Belle wasn't certain, but she thought she heard Emma groan.

Emma fixed a cup for Alex, and after he had taken a healthy gulp, he said, "There's to be a fair tomorrow near the village. I saw people setting it up while I was out."

"Oh really?" Emma responded with delight. "I adore fairs. Shall we go?"

"I'm not sure," Alex said with a frown. "I don't like the idea of your getting jostled about by crowds."

That remark was greeted by a mutinous glare on Emma's part. "Oh, don't be a stodge," she retorted. "You can't keep me locked up forever."

"All right. But you must promise to be careful." Alex turned to John and Belle, who were watching the interchange from the sofa with amused expressions. "Won't the two of you join us?"

A refusal automatically rose to John's lips, but before he could speak an image of Belle in his arms danced through his mind. They were waltzing… Her eyes were glowing with happiness. His heart was filled with tenderness and his body with desire. Maybe he could have a bit of joy in his life. Maybe five years of hell was payment enough for his sins.

He turned to Belle. She cocked her head and smiled, raising her brows in invitation. "Of course," he said, "I'll stop by after lunch, and we'll depart together from here."

"Splendid." Alex took another gulp of tea and glanced out the window where the skies were darkening ominously. "I don't mean to be rude, Blackwood, but if I were you, I'd head home now while the rain is light. It looks like it is going to pour again soon."

"I was just thinking the same thing myself." John stood and bowed to the ladies.

Belle was, of course, sorry to see him leave, but the humorous sight of Emma, slumped dejectedly in her chair after her husband unwittingly ruined all of her careful orchestrations, more than made up for her disappointment.


***

When John arrived home that afternoon there was another note waiting for him.

I am in Oxfordshire.

John shook his head. He'd have to find some way of contacting the previous owners of Bletchford Manor. They had seemed a trifle batty to him-just the sort to have friends who would write such odd notes.

It never occurred to him that the note might be in any way connected to the gunshot in the woods.


***

John poured himself a glass of brandy before climbing the stairs to his bedroom that evening. He started to take a sip, but then set it down on his nightstand. He felt warm enough without it.

Was this happiness? The feeling had been absent from his life for so long he wasn't sure how to recognize it.

He crawled into bed, content. He never expected to dream.

He was in Spain. It was a hot day, but his company was in good spirits; no fighting for the last week.

He was sitting at a table in the tavern, an empty plate of food in front of him.

What was that strange thumping sound coming from upstairs?

He poured himself another drink.

Thump.

This place is ripe, I think. John rubbed his eyes. Who had said that?

Another thump. Another cry.

John walked slowly toward the stairs. What was wrong? The noise grew louder as he made his way along the second-floor hallway.

And then he heard it again. This time it was clear. "Noooooooooo!" Ana's voice.

He burst through the door. "Oh, God, no," he cried. He could barely see Ana, her slight form completely beneath Spencer, who was pumping relentlessly into her.

But he could hear her weeping. "Noooo, noooo, please, noooo."

John didn't pause to think. Crazed, he pulled Spencer up off the girl and threw him against the wall.

He looked back down at Ana. Her hair-what had happened? It had turned blond.

It was Belle. Her clothes were torn, her body ravaged and bruised.

"Oh, God, not this!" The cry seemed to well up from John's very soul.

He turned back to the man slumped against the wall, his hand tightening on his gun. "Look at me, Spencer," he demanded.

The man lifted his head, but he was no longer Spencer.]ohn found himself looking into his own face.

"Oh, God, no," he gasped, stumbling back against the bed. "Not me. I couldn't do that. I wouldn't."

The other John laughed. It was a sick, maniacal sound.

"No, I wouldn't. I couldn't. Oh, Belle." He looked down at the bed, but she was gone.

"No! Belle!"

John was awakened by the sound of his screams. Gasping for air, he clutched his arms to his stomach. He rolled back and forth, his body racked by silent sobs.

Chapter 8

Belle lay propped up in bed, thumbing through the collection of Wordsworth's poetry she had never gotten around to reading that afternoon. She found herself squinting slightly more than normal, so she leaned over to her bedside table and lit another candle. As soon as she had herself settled again, a knock sounded on the door. "Come in."

