hilip took off his soaking wet sweater and shirt, and threw them to one side. Hooking his right foot into the boot jack, he pushed off one riding boot, and then the other, stripped down to his underpants, and hurried through into the bathroom, feeling chilled to the bone.

He took a very hot shower, letting the steaming water sluice down over his body for a few minutes, until his blood was tingling and he felt warmer. Stepping out of the shower stall, he dried himself, pulled on his towelling robe and walked over to the washbasin. He stood in front of the mirror, combing his wet hair, slapping on cologne, and thinking of Madelana.

What a pity the thunderstorm had blown up when it had, so suddenly, about an hour ago. It had curtailed their ride. They had been up in the hills above Dunoon, and he had begun to sense a lessening of the tension in her out there in the peaceful countryside. Certainly she appeared to be more at ease with him today. When she had arrived yesterday at lunchtime, she had been very quiet, and so taut he thought at one moment that she might snap in half, and she had remained tense for the rest of the day. She had seemed a bit better in the evening though, had evidently enjoyed their dinner with Tim and Anne Willen.

By the time they had gone riding this afternoon she had been lighthearted, almost gay, and she was opening up to him once more; he knew he was gaining her confidence. So much so, he had been on the verge of telling her how strongly he felt about her when the weather had changed abruptly. The sky had grown overcast and dark. Heavy torrential rain had started to fall, and they had mounted their horses and galloped back to the stables at top speed. Even so, it had taken them a good twenty minutes to get there. Matt had been waiting for them with one of the other grooms, and they had led Gilda and Black Opal off to the tack room; he had driven Madelana up to the manor in the Maserati, the two of them drenched to the skin and shivering. She had become very white, her teeth chattering uncontrollably as they had dashed into the house, and now, as he went through into his bedroom, Philip hoped that she had not caught a cold.

He stood warming himself in front of the fire for a few minutes, before crossing to the black lacquer Chinese cabinet, which contained a small, fully stocked bar. He poured two cognacs into small brandy balloons, gulped one down, then went to dress, pulling on a thick Fair Isle sweater and socks, and heavy grey flannels. He slipped his feet into a pair of brown loafers, collected the other brandy balloon, and left the room with it.

A second later he stood in front of Madelana’s door. He was about to knock, but hesitated fractionally, wondering if he had given her enough time to shed her wet riding clothes, shower and change. Deciding that he had, he rapped softly.

‘Come in,’ she called.

He did so, stood hovering on the threshold.

She was huddled in front of the fire, seated on the floor with her back to the sofa, dressed in a track suit and thick socks, sipping the tea he had asked Mrs Carr to have sent up to her a short while before.

‘I thought you might want this,’ he said, holding out the brandy balloon. ‘It’ll warm you through.’

‘Thank you.’ She put the cup she was holding back in its saucer on the end table. ‘Yes, I’d like it, Philip.’ There was a pause. ‘Thank you,’ she said again.

He pushed the door closed with his foot, walked over to her, handed her the glass. She took it from him, and as she did their fingers grazed. She jumped slightly, as if surprised, drew back, pushed herself harder against the sofa. Then she lifted her eyes to his.

It was still raining outside, and sombre; she had not turned on the lamps, and in the shadows of the dim room she looked ethereal, illuminated as she was by the blazing fire. Her face shimmered with an incandescent, fragile beauty, and her eyes were huge, transparent and shining.

He found it impossible to look away.

They continued to gaze at each other. For a split second Philip thought he was looking deep into her soul. Finally he dropped his eyes. He did not trust himself with her, and he swung around without a word, walked back to the door, intending to leave her alone until dinner. But he could not help turning to glance at her before he went out, his eyes irresistibly drawn to hers once more.

She returned his long, penetrating stare steadily, solemnly. Her face was infinitely quiet. She did not move, nor did she speak. The air was hushed, very still between them.

He took a step forward, then another. ‘I want to be with you,’ he said in a voice that was unexpectedly hoarse. ‘Please don’t send me away.’

‘I’m not going to.’

At first he thought he had not heard her correctly, and he looked at her swiftly, through narrowed eyes.

She put down the brandy glass, lifted her arm, held out her hand to him.

He hurried back to her, took the slender hand in his, brought it to his mouth, brushed his lips over her long fingers. Then he knelt down on the floor by her side.

‘Oh Maddy,’ he said, using the diminutive of her name for the first time. ‘Oh Maddy.’

‘Philip,’ she whispered in a voice so low it was hardly audible.

He pulled her forward. She was in his arms, clinging to him, saying his name over and over, and he held her close to his body, tightening his grip. With one hand he stroked her hair. His mouth found hers, and he kissed her as he had wanted to kiss her from the very first day, deeply, fiercely, passionately, his tongue thrusting as if he was taking possession of her with his mouth. She returned his kisses, and her tongue grazed his; he realized that her ardour for him matched his own for her. This knowledge sent a thrill searing through him.

There was no going back, he knew that. They must make love at once, now, here. There was no time to waste…too much time had been wasted already. He pulled her down under him, slid his hand under her loose top. When his fingers closed around one of her breasts she let out a long sigh; he stroked her gently, smoothed the tips of his fingers across her nipple, caressed it lovingly. Almost instantly, he felt it harden under his fondling, and this inflamed him even more. He tugged at her top, wanting to lift it over her head.

She sat up, pulled it off. He tore at his own clothes, flung them to one side. Suddenly they were stretched out next to each other on the rug, completely naked. They began to kiss again, frantically, more urgently than ever, and they could not keep their hands off each other. They reached out hungrily, longingly, to touch, to explore, to caress, to excite. The urgency between them grew and intensified as they became more and more aroused.

