“Is this where you live?” the Marquis asked before Aspasia could point it out to him.
“Yes.”
“I think it would be best if I don’t take you to the door. I don’t know what story you are going to tell your uncle and perhaps it will complicate things if he sees me.”
“I don’t think that Uncle Theophilus will be down to breakfast so early, but I will think of something to say before he does.”
The Marquis guided his horse between the trees of a small orchard to stop at the edge of the untidy unkempt garden which was, however, ablaze with flowers.
“I will drop you here,” he said. “Don’t move, but hold the reins for me.”
He put them into her hand, then dismounted and put up his arms to lift her to the ground.
As he did so, she looked down at him and, as the Marquis’s grey eyes looked into he
