Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

T he house was rid of Evangeline Mirabeau long before breakfast was even set. Someone had seen to her early departure, and the rest of the house was none the wiser as to who it was. It would seem that, having played her role, she had wisely chosen to leave lest she still be around when Blankenship's men arrived. The relief among the lords was tangible. Breakfast became a cheery affair, and despite Emily's plans to depart, she took advantage of these last few hours with her friends. For they were just that. She'd miss Ashton mothering over the others. She'd miss Lucien's attempts to hide behind his newspaper while teasing the others. She wouldn't get to fish or hunt with Cedric, nor listen to Charles's outlandish tales.

And Godric… She would miss life with him, but she had no choice.

"Toast, Emily?" Charles offered a plate of toast as it came her way, breaking through her dark thoughts .

"Why, thank you, Charles," she said.

"You're welcome." The earl winked, and when she fetched a slice of toast, he passed the plate over her head to Ashton.

"What has everyone planned for today?" Ashton asked the table at large.

Charles precariously balanced on the back two legs of his chair. "I've got some correspondence to catch up on."

"Oh? You actually answer your letters, do you?" Lucien commented from behind his newspaper.

"Of course I do. Just because I never answer your mother's letters doesn't mean I don't answer any of them"

Lucien folded his paper and gave Charles a stern look. "My mother writes you letters and you don't answer them?"

"Hang on—" Cedric cut in. "Lucien, your mother writes to Charles?"

Lucien's darkening scowl made Cedric laugh.

"Go on, Charles. What does she write to you about?" Godric prodded.

"It is of a private nature."

"Nothing ever stays private with you, Charles, so you might as well tell us." Ashton's lips twisted into the faintest essence of a smile.

Charles scowled. "You want to know? Fine. Lucien's mother has convinced herself I am the perfect husband for Lysandra."

"My sister!" Lucien choked out. "God in heaven, man, you had better never reply to those letters or so help me—"

"Easy! Lysandra is not my type, as you well know." Charles glanced around the table. "Besides, we have our rules, don't we?"

"Rules?" Emily shook her head, confused.

Ashton looked over at her. "Even the so-called League of Rogues has rules, my dear."

They had rules? The thought made her laugh.

"Even rogues must draw the line somewhere," he added.

"And in this case no League member shall seduce a sister of another member," Lucien said.

Charles nodded. "Rule Eight to be exact."

"I am still wondering why you call yourselves the League." Emily giggled. She'd heard of the name before, of course, whispered between society matrons, often followed by gasps of horror.

Godric grinned wolfishly. "That curious moniker was actually thrust upon us by The Quizzing Glass Gazette in the Lady Society column. It regales the ton with stories about our exploits, or what they believe we've done. They exaggerate quite often, but we found their name to be accurate. We wisely accepted it and now use it, with much pleasure, I might add."

"It does have a rather charming ring to it," Emily said.

Ashton turned the conversation back to the events of the day. "So Charles is writing letters. What about you, Cedric?"

"Thought I'd go for a ride. "

Emily straightened up in her chair. Perhaps she could go for a ride before she had to set her final escape plan in motion. One last good memory…

"And what about you, Lucien?"

"I've a small matter in London to see to. I should be back by nightfall."

Emily didn't miss the glance made towards Godric. She doubted he was aware of it.

"Perhaps I ought to accompany you?" Ashton suggested.

"I wouldn't mind the company."

It was as though they were speaking in code. Emily wondered what the two men were up to.

With breakfast over, Emily followed Cedric out of the room, eager to watch him ride. But Godric caught the back of her dress and pulled her to an abrupt halt.

He nuzzled her neck playfully and said, "Now where are you off to?"

Emily sighed, watching Cedric's retreating back. "I thought I might watch Cedric ride." Godric wound his arms about her waist from behind. His lips brushed her right ear and he nipped her lobe. She stifled a little moan.

"We could stay here…" Each word hung heavy with the promise of passion.

It was so hard to resist, but the second sigh that escaped her was one of defeat and Godric noticed.

"Everything all right, my dear?" He stroked her chin with the pad of his thumb. The truth of her fears lay on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back.

He studied her silently. "Do you really miss riding? "

Emily brightened a little. "I do, oh, I do."

"I would let you ride…" he paused as her eyes lit up with hope. "If you ride with me."

"Oh, Godric, thank you!" She threw her arms about his neck and covered him with kisses.

Cedric was just trotting out of the stables when they caught up. The dappled gray mare he rode looked eager to be galloping, as did the rider.

Cedric called down as they walked past. "Shall I wait for you?"

"Could you?" Emily asked.

Godric went inside to fetch his gelding while Emily waited.

Cedric gazed down at her. "Emily, when you return to London, may I introduce you to my sisters? Horatia and Audrey would adore you."

"I'd like that very much. I know so few people in the ton . We have mainly country connections."

