"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."