CHAPTER NINERobert, the Duke of Glentorran, was an angry man – angry with Viola, but really furious with himself.
He had kissed the girl against her will!
That was the mark of a cad, a rotter, a man whom decent Society should shun.
Whistling up his dogs he stormed out of the Castle, headed across the gardens and out onto the moors.
Oblivious of the rain that was now falling heavily, he strode on through the heather, slashing with his stick at the odd thistle and bramble that dared to snag his kilt as he passed.
Yes, he had kissed her, but she deserved it!
He loved her so much and she had played with his affections, made a fool of him and hurt him so badly that he did not think he could ever recover.
He suddenly recalled the old gypsy who had visited the Castle one Christmas, telling
