Jane opened her mouth to do just that, but Morris stopped her by wrapping his fingers around her throat and squeezing as tightly as he could. Prying at his fingers, Jane couldn't make any headway at loosening them. Just then, Emily leaped off the bed, pounding him about the head and shoulders with a heavy object.

"Let her go," she cried, pummeling him until he lost his balance. Jane pushed him away and rose to her knees, screaming bloody murder.

Morris, quickly assessing the danger of his situation, jumped to his feet. Frightened and enraged, wanting nothing more than to get as far away as possible, he fled down the hall.

Jane and Emily knelt in the room, listening as his hasty footsteps retreated. Several seconds later, another set came from a different direction. Jane stood on wobbly legs and hurried to the door. Peeking out into the candlelit hall, she saw a footman hurrying toward their open doorway. Glancing over her shoulder, she noted that Emily was curled into a ball in the corner. Knowing the scandal the situation would cause and wanting to contain it as much as possible, Jane ran a hand over her dress, straightening it as much as she could before stepping closer to the light spilling in from the hall.

"Milady, are you all right?"

Although she doubted he could make out anything in the room, Jane pulled the door to her so the man could not see inside. Smoothing out the lines of fear and rage etched on her face, she said as calmly as possible, "Could you please have someone go downstairs and find my husband for me?" "Certainly, ma'am."

Jane hesitated. She didnat want this man roaming through the party looking for Phillip. There'd be gossip enough as it was. "I've changed my mind, sir. I need two of my servants. Meg and John Graves." She gave him directions to their room in the servants' wing. "Please tell them that they cannot arrive too soon."

The footman wondered at her disheveled state. She seemed injured and frightened, and he hesitated to leave, but perhaps the matter was better left to her own servants. "I'll be back with them as quickly as I'm able, milady. Until I return, perhaps you would like to lock the door."

"Yes, I believe that might be wise. Thank you." He quickly walked away, and she followed his suggestion. Knowing the door in the main bedchamber to also be unlocked, she reached for Emily's hand. The girl seemed dazed and confused, and Jane reached down and put a hand on her shoulder. "Emily dear, can you hear me?" Emily finally looked up into her eyes. "What?" "Let's go into my room. Can you stand?" "Ah .. . yes. I believe so." Before Jane could help her to her feet, she looked up imploringly. "I think I'm going to be sick," Emily said and she leaned to the side and retched over and over onto the floor until there was nothing left in her stomach.

Jane stroked her back, cooing words of comfort until the moment passed. With a steadying hand, she then helped her to her feet. Emily was completely naked, but Jane found her wrap and draped it over her shoulders. In the other room, she eased her down on the mattress, covered her with a heavy blanket and started for the door.

"Don't leave me," Emily begged in a voice filled with fear.

"I'm not. I'm just locking the door." She quickly completed the action, then went about the room, lighting each and every lamp and candle. They were both shivering, so she stepped to the fireplace and threw another log on the dying embers. "Are you all right?"

"No. No, I'm not," Emily whispered.

Jane reached for the pitcher and poured water into the basin, then soothed Emily's brow with a cool cloth, letting her sip some water from a cup to wipe the taste of sickness from her mouth. Pulling her close, she rocked her against her breast. "It will be all right," she crooned, although she didnat know if it would ever be all right again.

"I want a bath."

"Yes, of course."

"I want to leave. I don't want to stay here. It's not safe."

"All right. Let's wait for John and Meg. They'll be along in a minute. John can find your father, and we'll all go together." It was difficult to speak, and she put a hand to her throat, feeling the brthsing there. On her cheek, another brthse swelled where she'd been punched. With a trembling hand, she rubbed her brow. If Emily hadn't jumped on him, perhaps the man would have strangled her. "Thank you for coming to my aid," she whispered, kissing the girl on top of her head.

They stayed like that, holding one another in silence, each tick of the clock marking the passage of time. It seemed an eternity before they heard steps in the carpeted hall, before Meg's tap came on the door. Emily had been still for so long that Jane wondered if she was asleep, but the rapping instantly brought her alert "It's Meg, dear. Sit right there; I'm just going to open the door."

She had to pry the girl's arms from her waist Hurriedly, she drew the pair inside.

Meg saw Jane first, then Emily huddled on the bed. "Whatever .. . ?" She looked over at John with fear in her eyes.

Jane leaned forward and whispered, "Morris attacked her in her bed."

