did she deserve it? Was she in the habit of finding secret pleasure with strangers? Or was she indeed a respectable woman who had been under the same spell as he had been that day, unable to resist, swept up by some mysterious force? For a moment he hesitated, but then shrugged his shoulders. It wouldn’t do her any lasting harm. Circumstances had forced him to be too serious lately—he felt in need of diversion. The problem of what to do with the children had been worrying. The question of a wife and a home, and the chores associated with renovating Charlwood, had been interesting, but not exactly amusing. A brief spell of teasing Miss Winbolt would provide some light relief. Not for long, though. He