had to live somewhere.’
‘But not with me.’
She kept smiling, but inside a sharp blade sliced deep into her heart. ‘No, never with you.’
They separated. Only her familiarity with the dance kept Ellen moving. Only pride and strength of will kept her smiling, while her mind wandered back to those heady days in the Egyptian desert. The stuffy warmth of the ballroom disappeared, replaced by a dry heat and the scouring sand carried by the Simoon, the wind that could blow up ferociously and without warning. The chatter of guests became the shouts and menacing cries of the Mamelukes as they thundered up on their horses and surrounded the camel train, bristling with weapons and clearly hostile.
Ellen heard again Mrs Ackroyd’s impatient tut. The little Englishwoman had been Ellen’s schoolteacher and was now her friend and mentor, and her indomitable spirit was in no way cowed by a threatening tribe of desert horsemen. Or perhaps it was being perched high on a camel that enhanced her sense of superiority.
‘For heaven’s sake,’ she admonished their trembling guide, ‘tell them I am a personal friend of Bernardino Drovetti, the French Consul General. Tell them he has arranged safe passage for us with the Governor of Egypt.’ She drew out a paper and waved it at the nearest rider. ‘Look, we have permission to visit the antiquities at Giza and our permit is signed by Muhammed Ali himself!’
At the name of Egypt’s current ruler, the horsemen muttered and growled and looked even more threatening. One rider, taller and broader than the rest, pushed his way through the throng and approached them. He was dressed as the others in loose white trousers, a blue waistcoat over the billowing white shirt and a turban with a scrap of cloth over his face to protect him from the windborne sand, but Ellen noticed that his skin was paler than his companions, and there was a glint in his emerald-green eyes that was strangely compelling.
‘Perhaps I can help?’ His voice was deep and well-modulated. She remembered feeling no surprise to hear the aristocratic English accent in this foreign land. ‘No doubt you paid good money for that pass, but I’m afraid your dependence upon the Pasha’s protection is misplaced. Outside the walls of Cairo his power is limited.’ The green eyes narrowed and gleamed, as if he was laughing at them. ‘Let me see what I can do.’
The memory of that mocking glance had haunted Ellen’s dreams for four years. Now, as the dance brought them back together, she could perceive no laughter in his eyes, just an ice-cold fury that chilled her blood. If only she had known he would be here, if only she had enquired who was in town before venturing out this evening, but she had thought herself safe enough in Harrogate. The Duke had no properties and no family this far north. Her mind, normally so sharp and clear, refused to work. She could not think what she should do, save continue to dance and smile.
When the music ended she ignored the Duke’s hand as they walked off the floor.
She said coldly, ‘Pray do not feel obliged to accompany me, Your Grace. If you think I am honoured by your attentions, you are mistaken.’
‘I want to talk to you.’
‘We have nothing to say to one another.’
He put his hand on her arm, obliging her to stop and face him. There was barely contained anger in every line of him, but before he could speak they were interrupted by General Dingwall.
‘Well, now, Your Grace, you have had your dance and it is time to give up your fair partner!’ The old soldier gave a fat chuckle. ‘Oh, yes, you may look daggers at me, young man, but when you get to my age you will find that a title is not nearly so intimidating. Besides, I know you for a military man, sir. A major, so I outrank you!’
For a moment Ellen feared the Duke would ignore General Dingwall and actually drag her away with him, but at last he released his iron grip. He held her eyes, his own full of chilling ferocity, but his voice when he spoke was politeness itself.
‘Your superior strategy carries the day, General,’ he said. ‘I relinquish my prize. For the present.’
He bowed, but the look he gave Ellen as he walked away told her it was only a temporary reprieve.
* * *
Ellen’s elderly admirer led her back to the dance floor for a lively gavotte and when it ended she was approached by several other gentlemen, all hopeful of a dance, but she announced her intention of sitting out for the rest of the evening. She could not see Max, but she knew he was somewhere in the crowded room, watching her. She could feel his presence, menacing and dangerous. She considered leaving early, but was afraid he might follow her home and that was the last thing she wanted.
When supper was announced Ellen decided there was safety in numbers and headed for the large table that ran down the centre of the room. With relief she saw an empty chair beside Georgie Arncliffe and she hurried towards it.
The Arncliffes had come to Harrogate two years ago, when Frederick’s doctors had advised him to try the spa waters, and Ellen and Georgie had immediately struck up an acquaintance. The fact that they both had young children had drawn them together, but their lively minds were very much in harmony and the acquaintance soon blossomed into a firm friendship. Now, Georgie’s smile of welcome was balm to Ellen’s battered emotions.
‘I did not know you had returned, Ellen. Welcome back, my dear.’
‘Thank you.’ Ellen took the outstretched hand and squeezed it gratefully as she sank down on to the chair. ‘I am so pleased to see you and Frederick tonight.’
‘As if you did not know almost everyone here.’ Georgie laughed. ‘And I had been hoping to impress you by introducing Frederick’s good friend, but alas Lady Bilbrough has stolen my thunder.’
Georgie turned to smile across the table and Ellen’s heart sank when she saw the Duke of Rossenhall lowering himself into the vacant seat opposite. He gave her a look that was nothing short of predatory.
‘So,’ he said. ‘We meet again, Mrs Furnell.’
Frederick Arncliffe looked up. ‘You two are acquainted?’
Ellen kept her eyes on Max, wondering if he would tell them the truth; that they had met in Egypt four years ago, when he and his men, a mixture of English deserters and Mameluke warriors, had come upon two Englishwomen with their woefully few guards and had offered them protection. But it was Georgie who laughingly replied.
‘Why, yes, they are, my love,’ she said. ‘His Grace requested an introduction from Lady Bilbrough.’
‘What man would not?’ Max murmured with a smile that did not reach his eyes.
‘Indeed, Mrs Furnell is one of the diamonds of our society,’ put in Mr Rudby, sitting close by.
‘So I am informed,’ replied Max. ‘The golden widow.’
Ellen’s cheeks flamed. He made it sound like an insult, although no one else appeared to notice. True, Georgie gave a little tut of disapproval, but Frederick merely laughed and shook his head at her.
‘Pho, my dear, Mrs Furnell is not offended. She knows it is a compliment to her radiant beauty.’
‘Yes,’ the Duke agreed quietly. ‘I have been unable to think of anyone else all evening.’
‘Indeed?’
