'You,' Beaufort answered quietly.

One single little syllable but it seared into Marianne like a shot from a pistol fired at point blank range. For a moment, she thought that she was going to faint. She stepped back, and back again in an instinctive search for support, groping behind her until her icy hand met the warm, comforting stone fireplace. Now, she knew she was going mad – unless it were he, this insolent creature, he were the madman. But he seemed so cool, so self assured, while she seemed to be falling headlong… A wave of sick disgust swept over her. At least the walls of the house were there, certain and solid under her hands, to lean on otherwise she would have been sure that this was some nightmare. She flung her thoughts in Beaufort's face:

'Either I am mad, sir, or you are. Am I a slave to be sold or bartered at will? Even supposing Lord Cranmere to have been so vile or so rash as to stake the property placed in his keeping today, even then, he can only lose what belongs to him – and I do not belong to him!' The savagery in her tone startled the American.

'In the eyes of the law,' he said, and his voice was more gentle than ever, 'you do belong to him. And let me make it clear, it was not you yourself, or your life he staked, but only this one night. It is this night which now belongs to me. The loss of that vast stake made it my privilege to come to you here, in place of your husband – to exercise his rights.'

No, this was too much! Who had ever heard of such a thing? Not even the abominable Lovelace, the persecutor of the unhappy Clarissa Harlowe whose adventures Marianne had read not long before, would ever have dared to suggest anything so improper! With what sort of creature did this impudent foreigner think he had to do? Marianne drew herself up to her full height and racked her memory with childish fury for some of the more vulgar and incomprehensible insults overheard in the stable yard. She felt as though they would relieve her feelings mightily. When, inevitably, nothing came to mind she was obliged to be content with pointing imperiously at the door.

'Go,' was all she said.

Instead of obeying, Jason Beaufort swung round and gripped the back of a chair, resting one knee on the seat. Marianne saw the knuckles of the brown hand whiten.

'No,' he answered coolly. Then, his eyes held by the pale graceful figure and by the disturbing recollection of the form half-seen not long before, he went on: 'Listen, and try to hear me out without losing your temper. You don't love that pompous selfish fop, you cannot love him?'

'I am not obliged to discuss my feelings with you – and I ask you once again to go.'

The American's jaw tightened. So this chit thought she could impose on him with her queenly airs. Furious with himself, more than with her, he took refuge in anger.

'So much the worse for you!' he said grimly. 'At all events, he's lost you. No woman can go on loving a man who could gamble away her first night of love – not unless she had sunk as low as he. By his consent, you are mine for this full night. Come with me – come away with me – use this night he has relinquished to gain your own freedom! I'll not touch you but I'll take you with me, to my own country, out of his reach – I will make you happy – There before us is the sea to divide you forever from a man unworthy of you—'

'And unite me with another, at least equally unworthy!' Marianne retorted. Gradually, as he became more feverishly urgent, she had been recovering her self possession. For the first time in her life she was discovering power over a man, sufficient at least to disturb this disagreeable American. She gave way to the perfectly natural temptation to abuse it.

'If the chivalrous feelings you possess towards me are genuine sir, then you may prove it very simply…'

Halted abruptly in the midst of his wholly unpremeditated outburst of feeling, Jason Beaufort asked curtly:

'How?'

'By returning the house, land and property which you have acquired by such dubious means. They have been in Lord Cranmere's possession for too short a time for him to have any right to dispose of them. Then, yes, I might think of you not merely without anger but even with friendship. As for my being yours, even for an hour, I think you can scarcely have imagined it?'

A gleam of anger showed in the American's eyes. His hawk-like features seemed to become even harder. He turned his back abruptly, perhaps to shut out the seductive vision of the child woman who had seemed so innocent but was now exhibiting an alarming self possession.

'Impossible,' he said flatly. 'For me, that game of cards was a chance in a lifetime. My ship, the Savannah Belle, was wrecked on your Cornish rocks. Only three of us escaped and everything I had went down with my ship. With the money from your estates I can get another vessel, crew, provisions and cargo. Even so—'

He turned suddenly, a prey to a desire stronger than reason, and fixed her with burning eyes.

'Even so,' he went on hoarsely, 'I'll give you back the house and lands, I'll even be fool enough for that if you will pay the final debt. Give me this night – and the morning I will be gone. You shall keep it all.'

He was moving slowly towards her as he spoke, drawn irresistibly by the graceful elusive white figure. Marianne had a lightening vision of what might follow. An hour in this man's arms and then he would go away and leave her once again mistress of Selton Hall. But these last minutes had taught her to be suspicious and she knew that it would be a long time before she could trust a man again. How could she be sure that when dawn came and once this spasm of desire which even she, young as she was, could read naked and demanding in the man's taut face, was satisfied, how could she know that then he would keep his promise and give up the wealth he claimed to need so badly? A moment ago, he had promised not to touch her if she went with him and now he dared to claim payment of the shameful debt!

All this rushed through her mind as Jason came towards her. He was reaching out to touch her when Marianne recoiled instinctively.

'No!' she cried. 'Take everything there is since you claim that it is yours but you shall not touch me. Not you or anyone! At dawn tomorrow you may drive us out of here, Lord Cranmere and myself, but until then my bed shall be my own.'