John gasped and reached out to steady Meg, who swayed at the news. "The bloody bastard! Wessington will kill him."

"I hope so," Jane agreed vehemently.

"Where is Morris now?"

"I don't know. He ran off when I entered her room."

Meg put a hand on Jane's face. "But it looks as though you had a sort of altercation with him. Did he strike you?"

"Yes, but I'm all right. Just banged up a bit."

"What can we do?" John asked.

"I want to get her out of here as quickly and quietly as possible. I thought we'd head to the city. The town house should be ready for our arrival. If it's not, I don't care. We can't stay here."

"Yes, yes, I'll go find Wessington."

"And have our carriage brought 'round. I want to dress and leave. I'll have you send our things. After we go, check the other room and make sure there are no signs of what happened."

"Did he . . . ?" Meg didnat finish the sentence, but they all looked over at the girl, huddled quietly on the bed.

"No, but I won't have malicious gossip of this following her."

"Quite right, Jane," John agreed, then left to find her husband.

Meg tended to the two women, helping them dress and prepare for travel. There was plenty of time, because it seemed forever before John returned alone.

"I couldn't find him," he apologized.

"I don't want to stay here," Emily reminded all of them.

"No, dear, I don't want to either." She glanced at John as she tied the bow on Emily's bonnet. "Di you look in the gaming rooms?"

"Yes, Jane."

If she'd glanced away just then, she'd have missed the look he flashed Meg. As it was, she saw some sort of message being exchanged by the pair. "What?" she demanded.

" 'Tis nothing."

"Tell me."

"Jane ..." He rubbed a worried hand over his eyes and sighed. "Just leave it be. We'll sort it out on the morrow."

"We'll sort it out now."

Hands on hips, her angry stance indicating she was ready for a fight, Jane wouldn't leave without knowing what he knew. John realized it. He shrugged.

"He was last seen talking to Lady Margaret."

"And?"

"They left."

Jane thought her heart would stop beating in her chest. "Together?"

"Apparently."

"How long ago."

He stared at the clock on the mantel as though it held the answer. "It's been quite some time now."

Jane worked her bottom lip, wondering what the information meant. Could Phillip have gone off with Margaret as soon as Jane had left the ballroom? Refusing to believe that he would hurt her in such a fashion, she had to move on. She couldn't dwell on his actions; Emily's needs had to come first. "We'll leave without him. Is the carriage ready?"

"It's waiting out in the front drive. I won't have you traveling alone. I'm going with you."

"Let's be off then." With Jane's arm across Emily's shoulders, they headed out the door. "Meg, would you stay here and see to things?"

"Certainly. I'm sure the Earl will return shortly, and I can inform him right away of what's happened."

Meg's doubt that Wessington would show up soon was clearly apparent in her voice, but the three adults pretended she meant what she said. Meg hugged Emily, promising to see her in London the next day.

"Lock the door," John told her by way of good-bye.

As they walked down the long, silent hallways, Jane was grateful for the dim lighting, for the lavish affair downstairs which was keeping everyone occupied. She simply wanted to get the girl outside, into the carriage and off to London before they ran into anyone who might wonder what they were about, leaving in the middle of the night.

Around the next corner was the turn for the stairs. As they approached, Jane couldn't help but notice the door to Margaret's rooms. It seemed to grow as they neared it, becoming larger than life. Could Phillip possibly be inside at this very moment?

Try as she might to force her eyes to the center of the hallway, they refused to stay there, insisting instead on drifting back to the door. Wanting to hurry past, but not able to, she noticed that the latch had not caught when the last person had entered. When they were abreast of the door, female laughter came through it The murmur of a male voice followed.

Emily stopped. Her eyes devoid of any expression, she stared up at Jane. "That's Father."

Jane's face went white. Her heart stopped beating. "You don't know that."

"It is," she insisted quietly.

John looked puzzled and concerned. "What is it'"

"That's Margaret's room," Emily answered because Jane couldn't. "Father is in there with her."

The three of them turned and faced the door, looking at it as though the very force of their combined gazes could magically penetrate the wood and allow them to see inside.

The silence became unbearable, and Jane knew she had to make a decision. Open the door and learn the truth or move on down the stairs. If she opened it and found Phillip inside, she would the. Perhaps not at that very moment, but slowly over the next few weeks and months until her broken heart simply quit beating. With what she and Emily had already endured during the night, this was one truth she could not face.