Emma burst into the room, her violet eyes flushed with excitement. "Sophie's having her baby!" she exclaimed. "Three weeks early! A messenger just arrived with her husband's note." "That's wonderful," Belle breathed. "Isn't it?" "Oh, yes! It's not good for a baby to be early, but three weeks isn't much, and Oliver wrote that Sophie might have miscounted anyway." 'Will you and Alex leave in the morning?" "First thing. I wanted to leave right away, but Alex would have none of that."

"He's right, you know. The roads are very dangerous at night."

"I know," Emma replied with a disappointed expression. "But I wanted to let you know tonight in case you wanted to accompany us. Or if you didn't, just to tell you our plans because we're sure to be gone before you wake up in the morning."

"I think that I will not go with you," Belle said slowly, measuring her words carefully as she spoke. She had been looking forward to the fair all evening, and she was- loathe to give up her outing with John. Especially now that they would be alone. "I don't imagine that Sophie will want a houseful of guests while she's giving birth. I'll visit once the babe is a bit older."

"All right, then, I'll send your regards." Emma frowned. "Although I'm not certain if I should leave you alone here. I don't think it's proper."

"Alone?" Belle asked disbelievingly. "There are over a hundred servants."

"Not quite a hundred," Emma corrected. "And I did promise your mother I'd be a good chaper-one."

"I cannot imagine what brand of insanity must have taken hold of my mother when she thought that you would be a proper chaperone."

"You do know more about society," Emma hedged. "If you think that there won't be any sort of uproar-"

"I know that there won't. This isn't London, after all. I doubt that anyone will even hear of my being alone. And if they did, it wouldn't create much fuss with a hundred servants standing guard over me."

"All right," Emma agreed finally. "Just don't invite Lord Blackwood over, please. I'd not want word to get out that you were spending time together unchaperoned."

Belle snorted. "That's an about-face after your machinations this afternoon."

"That was different," Emma replied defensively. Still, she had the grace at least to blush. "And don't tell me that you didn't appreciate my so-called machinations. I can see the way you look at him."

Belle sighed and snuggled down into her quilts. "I don't deny it."

Emma leaned forward, intensely interested. "Are you in love with him?"

"I don't know. How can one tell?"

Emma thought for a moment before answering. "One just somehow knows. It creeps up on a person. The poets write of love at first sight, but I don't think it happens like that."

Belle's smile was wistful. "Only in romantic novels, I suppose."

"Yes." Emma suddenly straightened. "I'd best be getting off to bed. I want to make an early start tomorrow."

"Have a safe trip," Belle called out.

"We will. Oh, and please offer our apologies to Lord Blackwood tomorrow as we won't be able to attend the fair with you. Although I imagine you'll enjoy it better without us."

"I'm sure we will."

Emma made a face. "Just don't invite him back here afterwards. And whatever you do, don't go over to Bellamy Park alone."

"I don't think that's what it's called."

"What is the name?"

Belle sighed. "I can't remember. Something with a 'B.'"

"Well, whatever it's called, don't go there. Your mother would have my head."

Belle nodded and blew out the candles as Emma exited the room.


***

Shortly after noon the next day, John set out toward Westonbirt, reminding himself for the hundredth time that he was going to have to put an end to this infatuation with Belle. It was getting so damned hard to push her away. She seemed to have so much faith in him that he had almost been able to believe he deserved the happiness she offered.

But dreams had a funny way of working themselves into everyday life, and John couldn't shake the image of Belle lying on that bed in Spain, her body ravaged and used.

He couldn't be with her. He knew this now more than ever. He'd tell her today. He swore to himself that he would do it, no matter how painful the task. He'd do it… after the fair. One more blissful afternoon surely couldn't hurt.

On horseback it took only fifteen minutes to reach Westonbirt. John left his powerful stallion in the stables, walked up the front steps, and lifted his hand to knock.

Norwood opened the door before his knuckles even connected with the wood. "How do you do, my lord," he intoned. "Lady Arabella is waiting for you in the yellow salon."