The Marquis spoke so scathingly that Sona drew in her breath.
Then she heard the library door slam and realised that she was alone.
For a moment she could hardly believe that she had had such an interchange of words with the Marquis.
Then, as the blood burned in her cheeks, she knew how reprehensible it had been and how badly she had behaved.
She should not have spoken to him so openly and because she had done so he had every right to answer back, although she had not expected it to be so harsh or so upsetting.
‘Now he will be angry with me,’ she thought.
Then she ceased to think of herself, but of him.
What had happened?
Why was he so unhappy, so bitter? And was Torquil right in thinking that what he deeply resented was having to leave his life of gaiety in London for one of respo
