Everything about her was rich, from her clothes to her hair, a richness that spoke of money enhancing beauty. Her hair was black and full, falling in waves either side of a face that was generous and provocative. She had dark eyes that looked at him fearlessly, a mouth that seemed as if it smiled a lot, and her clothes were covered with a dark cloak trimmed in lavish silver fur. The Colonel smiled. 'Is that her?

Smithers grinned. 'That's 'er, sir.

'Well, well, well. Isn't Lord Farthingdale a lucky bastard, then. Get her bloody cloak off, let's have a look at her.

Smithers reached for the fur-edged hood at the back of the cloak, but she pushed the men away, undid the clasp at her neck and slowly took the cloak from her shoulders. She had a full body, in the prime of her youth, and there was something tantalizing to the Colonel in her absence of fear. The cloister stank of fresh blood, echoed with screaming women and children, yet this rich, beautiful woman stood there with a calm face. The Colonel smiled again with his toothless mouth. 'So you're married to Lord Farthingdale, whoever he is?

'Sir Augustus Farthingdale. She was not English.

'Oh, dear me. I begs your Ladyship's pardon. The Colonel gave his cackling laugh. 'Sir Augustus. General, is he?

'Colonel.

'Like me! The yellow face twitched as he laughed. 'Rich, is he?

'Very. She stated it as a fact.

The Colonel dismounted clumsily. He was tall, with a huge belly, and an ugliness that was truly remarkable. His face twitched as he approached her. 'You're no bloody English lady, are you now?

She still seemed utterly unafraid. She covered her dark riding habit with her fur-edged cloak and even gave a tiny smile. 'Portuguese.