Tempest was thoroughly bored with being tied up to the fence and made her displeasure known in no uncertain terms. Marissa had no intention of leading her round to the front of the house in search of a mounting block, so she used a tree stump. The mare sidled and backed every time Marissa attempted to mount and it took ten minutes before she was in the saddle.

Fighting a bad-tempered horse all the way back across the park to the Dower House on top of the morning’s upsets did nothing for Marissa’s mood. She stalked into the house and up to her room, calling for her maid as she went.

In her chamber she pulled off her jacket without waiting for Mary. When the girl arrived, breathless from running upstairs, she asked, ‘Has Miss Venables waited luncheon for me?’

‘Yes. my lady. Let me help you with that, ma’am. What would you like to change into, ma’am?’

‘Oh, anything you like, Mary. Just a simple gown.’

Jane was placidly reading in the dining room when Marissa joined her. ‘Your colour is very good, dear,’ she said, laying the book aside. ‘Did you have a good ride?’

‘My ride was very enjoyable, thank you. I have moved my favourite mare, Tempest, to the stables here. Would you care for some cold meat, Jane?’

‘Thank you, yes. If your ride was enjoyable, it sounds as though something else was not,’ Jane observed.

‘I became embroiled in a dispute between the Earl and Nicci over Mr Ashforde who has asked if he may court her.’

Jane snorted. ‘Has he indeed? Silly young puppy. He is no more in love with that girl than she is with him. No doubt the Earl put him right about that.’ She buttered some bread and asked innocently, ‘Embroiled, you say, my dear? How so?’

Marissa gave her an edited version of the morning’s events.

‘And the Earl was angry?’

‘He was certainly extremely annoyed, and said so,’ Marissa supplied. She had made no mention of his flaring anger, of the riding crop and the effect it had had on her.

‘Oh dear, so we are out of favour with him.’

‘Far from it, Jane. He has asked that we accompany them to London to do the Season and help bring Nicole out. I was so taken aback by his effrontery after all that had passed between us that I did not trust myself to give him an immediate answer.’

‘Oh,’ Jane said, failing to conceal her dismay. ‘But it seems an excellent plan to me – just think how much we would enjoy it after this past year. There can be no objection now to you coming out of mourning. We would have a splendid time. Just think – balls and parties and riding in the park. And entertainment of a higher kind, naturally. There will be the galleries, and exhibitions… And the shopping, dear, think of the shopping.’

Marissa laughed out loud and leaned across the table to take her companion’s hand. ‘You are so good for me, Jane. We will like it exceedingly, in spite of the Earl. I shall tell him that we will oblige him.’

‘At whatever cost to ourselves,’ Miss Venables added, tongue firmly in cheek.

 

Marissa, Lady Longminster, thanks the Earl of Longminster for his kind invitation to join his London establishment for the season. Miss Venables joins her Ladyship in accepting the Earl’s amiable offer. Doubtless his lordship will favour them with full details of his plans at his convenience.

 

Marcus screwed the letter up and tossed it onto the desk in front of him, anger welling. He had thought he was making progress in breaking down Marissa’s reserve. And he had thought he was offering her and Miss Venables an opportunity for pleasure and diversion after long months of mourning. The cold formality of the note demonstrated just how wrong he had been.

He reached for the crumpled paper and smoothed it out, letting his palm rest on it. Marissa was an enigma to him, and her parting words earlier that day echoed uneasily in his mind.

She had said she did not care where she spent her time. He recalled her distress in the Gallery before the portrait of her husband. Despite her calm exterior Marissa must still be deep in grief – was he being cruel in asking her to spend more time with him when his appearance must be a constant reminder of her loss?

Nicci bounced into the Salon without troubling to knock, shattering his reverie. ‘Marcus, you have quite destroyed my rosewood box! I shall have to send to Norwich for a new one – and if you expect me to pay for it out of my allowance, then I call that mean of you.’

‘I am sorry for your box, you provoking brat. You may choose yourself a new one in Bond Street – and pay for it out of the ridiculously extravagant allowance I intend making you in London.’

Nicci whirled across to sit on his lap, wrapped her arms round his neck and planted a big kiss on his cheek. ‘You are the most wonderful brother in the world! We can truly go to London? And I will have a truly magnificent allowance?’

‘Far more magnificent than you deserve. You have soon recovered from your broken heart, have you, you minx?’ Marcus asked, smiling despite himself.

‘You were quite right,’ she said seriously. ‘Mr Ashforde and I would not suit, I see it now. What is that?’ She pointed at the letter underneath his hand.

‘A note from Marissa accepting my invitation for her and Miss Venables to accompany us to London.’

Nicci jumped up, clapping her hands. ‘I am so glad Marissa is coming, and dear Jane of course.’ She regarded him from under her lashes and added with suspicious innocence, ‘What a good thing Diane is setting up her own establishment and not staying with us.’

