an with a heart that belonged to another.

"You''re drunk, Raphael," she stammered, pulling her hand away. "I''m drunk too. We both should go back to our rooms."

Raphael didn''t stop her, nor did he move. She hastily cast a plaintive glance his way before leaving the balcony, leaving the young nobleman to silently watch her vanish into the darkness.

He turned around, propping himself up on the railing with his arms and leaning over so far that he seemed poised to fall into the pitch-black emptiness below. He stayed there, buffeted by the strong winds and heavy rains that battered his hair, his cheeks, and his whole upper body, for a very long time.

The next morning, as the group prepared to return to Paris, the old stablekeeper pointed to them a tree in the courtyard, his face sombre.

That ancient and tenacious tree had been struck by lightning, cleaved in two from the middle.

----------------------

Nearly two months had passed since Fiona arrived in her new home in Plymouth, yet she still felt as though it was all a dream.

She crossed the Channel with the Marquis de Sèvremont by ship to arrive at this unfamiliar English harbour city. During the journey, she was held in the arms of the mysterious man and could always feel his warm chest and arms as she slept and woke amidst the tossing waves. It was the first time in her life that she had ever felt such a strong and reliable sense of protection.

From his tales, she gathered that the Marquis was originally a lord in Vendée who had to flee to the other sid