CHAPTER 1<br > Late July， 1835.<br > Near Glossup Hall， by Ashmore， Dorset.<br >Hell and the devil!" Simon Cynster reined in his<br >bays， his eyes narrowing on the ridge high above<br >Ashmore village. The village proper lay just<br >behind him; he was headed for Glossup Hall， a<br >mile farther along the leafy country lane.<br > At the rear of the village cottages， the land rose<br >steeply; a woman was following the path winding<br >up the berm of what Simon knew to be ancient<br >earthworks. The views from the top reached as far<br >as the Solent， and on clear days even to the Isle of<br >Wight.<br > It was hardly a surprise to see someone heading<br >up there.<br > "No surprise she hasn t anyone with her， either."<br >Irritation mounting， he watched the dark-haired，<br >willowy， ineffably graceful figure steadily ascend<br >the rise， a long-legged figure that inevitably drew<br >the eye of any man with blood in his veins. He d<br >
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