‘Have you said anything to Marissa about Madame de Rostan?’ Marcus demanded.

Nicci coloured betrayingly. ‘Well... I might have mentioned her in passing. As being one of our dear friends, you know.’

‘Nicci,’ Marcus growled. ‘How much have you told her? Have you said that Diane has been… very close to me?’

‘Marissa says I should not talk about such things,’ Nicci retorted.

Marcus dropped his head in his hands. ‘Oh, Nicci. I really would prefer it if you would strive not to create the impression that my life is littered with mistresses. Or betray that you even know the meaning of the word.’ No wonder Marissa was so frosty. After a happy marriage she was doubtless shocked to the core to hear that he’d had an irregular liaison.

 

The next day was unseasonably hot for May. The clouds seemed trapped in the sticky heat, and nothing moved in the still air other than an army of small insects which buzzed irritatingly whenever a window was opened.

‘The Earl and Nicci are accustomed to the heat of the Tropics and probably think nothing of this,’ Jane grumbled as both she and Marissa retreated to the shaded cool of the garden room and drew the blinds, Gyp panting in the corner, too hot to even chase birds in the garden.

They spent a desultory day making lists of things to be done, things to be packed and, much more enjoyably, things to be purchased as soon as they arrived in London.

‘Oh, for some lightweight cottons and muslins,’ Jane said, fanning herself. ‘I shall be so thankful to see the last of these dark colours and heavy fabrics.’

‘And pretty straw bonnets and parasols and little kid slippers,’ Marissa said dreamily. She felt so restless, so full of energy despite the heat. She wanted to run, to gallop, but it was too hot to walk and it would not be fair to take Tempest out in the heat and flies. Beyond the parkland and the dunes the cool sea beckoned…

Marissa ordered a late dinner, and it was after ten when they sat sipping their tea. Jane looked at the curtain, just stirring at the open windows, and remarked, ‘Thank heavens. The breeze is getting up at last. Perhaps we shall not have too unpleasant a night.’

Marissa got up and pulled back the curtains. The cloud had lifted, leaving the sky clear and a full moon bathed the garden with light. The cool stirrings of the air lifted the fine hair at her temples, rekindled her restlessness.

‘I am going to retire now, Marissa, the heat of the day has quite sapped my energy.’ Jane got up, fanning herself at the slight exertion. ‘Don’t be too long yourself, my dear. We have so much to arrange tomorrow.’

‘Goodnight, Jane. I will follow you up soon.’

Marissa stood looking at the moon-bathed landscape for some time, breathing in the scents of the night stocks and roses, enjoying the peace and the cool. Despite her words she felt no desire to retire to bed. Many times before, when her lord had been away from home, she had taken a horse out at night and ridden until she had exorcised the restless demons which possessed her and she could trot home, calm and collected and ready to resume the mantle of Countess once again.

Peters the head groom had been her loyal, if unwilling, accomplice in those escapes and at her orders he had sent the man’s saddle down to the Dower House stables. Shaw worked for her and her alone, so if she told him to make Tempest ready he would do so unquestioningly.

Before she knew it she was pulling her breeches and jacket from the bottom of the chest of drawers. She buttoned up the linen shirt, tugged on her boots and shook her hair free of its confining pins. As an afterthought she tossed a lightweight cloak over her shoulders and scooped up some linen towels from the washstand.

The candle was flickering in the window of the groom’s room above the carriage house. Marissa banged on the door and, when Shaw came stumbling down the steps, ordered him briskly to saddle up her mare. ‘The man’s saddle, please.’

Briefed by Peters, the under-groom did as she said, only his unusually wooden expression betraying his surprise at seeing his mistress in breeches. ‘Shall I saddle up the hack and accompany you, my lady?’

‘That will not be necessary, thank you. And there is no need to wait up for my return. I am quite capable of unsaddling Tempest and I would not keep you from your bed.’

‘Yes, my lady, thank you.’

Marissa walked the mare quietly across the cobbles and past the front of the Dower House. It would never do to wake Jane. Once they were through the wood she eased out the reins and Tempest, with a toss of her head, settled into a canter that sent the wind through her long mane. The cloak flew out behind Marissa and she shook her hair free to catch the wind too. It felt as though she and the horse were one, flying over the moonlit turf of the parkland, cutting diagonally across the front of Southwood Hall. The big house lay silent and still, lit only by the dim lights of the watchman’s lanterns.

 

In the master bedroom Marcus lay, hands behind his head, and gazed up at the plaster moulding of the ceiling overhead. He hadn’t moved for the last half hour and he was restless, yet unable to either get up or settle. Sleep was eluding him for some reason and he found his mind turning again to the thought of Marissa, cold and angry, so very attractive in the clinging riding habit.

