Tavington maintained a stony silence all the way back. When they finally arrived he dismounted swiftly. He was furious that Grace had almost shown him up in front of the dragoons – he knew that it would reflect badly on his control – and he would probably have left her there to the mercy of the colonials had she not gone unrecognised amongst the majority of his men.

'Get down,' he said, without offering his assistance. Grace hesitated for a moment. It would be really easy to dig her heels into the tender skin of the horse and ride off again. Tavington, however, had noticed her jaw clench slightly. He was excellent at reading the reactions of his opponents. Even a slight bead of sweat on a temple could tell him that a colonial was about to strike – a skill that gave him the advantage he needed to lunge first. He reached up and grabbed Grace's arm and wrenched her abruptly from the horse.

'I told you to get down.' Grace flushed; as he had pulled her from the horse he had pulled her close to his body. He held her there now for a few moments, his eyes lingering on her curves. Grace could smell the faint tinge of leather mingled with sweat from the day's riding which gathered on his back and chest and hung in beads above his lip. She could feel the firm painful grip of the fingers which imprisoned her arm. 'I think I'd better get you inside, don't you?' He said at last in a low, dangerous tone. With that he unceremoniously propelled her into the manor.

'Colonel, please …' Grace began as he roughly escorted her past a curious maid who was polishing silver candlesticks in the lengthy corridor which brought them to the library. Apart from tightening his grip on her arm, however, Tavington ignored her.

The library was empty. Rows and rows of leather-bound books littered shelves that stretched to the ceiling. Grace's grandfather was very well read and insisted that his collection be shipped to him within the first few months of the war. Grace had once searched the shelves for something interesting to pass away a rainy afternoon but had found only volume upon volume of history books, tactical military guides and religious manuscripts. There were also several mahogany desks which were handcrafted in the workshops of Thomas Chippendale – the carpenter for King George III – and were the favourite in her Grandfather's collection. They bore figures from Greek Mythology and Tavington stopped in front of one which displayed the imposing figure of Zeus with his daughter Aphrodite who clutched her wrist in pain.

'Take your hands off me, Sir!' Grace said her anger surfacing at his abrupt manner. She seized her chance and wrested her arm from his grip. They now stood facing each other across the desk. Tavington's eyes glinted in the bright afternoon sunlight that cascaded through open shutters.

'I will do with my hands what I please, Miss Grace,' he said slowly. 'Now – let's start with why I found you in the woods - far from where you are supposed to be I might add - speaking with a band of villainous militia.'

Tavington had been shocked to recognise Grace in the woods as he had chased towards the militia. When he had caught sight of a girl speaking to two men, one in Continental uniform, he had made up his mind to question her personally and ordered his men to go on ahead. When he found that this girl was Grace it had taken all his willpower not to charge straight over her – he could scarcely believe that she had taken it upon herself to steal the General's personal stallion and converse with colonials as though she was simply passing the time of day at a garden party.

Grace thought quickly. She had no intention of sharing with the Colonel anything she had heard in the woods, particularly the location of the camp that would lead to the arrest of Gabrielle and his father. She personally had little understanding of the politics of the war, but she was well aware that they could have kidnapped her, or even killed her, and she was not about to return the kindness by sentencing them to death.

'I was not speaking with them, Sir, they merely disturbed my ride. I had not but said two words to them when your men came charging in scattering them.'

Tavington watched her carefully for a few long moments. He did not like the way her voice shook slightly, nor the keen brightness of her eyes. He reached over and grabbed her wrists roughly, pulling her across the desk so that her face was only inches from his own, the shock in her brown eyes pleasing him.

'Do not trifle with me, Grace,' he said in almost a whisper. 'If I find out that you have lied to me …'

'I assure you Colonel I had no exchange with the militia,' she said, desperately willing her voice to retain some sincerity. He held her there, so close that she could feel his heavy breath on her cheek.

'I will not allow my wife to go gallivanting about the countryside on a stallion, at the mercy of the militia,' he said, arching a sculpted eyebrow. 'I wish you to be chaste on our wedding night, not sullied by the feeble hands of a colonial. I will not take a whore as a wife.'

Grace had never heard a man speak in such a candid way. It was not the mark of a gentleman and she had no wish to reply. She met his challenging gaze with one of her own.

'I am not your wife, Sir,' she said. Tavington's hand's tightened sharply around her wrists. He was fighting hard to restrain the full weight of his anger. He did not wish to do anything to jeopardise their wedding going ahead by striking her and marking her for Cornwallis to see, but neither did he wish to be taken for a fool or spoken to in such a manner.

'Not yet, perhaps.' he said at last, and then, deliberately taking Grace off guard, he jerked her closer to him, forcing his lips upon her own in a bruising kiss. He meant to show her exactly who would have the authority when they were wed.

