The Unbreakable Spell — Barbara Cartland

For a moment Rocana found it impossible to believe that the idea of the Marquis of Quorn driving some beautiful lady as he had driven her could evoke an agonizing sensation, which she though was even more painful than the wound in her arm had been.

Then she admitted to herself that it was jealousy. She was jealous of any companion of the Marquis's: jealous that because she could not accompany him he had somebody else to talk to, somebody else who would make him laugh.

"How can I... possibly feel like... this?" she asked and suddenly knew the answer as if it were written on the bedroom walls in letters of fire. "I love him!" she told herself, and knew how hopeless it was....