"You shameless hussy, what do you think you're doing?"

"Pay attention, sir. I'm certain you'll figure it out soon enough."

"Dear heart"a"he laughed, cupping her face in his palma""I've died and gone to heaven."

/ love you.

The emotion swelled up from some dark corner.

Say it, you fool. Tell her!

He longed to, but the words, so long repressed, had a way of sticking deep down inside and refusing to come forward when ordered.

Just then, chatter and laughter in the hall brought them both sitting up straight, adjusting fabric and closing openings. Emily burst into the room from her adjoining bedchamber.

She couldn't help noticing her parents' red faces. They were blushing as though she'd caught them doing something they oughtn't. "Have you two been kissing again?"

"I'm afraid so," Phillip readily admitted. "Jane is so pretty, I can't seem to help myself."

Emily thought they were incredibly romantic. Her new friends all thought so, too, with the way her father was always holding Jane's hand, smiling as though they shared a special secret and whispering into her ear. They were all talking about it. And, of course, all the girls agreed with Emily that her father was too handsome by half. "Is it all right to do it in the middle of the afternoon?"

Phillip's eyes were round as saucers, and it took a huge swallow from Jane's glass of wine to stifle the laughter wanting to bubble out Jane couldn't believe he was actually blushing. Her own cheeks felt a little warm. "Yes, dear, it's all right. As long as you're with your husband." A lame response, but one she hoped would suffice. Wanting nothing more than to change the subject, she asked, "Di you have a pleasant afternoon?"

"Absolutely splendid. And the most wonderful thing has happened."

"What's that?"

"Penelope Heathrow is having eight of her closest friends to a private supper right in her own room, and I've been invited."

"My goodness"a"Phillip smiled at his daughtera" "what an exciting prospect"

"Yes, so I must get dressed." Turning to Jane, she looked terribly worried. "Whatever should I wear?"

Winking at her husband, Jane extended her hand to Emily. "Let's go take a look, shall we?"

For the next two hours, the women primped and preened until it was time to head for their various meals. The trio walked down the halls of the vast mansion, Phillip and Jane wanting to escort Emily to her party before heading downstairs to their own. Just as they rounded a corner near the stairs, a door opened and Margaret stepped into the hallway.

A moment of awkward silence ensued. Margaret, lovely as ever in a flowing gown of soft, blue velvet, eyed them. There was a hint of malice in her eyes as she said, "Lord Wessington. Lady Wessington," emphasizing Jane's title, making it clear she didnat think Jane deserved it. Almost sounding rude, but not quite, she added, "Lady Emily, how interesting to see you out and about."

Emily stepped behind Jane as though fearing Margaret might hurt her. Jane seethed with anger at the woman's venomous tone, and the manner in which she was regarding Emily raised Jane's protective hackles. Only Phillip's reassuring hand tightly gripping her own kept her from making a scene.

"Lady Downs." Jane returned the greeting with a brief nod of her head.

"Hello, Margaret," Phillip said coolly. He hadn't seen the woman in months, had often reflected on how peaceful it was to be parted from her, only to have her show up at his first outing with Jane. He took a step, indicating the encounter was over. "If you'll excuse us? We're a bit late."

"But, of course. Don't let me keep you." She eyed the proprietary way he held Jane's hand, the way his other rested on the small of Emily's back. What she'd heard through the grapevine appeared to be true. They retreated down the hall, and she fumed, furious that she could hear their words.

"I'm sorry, love," Phillip said in a tone Margaret had never heard before. "I'd no idea she'd be here."

"It's no matter, Phillip."

"But it is. It's embarrassing to you. I can't know what the Duchess was thinking when she sent out invitations. I'll speak with her."

"No, no. Don't do that. The damage is done. Let's not make more of it. She's here and we're here, and I simply refuse to allow her to ruin our time together." Their voices trailed off, and Margaret could hear no more.

