Rogue in the Regency Ballroom. Helen Dickson

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      ‘When the ceremony has been performed, you can tell me where I can find her. Do you wish to see her before …?’

      ‘No.’ His word was final.

      ‘Very well. I will leave you now. Mr Hennesey will let you know about the arrangements. Are you a Catholic, by the way?’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘It could complicate matters.’

      He grinned. ‘With a good Irish name as you have, Miss O’Connell, are you not of that persuasion?’

      ‘No. My father was an Ulsterman.’

      ‘And I adhere to any form of Protestant denomination, so that should not be a problem.’

      Amanda turned to go. At the door she paused and looked back at him. ‘There is one thing I will ask you before I go—and I would appreciate the truth.’

      ‘And that is?’

      ‘Did you really murder Mrs Rider?’ With a mixture of dread and helpless anticipation, Amanda met his steady, dark gaze.

      ‘No, I did not. I’d like you at least to believe there is a possibility I’m telling you the truth.’

      ‘Then if you are indeed innocent, surely there are ways to help you—someone with influence and means.’

      ‘If you are suggesting there is someone out there to redress the wrongs done to me, then sadly the source is exhausted. However, your concern touches me deeply, Miss O’Connell.’

      His voice was casual and his face was serious, but Amanda distrusted the gleaming, mocking humour lurking in his gaze. He did not believe for one minute that she or anyone else cared one iota what happened to those in his position.

      ‘Then if you did not kill her—where were you?’

      ‘Fishing.’

      Amanda stared at him and then slowly her lips curved in a smile. ‘You were fishing? Oh, I see. Well, good day, Mr Claybourne.’

      Kit watched her go. For the time they had been together her beauty had fed his gaze, creating inside him an ache that could neither be set aside nor sated. When the door had shut, at that moment the prison walls closed round him with a ferocious pressure. His filthy and torn clothing, the roughness of his unwashed skin, the stink of himself, his absolute hopelessness, stirred a rage in him that was almost overpowering.

      As Amanda followed Mr Hennesey, a treacherous seed of doubt about Mr Claybourne’s guilt planted itself in her mind, and before she had left the prison that seed was taking root, nourished by her horror at the possibility that an innocent man would hang. Her mind argued that she was being a fool to think like this, but every instinct she possessed shouted that he was innocent. She knew it. She could feel it. And if he was, then she could hardly bear the thought of what he was to go through.

      Of course the worst thing that could happen for her would be for Mr Claybourne to be released; yet, though she bore no feelings for him one way or the other, she could only admire his courage as he faced imminent death. He had impressed her, and the idea of such a fine-looking man, in his prime and full of life, dying in such a cruel manner, depriving a child of its father, was repugnant to her. Surprised to find her eyes were wet with tears, she raised her hand and wiped them away.

      ‘Mr Hennesey, if you please, may I have a quiet word?’

      Hennesey stopped and turned to look at her. His pace had quickened and he was studying her with a keen eye. ‘Aye, a quiet word is it? And would I be right in thinkin’ it concerns Claybourne?’

      His tone gave Amanda confidence—although she did wonder if he had had his ear to the door of the cell. In a low voice, not wishing what she had to say to be overheard, she said, ‘Yes, it does. Mr Claybourne and I wish to be married—before …’

      ‘He hangs.’

      ‘Yes.’

      Hennesey gave a low whistle. ‘That’s a serious matter.’

      ‘I agree, but it is what we want—and I would like it carried out with the utmost secrecy. Time is of the essence. Can you help me?’

      Hennesey rubbed his chin as he thought about her request. ‘Well, now—the governor has to know about such things happenin’ in his prison.’

      ‘Is that necessary, Mr Hennesey? Can’t we keep this between ourselves?’ Amanda knew that if she confronted the governor of the prison all kinds of embarrassing questions would be asked—and he might even be acquainted with Charlotte and inform her, which would dash all her hopes.

      Mr Hennesey rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully. ‘Well, now, we could—but it will cost you.’

      ‘Money is not a problem, Mr Hennesey.’ Amanda’s relief was so great she almost sank to her knees. ‘Do you know of a minister who will agree to perform the ceremony?’

      ‘There is one I know of, although the gaol has its own chaplain, and ministers come and go all the time to visit prisoners, especially the condemned—hoping to save their souls,’ he said scathingly.

      A sudden instinctive caution made Amanda add, ‘I will give you half the money before and half afterwards. I ask for the utmost secrecy for the present. No one must get wind of it—no one. Do you understand me, Mr Hennesey? And we must act quickly. I will leave you to make the arrangements—to appoint the time. Oh, and one more thing. See to it that Mr Claybourne is made decent—a wash and a change of clothes wouldn’t go amiss.’

      On reaching the carriage, she lost no time in telling a shocked Nan of what she intended and that she would appreciate it if she agreed to be one of the witnesses at her marriage, along with Amos. Nan was so appalled she was momentarily rendered speechless, but when she recovered herself she lost no time in telling Amanda what she thought of the whole dreadful affair. As usual, however, the words of reproach went in one ear and out the other.

      ‘It’s unfair of you to make me a part of this,’ Nan persisted, ‘to ask this of me. What you’re doing is wrong and your father will probably disown you.’ But Nan could see from the stubborn set of Amanda’s jaw and the determined gleam in her eyes that nothing would change her mind. No one could stop Amanda O’Connell doing what she wanted once she’d got the bit between her teeth—and she’d had the bit between her teeth from the moment her father had summoned her back to England to marry the man he had chosen for her.

      And so, when the prison governor was away from the prison and there was no danger of him walking in on them, with Nan and Amos standing like statues behind her to bear witness to her bizarre wedding, Amanda moved to stand beside Kit, impatient for the affair to be done.

      She had told herself that when they next met he would seem less attractive, and that the image she held of him would vanish, but it was scored into her mind and there it would remain. And as she waited for the moment when she would become his wife, she felt the delight of secrecy and a dizzying madness at what she was about to do.

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