The sudden revelation of her face threw Harry completely off balance. With the mask in place he’d been able to suppress the awareness he was dealing with a woman. He’d even managed to consider her comments about her lover as if they were no more than pieces in an intellectual puzzle.

      As soon as he saw her face that illusion was destroyed. She was unmistakably feminine, with a heart-shaped face and smooth, unblemished skin. Her lips were soft and slightly parted, and she was looking at him with vulnerable hopefulness in her large brown eyes. For several heartbeats he lost himself completely in her gaze. He wanted to stroke her cheek and touch her lips to see if they were as soft as they looked. She’d claimed she wasn’t beautiful—but now Harry knew that had been another lie. She was captivating. He felt his body stir with more primitive arousal and cursed himself that he had so little experience with women that one glance at a lovely face should have such a potent impact upon him. He preferred always to be in a position of control.

      He growled a Turkish curse in his throat. ‘Do not look at me like that,’ he warned, more harshly than he’d intended. ‘You’re paying me to keep you alive, nothing else.’

      Confusion clouded her eyes for a moment; then she straightened her spine, her lips firmed and temper sparked in her eyes.

      ‘That’s all I expect from you,’ she said crisply. ‘I have already hired a coach. I will give orders for it to be made ready and then we will leave.’

       Cornwall—Saturday, 15 June 1667

      ‘I wonder where Saskia is now?’ Anne said, her voice low and shaky.

      ‘I hope to God she is safe.’ Sir Benjamin Trevithick’s hands clenched into useless fists as he tried to control his fear and rage.

      ‘I am sure she is. She was so strong and brave when we overheard…when we…’

      ‘You are strong and brave too.’ With an effort of will Benjamin relaxed his hand and cupped the side of Anne’s face—the uninjured side. Her other check and her eye were still badly bruised from the back-handed blow which had knocked her to the floor a week ago.

      The shocking moment when Lady Abergrave had lashed out at Anne was burned into Benjamin’s memory. He’d woken early, restless because he’d had an uncomfortable night. Anne had brought breakfast to his bedchamber, just as she had done every day since he’d broken his leg. He’d known at once that something was troubling her, but before he had a chance to ask what was wrong, his aunt and Tancock had come into the room.

      Anne had jumped at the sight of her stepmother, her face paling until Benjamin feared she might faint.

       ‘Where’s Saskia?’ Lady Abergrave demanded.

      ‘She…she had a headache,’ Anne stammered.

      ‘Where is she?’

      Anne’s eyes grew huge with fear and her voice sank almost to a whisper as she replied, ‘In…in bed, I suppose.’

      ‘She’s not in bed.’ Lady Abergrave advanced on Anne.

      ‘She was going for a walk to clear her head, and then she was going to bed,’ Anne said, a little more firmly.

      ‘Liar!’ Lady Abergrave struck her stepdaughter so hard Anne staggered and landed in a shaken heap on the floor by Benjamin’s bed.

      Every time Benjamin remembered that moment he was filled with renewed horror and shame. He’d been trapped beneath the sheets by his broken leg, desperately reaching for his crutches, unable to protect Anne. All he’d managed to do was fall out of bed beside her, powerless to intervene.

      He stroked the soft skin of her unhurt cheek with his thumb, trying to comfort her as he remembered how they’d been locked together in his bedchamber while Tancock and his henchmen went in search of Saskia. Anne had told him in whispers about the deadly conversation she and Saskia had overheard. When Lady Abergrave and Tancock returned his aunt had been in an even worse temper, but he’d felt a flood of relief because they hadn’t found Saskia. They hadn’t given up looking for her. Benjamin knew that Tancock and at least one other man had gone in further pursuit of her. He prayed continuously that his sister should remain safe, but the longer she was gone the more worried he became.

      He was also effectively a prisoner in his own house. He wasn’t willing to accept that situation without a fight, but he trusted the servants even less than Saskia had. They’d all received their wages from Lady Abergrave for years. They might understand in theory that in a few days’ time Benjamin would be master of Trevithick, but immediate power lay in his aunt’s hands, enforced by the core members of her retinue. Men like Tancock, who had already proved they would follow her orders without compunction.

      Footsteps sounded in the gallery outside the bedchamber. Benjamin lifted his head, apprehension knotting his stomach. Ned Fenwick, a large, scarred manservant, came cautiously into the room, the knife in his hand very visible. Lady Abergrave followed, carrying Benjamin’s crutches. Without them he was completely immobile.

      ‘Come here, girl,’ Lady Abergrave ordered.

      Anne stood up and took a few reluctant steps forward. As soon as she was well clear of Benjamin, Fenwick reached out and seized her arm. Benjamin’s hands clenched.

      Lady Abergrave saw the gesture and smiled mockingly. ‘Your obedience buys Anne’s continued good health,’ she said.

      ‘If anything happens to her, you will have no power over me at all,’ Benjamin returned, his muscles trembling from the effort to maintain his self-control. Lady Abergrave’s willingness to threaten her stepdaughter to force his co-operation limited his options even more effectively than the questionable loyalty of the servants and her regular removal of his crutches.

      ‘Sir William Boscawen has just arrived at the quay,’ said Lady Abergrave, laying Benjamin’s crutches out of reach as Fenwick took Anne out of the room. Benjamin knew she’d brought them for the sake of appearances in front of the visitor and that they would be removed as soon as Sir William had gone. ‘I will bring him up to see you. Remember, if you say anything out of turn, it will be Anne who suffers.’

      A few minutes later Benjamin struggled to keep his composure as he accepted Sir William’s commiserations on breaking his leg so close to reaching his twenty-first birthday. For nearly an hour he made polite conversation with Sir William and Lady Abergrave while he desperately tried to think of some discreet way of communicating the danger to his visitor. Sir William was a genial neighbour, but he was neither decisive nor particularly intelligent. Far worse, from Benjamin’s point of view, he was one of the many men who had courted Lady Abergrave in her youth—and