The next morning dawned fair, a perfect day Brielle declared for her granddaughter’s first visit to the Pump Room. Amelie felt little enthusiasm, but knew that her grandmother had been delighted by the success of yesterday’s small party and was now eager to introduce her to wider Bath society.

      Brielle did not take the famous waters, which she privately considered disgusting, but many of her friends drank a daily glass for a variety of complaints, imagined or otherwise. And she made sure that she attended the Pump Room regularly as a way of keeping in touch with what was going on in Bath. It was said that a morning spent there would vouchsafe the visitor all the current gossip of the town.

      The room they entered was spacious with a wall of tall windows giving on to carefully tended lawns. A richly moulded azure ceiling was hung with ornate chandeliers glittering with light even on this bright morning. Small golden chairs were positioned around the edges of the room or marshalled by visitors into friendship or family circles. The salon emanated wealth and leisure, capturing the essence of Bath as a town of affluence and pleasure.

      Almost immediately they spotted Celine Charpentier, who had just procured a glass of water from the pumper and was busy wending her way through knots of people deep in conversation. Brielle began to follow in her wake, zigzagging to avoid the couples who slowly paraded around the room, arm in arm, intent on seeing and being seen. Amelie was acutely conscious of the many pairs of eyes staring at her, some curious, some measuring and some frankly admiring. She gave thanks for the familiar faces already gathered at the far end of the room. As her grandmother had predicted, it was comforting to recognise acquaintances among a sea of unknowns. Perry Latham’s sunny smile beamed across at her.

      But before they could greet Brielle’s friends, they were intercepted by a very thin, very richly clad figure. Amelie caught her breath—the man bowing profusely before her grandmother was none other than Rufus Glyde! He had returned not to London, but to Bath. He must have suspected that she would eventually find her way here.

      ‘Lady St Clair,’ he purred, ‘my most humble apologies for intruding, but allow me to say how delighted I am to see that your granddaughter has been safely restored to you.’

      Brielle nodded briefly and went to move on, but Glyde was intent on detaining them.

      ‘My lady, if I could beg you for a few minutes of your time … I wish to tender my heartfelt regrets for any misunderstanding that may have occurred when we last met.’

      ‘I am not aware of any misunderstanding, monsieur,‘ Brielle said stiffly.

      ‘I mean only that my motives for seeking your charming granddaughter were not clear and I fear I may have been misinterpreted.’

      ‘Believe me, I understand perfectly your wish to pursue my granddaughter and since we are being frank, I will tell you now that your pursuit is unwelcome. Miss Silverdale stays with me for the foreseeable future. I am now responsible for her welfare.’

      Amelie felt a glow of satisfaction. Surely that would get rid of him for good.

      ‘Naturally I am more than pleased that Miss Silver-dale has found sanctuary with a beloved relative. It is right and proper that she should do so.’ Glyde’s voice was smoothly persistent. ‘My pursuit, as you term it, was a wish only to be of assistance to a young woman I had reason to believe was happy to become my wife.’

      Unsure of precisely what Miles Silverdale had promised, Brielle was forced to concede the point.

      Emboldened, he continued, ‘Now that the position is clear to me, Miss Silverdale may rest assured that I will in no way incommode her in the future. Indeed, I would like to wish her very well whatever that future may be.’

      Her grandmother had begun to look a little more gratified and answered neutrally, ‘We thank you for your good wishes, sir, and for your reassurance.’

      His thin lips arranged themselves into a tight smile, the sunken lines on either side of his mouth becoming more deeply etched. Amelie recoiled in distaste, but was forced to remain by her grandmother’s side.

      ‘In that case I hope that we may continue to enjoy a pleasant association. I had just begun a visit to friends here when I felt it necessary to interrupt my stay to search for Miss Silverdale. Now that the matter is happily concluded, I can look forward to enjoying the delights of Bath more thoroughly.’

      ‘I hope the town will live up to your expectations,’ Brielle murmured.

      ‘If not, I have always the pleasures of my country estate, which lies nearby, but I can’t imagine Bath will pall with two such charming ladies at the forefront of its society. I trust I am forgiven sufficiently to be included in your personal group of acquaintances.’

      Brielle inclined her head slightly. ‘Naturally, we are bound to encounter each other on occasions, Sir Rufus.’

      ‘I look forward to meeting you and your granddaughter frequently. Bath is such a small society that I imagine that to be inevitable.’

      Amelie had managed to put on a brave face during this interchange, but her heart plummeted at these words. She was sure they carried an implicit threat and, glancing up at his thin, white face, she saw the wolfish eyes staring out at her from behind the social mask. Her grandmother, though, seemed to sense nothing amiss and, with another bow in Glyde’s direction, moved towards her group of friends.

      Glyde turned swiftly on his heel and left the Pump Room. Now that he was gone, she found her limbs were trembling and she had to fight to calm her breathing. His trite commonplaces had cloaked his true intent, she was sure. He had not given up his intention to marry her, whatever platitudes he mouthed to her grandmother. And Brielle appeared to have been completely taken in. With a sickening jolt Amelie realised that the sanctuary she’d sought and found with so much difficulty might now prove as dangerous as her London home. She could see Glyde’s strategy clearly. He would make sure that he was constantly in her grandmother’s company, presenting himself as a loyal and dependable friend. Gradually he would chip away at her grandmother’s suspicion until Brielle began to wonder why her granddaughter had taken such a dislike to him. There would be nowhere else for her to run and little by little she would be coerced into an appalling marriage.

      Her grandmother was already deep in conversation with the Major, and she saw with dismay that Perry Latham had begun to walk towards her. Unable to face him immediately, she fled towards the entrance hall, intending to stand in the cool, fresh air until she regained her composure. Looking straight ahead, she moved swiftly towards her goal, barely noticing the figure standing in the shadow of the large palm trees that graced either side of the doorway.

      In an instant Gareth Wendover stood before her. She had a fleeting glimpse of his muscular figure, clothed now in a perfectly fitting coat of blue superfine, his shapely legs encased in skin-tight pantaloons of the palest fawn. Hardly had she absorbed his new image, when he advanced menacingly towards her and grabbed her by the wrist.

      ‘You’ve evidently managed to acquire a very liberal employer since we met last,’ he snarled. ‘Such elegance, Amelie, such a taking coiffeure, but hardly fitting for a maidservant.’ He thundered out the last word, his lip curling with disdain.

      ‘Or a doxy, I imagine.’ Her retort was swift and equally angry.

      His face shadowed and he let go of her arm. He should apologise, but he was damned if he would. She had utterly deceived him. The girl he saw before him, so beautiful he could devour her on the spot, was thoroughly false. She had lied and lied again to him.

      ‘May I enquire exactly who or what you are?’ His tone was scathing.

      She replied with as