Before she could get them moving again, Emily stepped forward before either adult could stop her and laid a hand to the wood, shoving the door open. "See," she said dully, "it's not latched."

The door swung back and there, in all her glory, was Lady Margaret Downs, the bodice of her see-through negligee pulled low to reveal her admirable naked breasts. Holding her tightly in what looked to be a passionate embrace, was Phillip Wessington, Earl of Rosewood.

Jane gasped.

Emily smiled vacantly.

"Wessington," John roared, while Margaret leaned closer to Phillip, looking coy and greatly humored.

Phillip stared in confusion. Emily and Jane dressed to leave. John with them, a bag in hand, a pistol in his belt. Panic immediately seized his heart. He thrust Margaret away and took a step forward. The trio took a step back, as though he carried leprosy or plague. 'Jane, what is it? What's happened?"

"See, Jane," Emily said dispassionately, "I told you he hadn't really changed."

One tiny part of Jane's frantic mind tried to tell her that she should get all the facts before making a decision. The other part, the larger part, told her that she was seeing exactly what lay before her eyes. After leaving Phillip alone for a matter of minutes, his first act had been to make his way into the arms of his mistress. In her naivete, Jane had assumed his affair with Margaret had ended long ago. How stupid to think that what had passed between herself and Phillip in the past few months had had any bearing on his life at all.

Tears burning her eyes, she shook her head. Her voice raspy with pain from Morris's throttling, she said, "You never really cared about us, did you?"

Phillip reached out a hand, ready to say something, but John pushed them out the door before he could open his mouth.

"What the bloody hell is the matter with you?" John asked in disgust. Quietly, he closed the door and ushered Jane and Emily down the stairs and out into the waiting carriage.

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

Morris woke with a start, the hand around his throat choking him to frightful consciousness. 'Twas too dark to see the figure looming over the bed.

A male voice, low and cold, whispered, "I've let you alone all these months. I wanted to make certain you rested peacefully in your bed, that you went to sleep dreaming easily, dunking you'd gotten away with it."

Morris grabbed at the man's wrist, trying, to no avail, to ease the pressure. He rasped, "What? Who are you? What do you want?"

"I'll not call you out. You don't deserve an honorable death."

The grip on his neck eased slightly as the man moved away. Flint sparked, and the single candle on the nightstand made the shadows in the room larger than life. Before he could even think of escape, the hand returned, pressing him back against the pillows until he gagged with the strain of it. The man leaned over the bed again, giving Morris his first and last view of who threatened. His eyes widened like saucers. "No. Oh, no."

"Yes, you bloody coward. 'Tis I. Look closely and speak the name of the man who will kill you this night. Let it be the last sound you utter in your filthy life."

"Wessington ..." he hissed, begging with his eyes, struggling with his legs, but 'twas all for naught.

Phillip pressed the barrel of the pistol against the center of Morris's chest and blew a hole through his evil heart.

Not caring if anyone saw him or not, he slowly descended the stairs. A lone servant, having heard the shot, hovered in the shadows, but one glare from Phillip sent him scurrying. Phillip then stepped out into the drizzle and slipped away in the night. Spoiling for a fight, he walked London's streets, wishing someone would jump out from the shadows to rob or taunt him. No one did, and he walked in sullen misery until dawn finally gave him an excuse to return to his lonely, quiet house.

Inside, he bathed and dressed, heading first to see John and Meg. They worked just down the street, having been hired by an acquaintance. In her final act before she and Emily ran away, Jane wrote them both a glowing letter of recommendation. He knocked at the door and presented his card. A new face answered, a man he'd not seen before on his routine visits.

"The master of the house is hardly awake at this hour, Lord Wessington," the butler offered.

"I'm not here to see Lord Heathrow. I've come to speak with John and Meg Graves. They're up and about by now. Would you fetch them for me, please?" He stepped inside, not giving the man a chance to refuse. "I'll wait in the first parlor." "Of course, sir," the servant responded, not at all certain he was doing the right tiling.

Many minutes later, the pair entered, looking like his old friends but like strangers just the same. The hostility emanating from them was a tangible thing.

"What is it you wish this time, Lord Wessington?" Graves asked, barely able to contain his dislike.

"What do you think I want? Have you heard from them?"

"No, and I'd not tell you if I had." He turned toward the door, taking Meg's arm as he went. "You must quit calling on us. We're happy here, and I won't jeopardize our employment by having you repeatedly bothering us.