"Not to worry, kitten. My sisters are level-headed creatures for the most part. I think you'd like Horatia especially. She is very much like you." Cedric grinned as though remembering some private joke. "Audrey…is a bit of scamp. Always in trouble for one thing or another."

"Do they love the outdoors like you?"

Cedric nodded. "Horatia loves to ride almost as much as I do. Audrey loves fresh air, though she's not fond of horses. Got bit by a rather nasty tempered pony when she was eight. Hasn't forgiven the equine genus since, poor dear."

Emily stroked his mare's charcoal mane. "My father always said they had a propensity for biting, so I was fortunate never to be subjected to a pony's temper. Horses though, were a different matter. He had the best pair of thoroughbreds which he taught me to ride."

"Your father was a smart man." Cedric reached down to smack the mare's neck affectionately.

Godric came out that moment, his magnificent black gelding in tow, one hand resting on the horse's neck, the other threading fingers through the dangling reins.

"Hold him for me, Cedric?" Godric handed him the reins. Godric gripped Emily at the waist and hoisted her up onto the saddle then hauled himself up behind her. He looped an arm about her waist, pulling her back into the cradle of his hips.

They trotted away from the stables, Cedric a few paces ahead. The horses settled into a natural rhythm.

They rode for an hour before Godric decided the chances of them getting caught in the storm were too great. Emily fixed her attention on the sky, where storm clouds still hung. Not a single drop had fallen the night before, but she could taste the thickness of the air, and the delicious clean scent of a thunderstorm teased the air with a hint of danger. Emily did not protest ending their ride. She'd need to be back at the manor soon to see to her preparations.

Charles joined Godric, Cedric and Emily for a light luncheon an hour later, but Emily could barely eat. Her stomach churned fitfully and she said little.

"Are you feeling well?" Godric put the back of his hand to her forehead.

Emily shut her eyes, enjoying the warmth of his hand. This would be the last time he touched her. Pain tore through her heart, rending it in two. She'd remember him like this, gentle and concerned. A tender rogue, hiding his heart from her for fear of being wounded. But it was she who'd suffer most. At least he did not love her, it would be easier for him to accept her leaving.

"You feel a bit cold." Worry darkened his tone.

"I fear I'm rather under the weather." It was an opportunity to excuse herself.

Godric started to rise from his chair. "Shall I send for a doctor?"

"No! No, don't trouble yourself, please. I think I'll take a nap. That may put me to rights." Emily rose from her chair, put a hand on Godric's shoulder and gently forced him back down.

"I'll come and check on you in a few hours then, darling." Godric kissed her hand resting on his shoulder. Her heart bled with the knowledge that this was her last kiss. It couldn't be the last… Not something so inconsequential and chaste as a kiss upon her hand…

Emily bent and captured his mouth. She couldn't breathe…couldn't think. There was only this last, eternal and yet ephemeral kiss. It was her last memory, one that would have to last her the rest of a lonely lifetime.

I'm letting you go because I love you and it's the only way to save you. She begged silently with all her heart that he would understand. It nearly cleaved her heart in two when he smiled against her mouth and brushed a hand over her cheek as she left.

What would he think when he came to her room and she was gone? Would he wonder why she'd abandoned him? Would her leaving be worse than the abuse Godric suffered at the hands of his father?

Someday he'd understand. She'd find a way to tell him the truth when it was safe to do so. But even then, she doubted he would forgive her. Until that day, she'd slowly die inside from a bleeding heart.

With a strength she hadn't known she possessed, she raised her chin and departed from the dining room with grace.

Once in her room, she leaned back against the door. Her chest surged as she swallowed silent sobs. Her entire world shrank into that single moment of loss. Her throat closed and she struggled to swallow.

Sinking down the wood panel of the door, Emily curled her legs up beneath her chin, tears sliding down her face. She'd been such a fool to fall in love, but she'd never make this mistake again. Her heart would harden and she'd live on alone without Godric and without love. She had to.

Years from now she'd be somewhere in the world, remembering this final day, this final hour of losing her first and only love. The memory would rush in on her like a thief in the night and leave a raw, aching pain in her chest just as fresh as today. Tears formed salty tracks down her cheeks and carved trails like mighty rivers on stone.

It was the right thing to do. If she left, Blankenship wouldn't have a reason to harm the others. That was more important than her tears. This resolve strengthened her. She remembered something her father used to say. "Fear is only as strong as the weakness within you. "

Her choice was clear, had always been clear. Deep in her bones, she's always known she'd have to go at some point. The sooner she could accept it, the sooner she could move on.

Once her eyes had no more tears to shed, she mastered her grief and summoned Libba to her chambers.

Waiting for the maid, she wrote a note to Godric. She couldn't afford to tell him the truth, but she had to say something.

When Libba arrived, she was shocked by Emily's tear-stained face. Before the maid could say a word, Emily took her into her confidence.