There was a violence in his desire for her, and he sensed the same turbulent emotion in her. She wanted him as desperately as he wanted her, and she was making that quite clear. And so he fell across her, slid into her. As he did he felt her tense, gasp, and then relax.

He braced his hands on either side of her, rose up above her, looked down into her face. It was full of yearning and desire, and the wild expression that blazed in her eyes mirrored exactly what he was feeling. His breath caught in his throat in surprise and pleasure.

Philip began to move against her, very slowly, expertly, and she thrust her body forward to meet his, cleaving to him.

Their rhythm grew faster and the urgency of their passion spiralled up into total abandonment, and they were on a dizzying climb, rising higher and higher together, out of control. He had fantasized about her for days. Now his fantasy had become his reality, and he was unable to hold back. He flowed into her, gave himself to her, and then his mouth was on hers, devouring hers. And she was flying with him on that dizzying flight, and she cried his name suddenly and stiffened, and they began a slow slide down over the edge, down into scorching white heat.

Her arms and legs were woven around him, binding him in their silken vice. He was welded to her, part of her, and she was part of him, and the miracle was that they had become one single being…

Entirely spent, they lay still, locked in each other’s arms. There was no sound except for their laboured breathing, the crackling of the logs on the fire, the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the background.

Philip stirred first. He buried his face in the mass of her chestnut hair, murmured against her neck, ‘I’ve wanted you since I first saw you downstairs in the portrait gallery, Maddy.’

When she made no comment, he asked, ‘Didn’t you know that?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ she whispered. With a small smile, she confessed, ‘I wanted you too.’

‘You certainly hid it very well,’ he exclaimed quietly.

She said, ‘And so did you.’

They both laughed, but fell silent immediately, caught in the webs of their own thoughts. After a short while, Philip released his hold on her, got up, took her hands in his, pulled her to her feet. He slipped an arm around her, and they stood together in front of the fire, gazing at each other as though mesmerized. He tilted her chin, bent down, kissed her on the mouth, lightly, gently, and then reached for the brandy balloon. He offered it to her. She shook her head. He took several swallows, placed the glass on the table, and as he led her over to the large four-poster bed, he said, ‘I do hope you don’t think that I’m a drinking man, too…’

Madelana laughed, said nothing, slid under the bedclothes. Philip joined her, wrapped his arms around her. She curved her body into his, relaxing her shoulders against his broad chest, filled with a rare joy. It had as much to do with the pleasure she had given Philip as the fulfilment and release he had brought to her. The tension which had been building in her for days had disappeared. She felt as though she were wrapped in a cocoon of peace and contentment and happiness. And she knew it was because of him, all the things he was. He was a very special kind of man.

Philip continued to hold her close to him, nuzzling his face into the nape of her neck, her hair, the space between her shoulder blades. To his surprise he was suddenly at full arousal again. He threw the bedclothes to one side, pushed himself up on one elbow, looked down at her.

Madelana smiled up at him. Her face was radiant.

He smiled back, lifted one hand, began to stroke her cheek, his eyes spilling with emotion. The truth was, he loved her. He had fallen in love with her that very first day. He was glad it had happened at Dunoon, and that they had first made love here. It seemed very right to him that something as important as this had taken place in his home. He knew that he would always love her. This was not a passing thing. There could be no other woman in his life now. Never, ever again.

‘You look thoughtful,’ she said, her eyes quizzical.

He leaned over her, answered in a low voice, ‘It was too quick, Maddy. I’m sorry…anxiety on my part, I’m afraid.’ He laughed lightly, ruefully. ‘But I’d ached for you for days…fantasized about you.’

‘You were wonderful.’

‘Perhaps you’re prejudiced, darling.’

He brought his mouth down on her breasts, began to kiss them, whilst stroking her body, running his hands all over her. Her skin felt like satin to him, and in the firelight it had a lovely roseate cast to it. He marvelled at the beauty of her lithe body, so slender, so delicately formed, her long legs, the heavy, voluptuous breasts, taut now under his touch.

Lifting his head, he brought his mouth to her mouth, kissed her deeply, traced a line down her stomach with one finger, until his hand came to rest between her thighs. He caressed her lightly, adeptly, and she reached out for him, began to stroke him. As he felt her tense and spasm, he pushed her hand away from him, entered her, and again they were instantly swept away by the intensity and urgency of their passion for each other.

They were together for a long time, and then he got up and left the bed. He strode over to the fireplace where he had discarded his clothes earlier, began to dress.

She watched him as he moved around in front of the fire, thinking what a beautiful man he was. He had a wonderful body. He was over six feet and broad shouldered, and there was not an ounce of extra flesh on him; he was tanned from being constantly in the sun.

Madelana had the sudden curious feeling that she had known him before…long ago. There was something so very familiar about him to her that it was startling. And yet they were strangers…albeit intimate strangers now

He came back to her, sat down on the edge of the bed, moved a strand of hair away from her eyes. Bending over her, he kissed her lightly, said, ‘This is just the beginning, Maddy darling.’

‘It’s the beginning of the end – ‘ She stopped abruptly, stared up at him, her eyes wide with surprise at her words.

He scowled. ‘What an odd thing to say. What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know,’ she exclaimed. ‘It was a thought that flashed through my head, and I said it without thinking.’

‘I’m not going to talk about the end of anything.’ He laughed dismissively, and pulled her into his arms, hugged her tightly. Then he let her go, stood up. ‘I’ll see you downstairs shortly. Dress casually, darling, it’s just the two of us.’

‘Yes,’ she said.

She lay there for a while after he had gone. There was an indentation on the pillow next to her, where his head had been, and she reached out to touch the spot, slithered to his side of the bed, buried her face in the pillow. It smelled of him…of his hair and his cologne. She began to weep.

An enormous sense of loss overwhelmed her and she was afraid.