The Temptation of Torilla by Barbara Cartland

shall not dine until half after seven. But that will give you time to rest.”
    “Thank you. Thank you – very much!” Torilla said in a breathless little voice.
    They drove into the courtyard of The George and Dragon and, as the landlord hurried forward, the Marquis explained Torilla’s presence.
    “There has been an accident to the stagecoach about five miles away from here,” he said. “I have brought Miss Clifford, who is one of the passengers, with me. Kindly see she has a comfortable room to herself.”
    “Just as you say, sir,” the innkeeper replied, bowing obsequiously not only to the Marquis but also to Torilla.
    She was taken upstairs and given, she was quite sure, a far more comfortable room than was usually accorded to stagecoach passengers.
    ‘He is very kind,’ she told herself as, doing what the Marquis had suggested, she undressed and lay down on the bed.
    She was so tired after such a frightening night that she fell asleep and was only awakened when the maid brought her a can of hot water at seven o’clock.
    Torilla got up quickly, washed and put on a different gown from the one she had worn for travelling.
    It was another cheap muslin dress which had been made by Abby and was certainly not the sort of evening gown, she thought, that Sir Alexander would expect a guest of his to wear.
    Abby had put a little frill of crisp white muslin around the neck and had arranged it with narrow blue ribbons with similar frills at the wrists to match.
    The gown itself was pale blue and Torilla had in fact packed it for the journey, because it was old and she was certain it would not be smart enough to wear at Fernleigh Park.
    She wished now that she had one of her mother’s gowns to wear, then she told herself she was being absurd.
    Sir Alexander was obviously very grand and had only invited her to dinner because he was kind and he understood how frightened she had been the night before.
    He would certainly not notice what anyone as insignificant as herself wore and she only hoped she would not prove, as Abby had warned her, a bore by talking about the things that did not appeal to him.
    ‘I must be very careful to keep to subjects he may be interested in,’ she told herself.
    She knew already that one thing they had in common was horses.
    She brushed her fair hair until it shone, then she went down the stairs to find the landlord waiting for her.
    “You are dining with Sir Alexander Abdy, I believe, ma’am,” he said.
    Without waiting for Torilla to answer him, he went ahead of her and opened a door at the far end of the passage.
    Torilla entered the room rather shyly.
    It was not large, but at a quick glance she saw it was comfortable and attractive with an oak-beamed ceiling and walls decorated with ancient oak panelling.
    There was a large open fireplace with a log fire.
    A round table, covered with a spotless linen cloth, was set for two and there were several bottles of wine in a large ice bucket.
    Torilla had expected her host to look impressive since she had already been overwhelmed by the fit of his whipcord riding coat, the intricate folds of his cravat and the angle at which he wore his high-crowned hat on his dark hair.
    But she had never known that any man could look as magnificent as the Marquis did in his evening clothes and for a moment she could only stare at him in admiration.
    Then, remembering her manners, she curtsied, the Marquis bowed and indicated a chair by the fireside.
    “Come and sit down, Miss Clifford. I hope you feel rested.”
    “I fell asleep,” Torilla confessed.
    “Then you will be looking forward to your dinner as much as I am,” the Marquis said. “May I offer you a glass of Madeira?”
    “I have not – drunk anything for – two years,” Torilla replied.
    At home in Hertfordshire she had occasionally been allowed a few sips of Madeira from her mother’s glass.
    “Then I will give you very little,” the Marquis smiled.
    He handed her a glass as he spoke and