"You always did have a penchant for stating the obvious. "

Spencer scowled. "Eat your slop then, if that's what you want. I'm going off in search of entertainment."

John raised a brow as if to say, "Here?"

"This place is ripe, I think." Spencer's eyes gleamed as he swaggered up the stairs and out of sight.

John sighed, glad to be rid of this man who had always been such an annoyance in his company. He'd never liked Spencer, but he was a decent soldier, and England needed all of those she could get her hands on.

He finished his meal and pushed the plate across the table. The food had been tasty, but nothing seemed to satisfy him anymore. Perhaps another glass of whiskey.

Oh, now he was drunk. Really drunk. There were, he supposed, still a few things for which to thank the Lord.

He let his head slump down toward the table. Ana's mother had been quite nervous, hadn't she? Her face, lined with worry and fear, floated through his mind. And Ana, poor child, she couldn't like having these men around. Especially one like Spencer.

He heard a thump come from the floor upstairs. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Spencer. Oh, yes, that's who he was thinking about.

Pain in the ass, he was. Always bothering the locals, caring for nothing but his own amusement.

Another thump.

What was that he'd said-he was going off in search of entertainment. That was rather like him.

Another odd noise-this one sounded like a woman's cry. John looked around. Didn't anyone else hear this? No one seemed to react. Maybe it was because he was closest to the stairs.

This place is ripe, I think.

John rubbed his eyes. Something wasn't right.

He stood, bracing himself against the table to ease the nausea rocking his body. Why did he have this odd sense that something was amiss?

Another thump. Another cry.

He 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.

John sobered in an instant. He burst through the door, knocking it off one of its hinges. "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.

"What the hell-Blackwood?" Spencer's face was as mottled and red as his member.

"You bastard," John breathed, his hand coming to rest on his gun.

"For God's sake, she's just some Spanish whore."

"She is a child, Spencer."

"She's a whore now." Spencer turned around to retrieve his breeches.

John's hand tightened on his gun.

"That's all she ever would have been."

John lifted his gun. "His majesty's soldiers do not rape." He shot Spencer in the ass.

Spencer howled and went down, letting loose a swift stream of expletives. John immediately went to Ana, as if there was something he could possibly do to erase her pain and humiliation.

Her face was blank. Completely devoid of expression…

Until she saw him.

She cringed. She turned away from John in horror. He staggered backward at the force of her terror. He hadn't… It hadn't been him…He'd meant to…

Ana's mother burst into the room. "Mother of God," she cried out. "What is-Oh, my Ana. My Ana." She ran to her daughter, who was now weeping uncontrollably.

John stood in the middle of the room, dazed, in shock, and still drunk with whiskey. "I didn't… " he whispered. "It wasn't me."

There was so much noise. Spencer was screaming and cursing in pain. Ana was crying. Her mother was railing at God. John couldn't seem to move.

Ana's mother turned around, her face full of more hatred than John had ever seen in a single person. "You did this," she hissed, and spit in his face.

"No. It wasn't me. I didn't…"

"You swore you'd protect her." The woman seemed to be trying to restrain herself from attacking him. "It might as well have been you."

John blinked. "No."

It might as well have been you.

It might as well have been you.

It might as well…

John sat up in bed, his body soaked with sweat. Had it really been five years? He laid back down, trying to forget that Ana had killed herself three days later.

Chapter 3

"When Belle arrived at breakfast the next morning, she discovered that neither Emma nor Alex were up yet. This was rather surprising because Emma tended to be something of a morning person. Belle guessed that Alex was keeping her abed for his own purposes and wondered if a woman could get pregnant while she was already pregnant.

"For someone who is usually considered quite bright," she muttered to herself, "you know pathetically little about the important things."

"Did you say something, my lady?" a footman immediately inquired.

"No, no, I was just talking to myself," she replied, rolling her eyes at her behavior. If she kept this up, half of Westonbirt would think she was daft.

She helped herself to a bit of breakfast, glancing through the day-old newspaper that was sitting out on the table for Alex's perusal. The newlyweds still hadn't arrived by the time she finished her omelet. Belle sighed, trying to decide how to occupy herself.

She could raid Alex's library, she supposed, but for once she didn't feel like reading. The sun was shining brightly, a rare treat during this exceptionally rainy autumn, and she suddenly wished that she weren't alone, that Alex or Emma had decided not to sleep in that morning, that she had someone with whom to share the fine weather. But there was no one. Except-Belle shook her head. She couldn't just prance over to Lord Blackwood's house and say hello.