carefully in a clean handkerchief before bringing them to her stirrup.
'I am not proud to admit it, Zenoria. But I would take you from any man, if I could.' He handed her the roses and studied her as she lowered her face to them, her hair blowing in the wind like a dark banner.
She did not look at him. She knew she could not, dared not. And when she tried to find security from the foul memories of what she had once endured, there was nothing. For the first time in her life she had felt herself respond to a man's embrace, and she was stunned by what might have happened if he had persisted.
They rode on to the old coaching track in silence. Once he reached between them to take her hand, but nothing was said. Perhaps there were no words. When a small carriage approached they reined in to let it pass, but the coachman pulled the horses to a halt and a woman looked out of the window. A gaunt hostile face, whom Adam recognised as his uncle's sister.
'Well, well, Adam, I didn't know you were back again.' She stared coldly at the girl in the rough riding skirt and loose white blouse. 'Do I know this lady?'
Adam said calmly, 'Mrs Keen. We have been taking the air.' He was angry: with her for her arrogance; with himself for troubling to explain anything to her. Never once had she treated him as a nephew. A bastard in the family? It could not be accepted.
The cold eyes moved over Zenoria's body, missing nothing. The flushed cheeks, the grass on the skirt and riding boots. 'I thought Captain Keen was away.'
Adam calmed his horse with one hand. Then he asked evenly, 'And what of your son, Miles? I understand he is no longer serving the King.' He saw the shot go home and added, 'You can send him to my ship if you wish, Ma'am. I am not my uncle-I'd soon teach him some manners!'
The carriage jerked forward in a cloud of sand and dust and Adam said, 'I cannot believe she is of the same blood, damn her eyes!'
Later, as Zenoria stood in the garden, in the same place from which she had watched her husband depart some seven weeks ago, she could feel her heart beating wildly. If only Catherine were here. If only she could tear her mind from the thoughts which still pursued her.
She heard his step on the path and turned to watch him, now changed again into his uniform and even his unruly hair tidied, his gold-laced hat jammed beneath one arm.
She said, 'The Captain once more!'
He seemed about to come towards her, but checked himself. 'May I call again before we sail?' There was anxiety in his eyes. 'Please do not deny me that.'
She raised her hand, as if she were waving to someone a long way off.
'It is your home, Adam. I am the intruder.'
He glanced at the house like a guilty youth. Then he touched his breast. 'You intrude only here, in my heart.' He turned and walked from the garden.
Ferguson, who had seen them from an upstairs window, let out a deep sigh. The nagging thought still persisted. They looked so right with each other.
Admiral the Lord Godschale shook the small bell on his table and tugged impatiently at his neckcloth.
'God damn it, it is so hot in this place I wonder I do not fade away!'
Sir Paul Sillitoe sipped a tall glass of hock and wondered how they managed to keep it so cool here in the Admiralty.
The door swung noiselessly inwards and one of the admiral's clerks peered at them.
'Open these windows, Chivers!' He poured some more wine and said, 'Better to have the stench of horse dung and be deafened by all the traffic than sweat like a pig!'
Sillitoe gave a small smile. 'As we were saying, my lord…'
'Ah yes. The readiness of the fleet. With the extra vessels taken from the Danes, and the return of others from Cape Town, we shall be as prepared as anyone can expect. The yards are working as hard as they can-there is hardly a decent oak left in the whole of Kent apparently!'
Sillitoe nodded, his hooded eyes revealing nothing. In his mind he saw some great chart: the responsibilities entrusted into his care by the government. His Majesty the King was becoming so irrational these days that Sillitoe seemed to be the only adviser he would listen to.
Where was the Golden Plover now, he wondered? How long before Bolitho and his mistress were back in England? He often thought of his visit to her. The nearness of her, her beautiful throat and high cheekbones. A glance that could burn you.
'There is another matter, my lord.' He saw Godschale's instant guard. 'I am given to understand that RearAdmiral Herrick is still without employment. He was to go to the West Indies, I believe?'
Sillitoe was a man who made even the admiral feel insecure. A cold fish, he thought; one without pity, who stood quite alone.
Godschale muttered, 'He is coming here today.' He glanced at the clock. 'Soon, in fact.'
Sillitoe smiled. 'I know.'
It was also infuriating how he seemed to know everything that happened within the barricades of admiralty.
'He asked for an interview.' He stared at Sillitoe's impassive features. 'Do you wish to be here when he comes?'
Sillitoe shrugged. 'I do not care very much either way. However, His Majesty's ministers have stressed the vital importance of complete confidence in the fleet. An admiral who loses in a fight is soon forgotten. But continued interference by that admiral might be seen as irrational. Some might term it dangerous.'
Godschale mopped his florid face. 'God damn it, Sir Paul, I still don't understand what happened at the court martial. If you ask me, somebody made a fine mess of things. We must be strong and seen to be strong at all times. That was why I selected Sir James Hamett-Parker as president. No nonsense about that one, what?'
Sillitoe looked at the clock, too. 'It might have been better to send Herrick to Cape Town instead of Sir Richard Bolitho,' and, briefly, he showed a rare excitement. 'By God, he'll be in his element when we invade the Peninsula.'
Godschale was still pondering on Herrick. 'Send him to Cape Town? God, he'd probably give it back to the Dutch!'
The door opened and another clerk said in a hushed tone, 'RearAdmiral Thomas Herrick has arrived, m'lord.'
Godschale snorted. 'About time. Send him along from the waiting-room.'
He walked heavily to the window and looked across the busy road to where a dainty, unmarked carriage was waiting beneath the trees, the horses nodding in the dusty sunshine.
Sillitoe remarked, 'I thought you always made them kick their heels a while before allowing them to see you.'
The admiral said over his shoulder, 'I have other business to attend to.'
Sillitoe's hawkish features were quite empty of expression. He knew about the 'other business;' he had already seen her waiting in the unmarked carriage. Doubtless some officer's wife, looking for excitement without scandal. As a bonus, her absent husband might find himself in some better appointment. Sillitoe was surprised that Godschale's dull wife had not heard about his affairs. Everyone else seemed to know.
Herrick entered the room, and glared at Sillitoe with obvious surprise. 'I beg your pardon. I did not realise I was too soon.'
Sillitoe smiled. 'Pray forgive me. Unless you have any objection…?'
Herrick, realising there was no choice, said abruptly, 'In that case,' and stood in silence, waiting.
Godschale led on smoothly, 'Please be seated. Some hock perhaps?'
'No thank you, m'lord. I am here to discover satisfaction on the matter of my next appointment.'
Godschale sat down opposite him. He saw the strain, the deep shadows under Herrick's eyes, the bitterness he had already displayed at the court martial.
'Sometimes it takes longer than usual. Even for flag officers, the powers in the land!' But Herrick showed no reaction and Godschale's own patience was fast running out. But more than anything, he thought, matters must remain within his grip and control. That was how he had risen to his lofty position, and how he intended to hold on to it.
Herrick leaned forward, his eyes flashing angrily. 'If it is because of the court martial, then I demand…'