She went back into her room, pressing a cool cloth to her face and slowing her breathing. After his wedding night, Wessington had dumped her like so much extra baggage, and she'd not seen him again. Still, she ached to have him back in her life. He was the only man who truly understood her. Besides that, it was galling to have anyone, especially the likes of Phillip Wessington, thinking he'd rid himself of her, all because of that plain chit he called wife. She'd get even for all the troubles Jane Wessington had caused and enjoy herself greatly in the process.

Several hours later, the ball in full progress, colorfully clad dancers swirled in beautiful circles. Feeling suddenly dizzy, Jane tugged on Phillip's arm, and he leaned down to better hear her.

"Are you all right?" he asked, but immediately saw that she wasn't.

"Just feeling a trifle strange at the moment."

"An attack of vertigo, is it?" he asked, barely able to hide his knowing smile. Inconspicuously, they stepped out of the line of dancers, and Phillip eased her into a chair. Try as she might, Jane couldn't prevent the yawn which made its way to the surface. Phillip instantly noticed the fatigue she hadn't wanted to acknowledge but could no longer hide. She was nearly asleep on her feet.

"I think I'm just overly tired."

"Shall we retire?"

Jane glanced around the room, at the spinning dancers and the laughing, chattering crowd. Besides the dance itself, there was wagering, also card games and cigar rooms in which the men could congregate. Phillip was in his element, and much as she'd like him to go to bed with her, she hated to deprive him of his fun. The attack of dizziness passing, she stood carefully. "I don't want you to miss any of the party. I'll see myself upstairs."

"I wouldn't dream of letting you go up alone."

"Don't be silly. Stay and enjoy yourself."

Phillip looked around. It had been ages since he'd attended a gathering like this one. There were people with whom he wanted to talk, gossip he wanted to hear, stories he wanted to tell, liquor he wanted to drink. A roll of the dice wouldn't be so bad either. He smiled down at Jane. "Are you certain?"

"I want you to stay on one condition."

"What's that?"

She stood on tiptoe and whispered, "That you promise to wake me when you come to bed."

"That I will promise you, Lady Jane. That I will." Suggestively kissing the back of her hand in good-bye, he smiled as she turned and made her way from the ballroom. At the door, she gave him a smile and a wave of her fingers. And a wicked wink to seal the bargain. He grinned from ear to ear, wondering if anyone had seen her send her subtle love message and not caring a whit if anyone had. Watching until she disappeared from sight, he then headed for the gaming tables.

Not a minute later, Margaret appeared at his side.

"Hello, darling," she whispered seductively, favoring him with her most delectable pout. "I could swear you've been avoiding me."

Phillip knew the look she was flashing; she had nothing but trouble in mind. "What do you want, Margaret?"

"What do you think I want?" She rested a hand on the center of his chest and rubbed in small circles. "I'm so glad you've finally returned. It's been positively unbearable without you."

Attempting to appear casual, he reached for her hand and removed it from his person. She managed to keep hold of his fingers. Only by yanking them away would he be able to separate himself from her grasp. No one appeared to be watching, but one never knew for sure. He refused to make any kind of scene. "I think we need to talk. Privately."

"Excellent. How about my rooms, in thirty minutes? You know where they are?"

"I'll be there."

Exactly on time, he stepped into her sitting room. Almost as though she'd planned things carefully in advance, the room was prepared for his visit. A cozy fire sparked in the grate. Scented candles burned. Wine was poured and waiting. The door to the boudoir was open, and he could hear Margaret in the other room, humming softly as she changed her clothing.

Phillip relaxed onto the small sofa in front of the fire. The location provided an erotic view. Through the partially open door, he caught glimpses of Margaret in various stages of undress. As always, she took plenty of time preparing herself, and he had a long opportunity to think about the coming encounter. He knew he should speak his piece and go, but he refused to talk through the door or enter her bedchamber, so he waited for her to appear.

Momentarily she entered, dressed in a sheer negligee which hid nothing. Her breasts, her nipples, her mound, all were completely visible through the thin fabric. She was, and had always been, a glorious sight. Coupled with her lack of sexual inhibitions, she was every man's fantasy. Except for Phillip, who was simply glad to be shed of her.