The reaching hands fell back. Jason drew himself up with a supreme effort to recover his control. Marianne saw the lean face which, a moment before, had been heavy with passion stiffen into a scornful mask of stone. He shrugged.

You are a fool, Lady Cranmere. All things considered, you and your husband make a noble pair. I wish you every happiness. It will not be long I think before you discover the joys of living from hand to mouth with a man for whom you no longer possess any commercial value. But that's your affair. Keep your Francis since you care for him so much. You may remain here for a few more days until my man of business can take possession of the estate. For myself, I am leaving at once. Goodbye.'

He bent his tall figure in a curt bow, turned on his heel and strode to the door. In spite of herself, Marianne made a move to follow the man who was taking with him, as though it were of no account, all her childhood memories and everything she held dear. She had the heartbreaking thought that Aunt Ellis who had so loved her home would rest now, along with all the other Seltons, on land belonging to a stranger. Yet even then it did not occur to her to beg. Her pride forbade it. Her throat constricted and suddenly she wanted to cry.

'I hate you!' She wailed through clenched teeth. 'You can have no idea how much I hate you! I'd like to see you dead and while I live I shall go on hating you!'

He turned again and looked at her. One corner of his mouth lifted in his mocking smile.

'Hate me as much as you like, Lady Cranmere. I'd a hundred times rather hate than indifference. After all, don't they say that on a woman's lips hatred and love taste much the same? A happy thought – I may as well find out?'

Before Marianne could guess what he meant to do, he had taken three steps across the space that divided them and caught her in his arms. Half-stifled, her head reeling, she found herself imprisoned in a grip of steel, her lips sealed by a hard demanding mouth that bore down relentlessly on hers. She struggled furiously but Jason held her fast, and for all her frenzy to escape there was little she could do. Alternate hot and cold waves seemed to run through her body, mingled with another strange and still more disturbing sensation. Unconsciously, Marianne's struggles grew feebler and ceased. That other mouth was so warm after the chill she had endured and by some miracle it had become suddenly soft and caressing – dazedly, Marianne was aware of a hand stealing up the back of her neck beneath the silken masses of her hair, imprisoning her head. It was like a dream – a not altogether unpleasant dream. And then, abruptly, she found herself released, standing alone while the world swayed about her, weak-kneed with a ringing in her ears. The American's horrible, mocking laughter sounded close by.

'My thanks for your co-operation, but do not forget you still owe me a night. One day, I shall come to claim it. What a pity it would be to miss the chance of making love to such a woman. You are made for it.'

At the sound of the closing door, Marianne, scarlet with shame, opened the eyes which she had closed to shut out the sardonic face of her tormentor. He had gone. She was alone at last but alone as she might have been in the midst of the ruins. Of her world, the world of her childhood, nothing remained. House, fortune, love and all her most cherished illusions destroyed in an instant. All that remained was a few, still-warm ashes soon to be scattered by the wind. The estate would be sold so that one more ship might sail the seas!

A horse's hoofs clattered beneath the window, diminished and died away. Marianne had no need to look to know that Jason Beaufort was gone, fleeing the wreck that he had brought about. Now she, Marianne, must think what to do about the disaster he had left behind.

She sat down calmly in the armchair so recently occupied by the American. Around her, the house was silent once again.


***

When, half an hour later, she emerged from her melancholy thoughts she felt as though she had been born anew as a result of some painful and unaccustomed new process of gestation. Very little remained of the innocent young Marianne who had plunged headlong with such blind infatuation into the mirages of calf-love.

Now, her only feeling was anger, an anger nothing but vengeance could assuage. This vengeance, Marianne was determined to exact at once. Francis had betrayed her, sold her, degraded her and for that he would pay.

Calmly she slipped out of the frilly gown and gauzy nightrobe for which she no longer had any use and put on instead a dark green riding habit. She twisted her hair into a hasty knot on the nape of her neck and left the room. Out on the landing, she was struck by the heavy, almost brooding silence of the house, an ominous, waiting silence like that of a wood before a storm when all living creatures, beast and tree seemed to hold their breath.

Throwing the skirt of her habit over her arm, Marianne glided soundlessly down the great oak staircase, a slight shadow in a world of shadows. On the last step, she paused. Everywhere was so dark. Where could Francis be? He had arrived at Selton Hall only an hour before the wedding ceremony and no room had been set aside for his personal use.

The girl's quick ear caught the clink of a glass and at once, sure of her direction, she made her way to her aunt's boudoir and opened the door. Francis was there. He was lying back in a big armchair, elegantly shod feet resting on a table covered with green baize which also held a big bronze candlestick, decanters and some glasses. His back was to the door and he did not hear Marianne come in. She paused for a moment in the doorway, looking with fresh eyes at the man whose name she bore. A pang in the region of her heart told her that anger and disappointment had not been enough to kill her love. He fascinated and repelled her, like the curious plant she had seen writhing its libid tentacles in Lord Monmouth's glasshouses at Bath which devoured insects and small mammals. Her love for him was an unwholesome plant which she was determined to tear out by the roots, even if her heart were torn apart for ever in the process. But oh, how it hurt!