They were as different as a falcon and a butterfly: he, the subtle, soaring hunter; she, vulnerable and trembling with fear; he, the arrogant, iron-willed Lord Brockhaven; she, the ragged gypsy girl dragged from the woods to be jailed as a poacher, or--worse still--handed over to the pleasure of Robert, the young master of Brockhaven's domain. The gold medallion around her neck was Liza's only protection--the key to a new life and a fortune beyond her wildest dreams. But what was the worth of life as a fine English lady ...what was the use of a fortune if her wild gypsy heart forever longed for a love that could never be?

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