Margaret misread the assessment in his gaze and told herself she'd moved wisely, that with a few flicks of her tongue, she'd have him back in her bed. Once she had him completely snagged, she had every intention of making sure his wife heard all the appropriate gossip and rumors.

Phillip stood as she crossed the room. "We need to talk."

"Later, darling. I have more pleasant things in mind right now."

Before Phillip realized what she intended, she stretched her body fully against his, raising her mouth to his at the same moment she grabbed his hands and laid them on her breasts. He jumped back as though burned, but didnat move far enough, for she was too determined to let him escape so easily.

"Show me how much you missed me," she demanded, reaching for his ass and rubbing herself against his crotch.

It wasn't until that moment that she began to understand what was happening. Or what wasn 't happening. His body showed no sign of rising desire. She hesitated, her confidence temporarily shaken.

Looking down at the beauty who had previously stirred his blood so easily, and often, he felt absolutely no lust for her. Not wanting to sound overly cruel, but needing to make his point clear, he answered her demand for attention with, "I'm sorry, but I can't show you anything, for I haven't missed you. Not a bit."

"I can't believe this." She flexed her hips in frustration.

"Give it up, Margaret." He reached behind and removed her hands from his buttocks. "I'm going back downstairs."

"What? Whatever are you saying? Jane's gone to bed. We can spend hours together."

"But I don't want to spend hours with you." He took her hand and moved it across his crotch, letting her feel his flaccid state. "I'm no longer interested in continuing our relationship, and I won't have you hounding me over it."

Margaret continued to stroke his uncooperative organ, unable to believe what he was saying and what she was feeling between his legs. Impossible! No man had ever resisted her. "You must be joking."

"No, I'm not. I'm going down to game for a time; then I'm going to bed. With my wife." Phillip stepped back, and she moved closer, refusing to let him break the contact. He picked her up and physically set her away. "I simply came up here to say that whatever we had is over. I'm not interested in starting it up again, and I don't want you approaching me. I won't have Jane upset by your antics or your tantrums."

Red-faced, she was angry and embarrassed. To be put downa"by Wessington of all people. In her view, emotional attachments were the silliest, and he had always believed the same. In her most scathing tone, she said, "Why, if I didnat know better, I'd swear you had developed tender feelings for her."

"More than you know. I love her." Phillip grinned stupidly. All these months, he'd been unable to speak the words to Jane, but he felt good saying them now. At having Margaret, of all people, know how deeply his emotions ran. As soon as he could exit this dreadful scene, he would head to his rooms and say those words to his wife. "I love her very much."

"But you can't mean it. Look at me!" Refusing to believe or accept that she'd been bested for Phillip's attentions, she wrenched at the front of her gown, exposing her full, exquisite breasts for his purview.

Phillip stared, unmoved, then raised his hands to the straps, trying to tug them up her shoulders. "Could we please have some dignity about this?"

A movement in the mirror caught Margaret's eye.

The door to her room was opening. Phillip couldn't see the door or who was on the other side, but Margaret could. She stepped forward and pulled him into a deep embrace.

Chapter Twenty-Six.

Morris watched Wessington and his wife. Across the crowded ballroom, they stood in the long line of dancers, their steps following an intricate pattern. The tune was a popular one and would continue for many minutes. Knowing the Earl as he di, there would be plenty more after that. They were obviously enjoying themselves and were thoroughly involveda"in each other and in the party.

There would never be a better time.

He'd carefully moved through the crowd during the evening so that everyone was aware of his presence. No one would be able to say when, or if, he'd left the ballroom. He'd pop out and be back without being missed.

One minute he was standing near the rear door of the grand ballroom, the next, he was silently gliding up a back stairway he'd found during the previous day's preparations. Peeking out the door at the top, he saw the expanse of hall was dimly lit and quiet. Just as he'd suspected, no one was about.

Silent as a snake, he walked to the door he sought and tried the knob, breathing a sigh of relief that it was unlocked and he would not have to waste time opening it. Ducking inside, sweat popped out on his brow.