He grinned ruefully to himself, reflecting that enforced celibacy was doing nothing for his equilibrium. He and Diane had amicably ended their liaison over two years ago and since then there had been a number of charming entanglements of which, thankfully, his sister knew nothing. But those too had ended when he had left Jamaica and the provocative presence of Marissa only served to highlight his lack of intimate female companionship.

It was no good, he had to get up and do some work. There were some suitably soporific estate accounts he had promised his agent he would look at. As he crossed the room he heard, faintly, the sound of hoof-beats on turf.

Poachers? Smugglers? Marcus threw back the curtains and looked out on the park, so bathed in silver light that it seemed almost as bright as day. A grey horse was cantering across his view, its mane flying. On its back was a slim figure, cloak streaming behind it, a mass of hair swept back by the breeze.

It was Marissa. There was no mistaking the rider despite, he realised with a shock, the fact that she was riding astride and clad in breeches.

‘What the devil?’ He stared at the wild creature who had Marissa’s form yet who could not, surely, be the same controlled, proper young widow who had spoken so coldly to him earlier that day. As he watched she turned the horse’s head towards the coast road and dropped her hands. The mare responded immediately, breaking into a gallop that swept them out of his sight in less than a minute.

His astonishment turned to nagging disquiet. What had prompted this wild ride? Had her despair finally over-mastered her control? He remembered again her tears in the Long Gallery, the almost too-casual way she had said she did not care where she spent her time. It obviously made no difference to the depths of her misery whether she was in Norfolk or in London; she was still in hell.

The image of that cold expanse of sea beyond the dunes was suddenly very vivid in his mind. Marcus tried to tell himself he was overreacting, but even as he told himself he was an over-imaginative fool he was tugging on breeches and boots, shrugging into a shirt.

He ran down the stairs, across the hall and out through the front door, startling the dozing watchman as he snored in his hooded chair. Marcus pounded into the stableyard and flung open the door of the stall that housed his hunter. He had thrown the saddle over the startled animal, tightened the girth and reached for the bridle when Peters emerged, hair tousled, eyes heavy with sleep.

‘My lord? What is wrong?’

‘Nothing. Go back to bed. I have a fancy to ride.’

The groom wisely refrained from commenting on either the time or his dishevelled appearance and went back up to his rooms with a muttered, ‘My lord.’

Marcus swung up into the saddle without putting his foot in the stirrup and was urging the big chestnut hunter into a canter before it had even cleared the stableyard arch. The park was empty when he reached it, but he guessed where Marissa was headed and urged the horse into a flat gallop, headlong down the driveway to the sea.

 

On the beach Marissa sat for a moment, breathed in the cool sea air and watched the moonlight lay a path of silver across the waves. The light breeze stirred her hair, but it was not cold. The sea would be, she knew, but it was irresistible, and so shallow, even on the rising tide, that it would be safe to swim.

She dismounted, tied Tempest to a branch and pulled off her clothes, leaving them in a heap on the cloak. The breeze caressed her naked body and she stretched luxuriously, then walked slowly down the beach, kicking the fine sand, letting it run between her bare toes.

The water struck cold but she did not hesitate, wading out, relishing the chill kiss on her heated skin. The beach shelved very gradually that even after wading several hundred yards the water did not quite reach her waist. The moon was so big, so beautiful that she held her face up to its light and just stood relishing the tranquillity, the freedom, the aloneness.

 

The chestnut hunter breasted the dunes at the gallop, plunging as it scrambled down the far slope. Marcus reined in hard, making it rear, unsettling Tempest who had fallen into a half-doze.

Marcus swung down, dropped the reins and scanned the expanse of sea. There she was, standing like a naiad in the moonlight. Her hair cascaded down her bare back, black against the alabaster of her skin. As he watched, transfixed, she raised her hands and lifted the mass of dark curls off her neck, exposing the whole of her naked form before letting her hair drop once more.

She was beautiful, lovely beyond the imaginings he had striven so hard to control. Her slender waist, the curve of her hip rising from the lapping waves, took his breath away. Then she moved swiftly, disappearing into the water with barely a ripple.

Urgently Marcus ripped off his shirt, tore off his boots and breeches and plunged into the water. The shallowness forced him to run, not swim, and he felt as though he were being dragged back with every stride. The cold water splashed up his back and chest as he pushed on, conscious of nothing but the need to reach her before she sank from sight below the grey waves.

Frustrated by the impeding water Marcus plunged into a running dive, struck out strongly to where he had last glimpsed Marissa, praying through clenched teeth that she had not already sunk beyond his reach. Half blinded by the salt in his eyes he surged forward, cutting through the water with powerful overarm strokes. His search succeeded better than he could have hoped as, with startling suddenness, he collided with a body.