Grace struggled against the Colonel but she could not prevent his tongue from pushing a way past her lips to explore her mouth. He moved one of his hands to the back of her neck holding her to him, kissing her roughly and purposefully, feeling her soft lips burn with the heat of his own as he did so, and marking her smooth delicate skin as his unshaven face chafed cruelly against it.

There was no tenderness in the kiss, only brutality, and Grace pushed her fists hard against his chest in the vain hope of staving off his advance. But the more she struggled the more aggressively he held her, tasting her violently with his imposing tongue and making it nearly impossible for her to breathe. She suddenly felt quite faint, her lips helpless against his, and her pulse racing within her.

Tavington moved one of his hands to the small of her back. He felt his manhood harden as he pressed her body against his, allowing his free hand to ride up her to her bosom, harshly caressing the placec on each in turn which her nipples would be were they not swathed in far too many teasing layers of garments and undergarments. His hand then reached lower to her firm rounded buttocks, squeezing them sharply with his fingernails, noting with some satisfaction the way she flinched in pain. He had not expected her to taste as she did and, though he had kissed her initially as an act of hostility, he felt his breath quicken. It was at this point he decided to pull away.

As Tavington finally relinquished his grip Grace regained some of her senses and drew back her hand and struck him. She was enraged and humiliated by the blatant way in which he had asserted himself over her, and she had been shocked to feel his erection against her stomach.

The slap resounded through the silent room, as loud as the crack of a musket firing, as the two stood staring at each other their faces flushed. Tavington had not flinched as her hand had made contact. Grace thought for a moment that he was about to retaliate as she saw his hand twitch by his side but he seemed to decide against it and his lips curled into a mocking smile.

'I didn't realise that a lady could be so unforgiving towards her betrothed,' he said, his tone more dangerous than she had ever heard it.

'I did not realise that a gentleman could act so much like a boor,' she retorted, not caring now how much she may provoke him, the touch of his rough hands still fresh in her mind. Tavington in response stepped closer to her, only the desk separating them.

'You might find a time when you are sorry for that, Grace,' he said quietly, his face contorted with a scarcely concealed rage. Despite her resolve for bravado, Grace shivered involuntarily. A thought grew in her mind – a thought which pointed out the folly of angering a man who within the next few days she would belong to in body as well as by law. She could not bring herself to apologise though so she said nothing.

'Until then perhaps you will be so kind as to obey Lord Cornwallis and stay within the confines of the grounds,' he went on. 'If I catch you on that horse again I warn you, Miss Grace, I will make you sorry, do you understand?' Grace glared at him but gave a small, barely distinguishable, nod. She felt that she did not care to test his patience any further, having already pushed it to the limit, and fully believed that he would keep his word. Tavington smirked – satisfied that he had taught Grace her first lesson. His cheek smarted slightly from the blow she had given him and he thought with relish about the opportunity he would get after they were married to repay her in full.

'Until the wedding, then, Grace,' he said, his blue eyes glittering as he looked her up and down. 'Perhaps you will be in a slightly more amiable mood – or there again,' he added, leaning forward so that their faces almost touched, his voice dropping to a low whisper as his hand reached up to stroke her cheek, 'I do not expect it will matter very much whether you feel amiable or not.'

With that Tavington stalked from the room leaving a flushed Grace slightly trembling in the cool breeze that now rattled through the wooden shutters. She realised that she had been holding her breath and exhaled slowly, her gaze falling distractedly to the figure of Aphrodite carved on the desk. She heard the Colonel's voice somewhere in the distance, and the clattering of hooves as he rode away.

It had been an eventful afternoon and Grace felt dread in her heart at the thought that it would be a mere three days before her and the Colonel would meet again. She also turned over the meeting with the "Ghost" and his son in her mind. Grace knew that she and Gabrielle had been drawn to each other – his blue eyes had twinkled with playful romance as they had spoken, and when he pulled her to her feet her heart had leapt two inches in front of her. Gabrielle was exactly the sort of man that materialised in her imagination when ever she thought of potential suitors. He had the blonde locks of a fairy tale hero and a gentle smile that she thought would probably be in place on a Lysander. True, he was a colonial, but that thought in itself was quite exhilarating – as was the fact that she had concealed this from the Colonel.

Perhaps the strangest thing of the whole afternoon, however, was Grace's inability to shake the feeling that if Tavington had not pulled away she might have started to enjoy his kiss - and it was this that preoccupied her mind as she made her way to her bedchambers to change for dinner.

Next update will include the wedding night … and also does there seems to be some sort of malevolent plan developing in Tavington's mind …? May be a couple of weeks as I'm off on holiday.