For several moments, he rested his back against the door, steadying his breathing and adjusting to the darkness. Gradually, he could make out the bed a few feet away. The person in it slept soundly, the covers rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The very sight made him hard as a rock. He loosened the front of his breeches, then, in one swift move, tugged back on the covers and lay down.

Emily Wessington, dazed from being awakened from her deep sleep, opened her eyes wide, trying to breathe against the hand covering her mouth.

"If you make one sound, I'll kill you. Do you understand?" She just lay there, frightened and confused about what was happening. "Do you understand?" he hissed.

She nodded as much as she could.

"Good. Just do everything I say, and I'll try not to hurt you," which was a lie. He intended to hurt her as much as possible. He reached a hand beneath her nightgown. "This will be over before you know it."

Jane entered their silent room. The maid had been by to turn down the bedding; a small fire crackled in the grate, and a single candle burned on the table. Standing in front of the mirror, she reached to take the pins out of her hair, but she was much more tired than she'd imagined. She dropped her hands and moved to the bed. Resting on the edge, she worked her fingers through the curls and tangles. The pillow beckoned invitingly. Knowing she should check on Emily, she meant to shut her eyes for just a moment, but as soon as her head hit the feathers, she slept.

A noise awakened her. Not sure where she was, she had to look around the room to gather her bearings. Had she lain there for minutes or hours? Tense and alert, but hearing only the sound of her pounding heart, she relaxed.

Just as she closed her eyes again, she heard her name. "Jane ..." Like a whisper from a ghost. The sound sent goosebumps rising along the backs of her arms. She sat up, dangling her legs off the side of the bed. "Who's there?"

No response.

Feeling a trifle silly, she shivered in the cool room and thought to undress and snuggle under the covers, but decided to check on Emily first. Grabbing a wrap draped on a nearby chair, she moved to the door adjoining their bedchambers. Holding her single candle out in front, she silently pushed open the door and froze at the sight.

At first, Emily had not known what was happening. Her sleep had been so deep that it had taken her many moments to come fully awake and realize that Morris was in the room with her. While her existence had been a sheltered one, some part of her knew what he was trying to do.

Fighting with every bit of her strength proved useless. He was too big and too strong. In one quick movement, he ripped her favorite nightgown, the one Jane had given her for her birthday the previous week, and it lay in tatters on the bedcovers. She whimpered against his hand.

He slapped her hard, wanting to silence her but hurt her as well. "Shut up! Do you hear me?" His hand went back to her mouth. "If anyone hears you, I'll kill Jane. Now lie still!"

The slap hurt unmercifully, and tears flooded her eyes. Next thing she knew, he was working between her legs, with a knee, with a hand, and then she felt him down there, ramming and hurting as though he wished to split her in half. With the last of her strength, she bit his hand and he jerked it away.

"Jane ..." she managed to get out, before he hit her again. She knew calling out was pointless since her parents were still downstairs at the ball, but she couldn't help calling for her mother, her friend.

Jane stood like a statue for several moments, her mind not able to process what she was seeing. For more than a few seconds, she wondered if she was really awake, if perhaps she wasn't sequestered in some horrifying dream from which she couldn't awaken. But no. The bed was moving. The people on it struggling. She stepped closer, then, outraged, set aside her candle as she leaped for them.

"Get away from her." At first, the man didnat appear to notice her presence. She reached for the collar of his coat and pulled to no effect. "Let her go!" Reaching for the water pitcher next to Emily's bed, she swung it as hard as she could. He saw it coming at the last second and shifted, deflecting the blow with his forearm. As he turned, she saw his face captured in the dim glow of the fire coming from the other room. "Morris!"

"You bitch," he whispered, his voice full of murderous venom. "You keep ruining everything."

He lunged for her, and she tried to jump away but couldn't manage fast enough. Tackling her to the floor, he hit her hard in the face. Wincing at the blow, Jane thought she might lose consciousness and knew she couldn't until Emily was safe. "Emily, run!" she shouted, wondering if the girl still had her wits about her. "Run! And scream!"