Flash of Splendour

About this book

1848 — mystery and violent passion shatter the quiet of a Warwickshire village. Hugh put his hands on Anne’s waist and lifted her down from the stile. She was close to him, smelling of the freshness of the sun, her eyes mysterious in the shadow of her hat. He kissed her. He kissed her with a year’s longing and with no pretence of anything but loving her; loving her and no longer pretending he could overcome it. “Marry me,” he said. Anne looked up at him. “But I am marrying Laszlo Bathory,” she replied. Hugh released her, so suddenly she almost stumbled. “Find him, then,” he said abruptly, and walked away. Anne waited for him to return. But he did not. He did not even look back.