"That man you saw before with the magistrate, he's going to come back, with armed men. Too many of them. They will hurt anyone in their way. I have to leave. His Grace's life depends on this. You must trust me. I need to borrow your serving gown. I'm going with Jonathan to Blackbriar."

To Emily's surprise there was no protesting from the maid, only a nod of understanding. "When that man saw me in your room, he thought I was you for a moment. I know how he looks at you, Miss." Libba twisted her hands into her skirts. "I'll find my extra gown."

"After I'm gone, stuff some pillows in my bed. Make it look like I'm sleeping. Once they discover I am not, tell them you saw me cross the meadows, it may buy me some time. Whatever you do, don't tell them I've left with Jonathan. Promise me, Libba. Godric's life depends on your silence. "

"I promise. But…Miss…you want to stay here, though, don't you?"

Even though she thought she'd spent her tears, a dry sob escaped her. "Some people aren't fated to get what they want, Libba."

Lucien and Ashton crouched beneath an open window of a townhouse on Bloomsbury Street, just out of Mayfair. The two men shared a concerned glance as they eavesdropped on a conversation, in the parlor just past the window.

They'd arrived in London an hour before and rode straight to Evangeline's townhouse, intent on speaking with her. She'd departed for the day, but the scullery maid next door told Lucien which direction she'd seen her go after he loosened her lips with a none-too-innocent kiss and a few well-placed caresses. The poor girl wanted to tell him everything after that, if only he promised to stay and entertain her. Only Ashton's polite cough reminded him of their mission.

The forged note Evangeline offered suggested to Ashton that she was not a helpless pawn but an active player in this game of deception, and it was imperative they determine the puppet master in order to protect Emily.

Lucien argued against Emily as the root of Evangeline's appearance, but as always, only Ashton saw the larger game being played. He didn't believe in coincidences and Evangeline's appearance had little to do with chance.

When they tracked Evangeline's carriage down to this particular address, Ashton found his suspicions confirmed. The moment they turned onto an intersecting street, Lucien paled and then turned scarlet with fury. "I know where she's gone." He growled. "Blankenship lives not far from here."

They slipped down the side street and crouched below Blankenship's parlor window.

"Miss Mirabeau, back in London so soon?" Blankenship's voice carried into the alleyway.

Ashton lifted his head up a few inches over the sill, catching sight of Evangeline and Blankenship. She was facing him and her eyes widened as she saw him. His breath hitched as he feared she would give his presence away.

She did not. Her eyes flicked back to Blankenship's as if nothing had occurred.

"I was turned out in less than a day, Monsieur ! But since you have paid me, I brought you the information you seek."

"And?"

A brief moment of silence gnawed at the air.

"Your lost lamb is there as you suspected. I met her. Elle est très jolie ! You did not tell me that, Monsieur ."

"Does it matter?" Blankenship snorted rudely.

" Pour moi , of course. Essex is too attached to her. He watches her every move."

Blankenship's voice lowered. "Is she unspoiled?"

Evangeline chuckled. "No, Monsieur . I believe His Grace has long since plucked the fruit of that vine. She is helplessly in love with him."

"Her love doesn't matter to me. One does not need that in a mistress."

Lucien's mouth twisted into a snarl, and Ashton's fists clenched, but both mastered their tempers.

"Very well. Here is a bonus payment, as agreed, Miss Mirabeau. I will handle the matter from here." Blankenship paced away out of sight.

Evangeline met Ashton's gaze and gave him the barest hint of acknowledgement before speaking again.

"You should know, Monsieur Blankenship, I convinced the lamb to leave. I told her that if she did not return to London, you would kill Godric and his friends."

"Why the devil did you do that? The last thing I need is for them to be warned."

"I only wished to save you the trouble of retrieving her by force as you had planned." Her voice was all sincerity, but Ashton knew better than to take that tone at face value. She was speaking too loudly for the words to be meant only for Blankenship.

"You know nothing of my plans. Still you may have saved me some effort if she obeys." Blankenship hummed, as though pleased, with a cruel note along his throat.

"I have no doubt she will, Monsieur . None at all."

When the conversation's volume decreased, the pair crossed the street, hailing a carriage back to Lucien's townhouse .

"We have to get back to Godric immediately," Lucien said.

"I agree. Emily will make another run for it, and I suspect this time she might manage to succeed. Godric won't stand for another attempt. He'll be furious."

"I know, and I'd prefer we get there before he punishes her."

Ashton glanced at him, then away. "You think he'd harm her?"

"Strike her? No, but his temper… We all know how hard he fights it. I worry about what he'll say to her. She doesn't know him like we do. Words can strike deeper than any blow, and he'll say things he doesn't mean to protect his heart."

"Don't we all?"

Lucien pulled a pistol out from the inside of his jacket.

"Same old Lucien," Ashton said under his breath.

Lucien grinned. "Old habits die hard."

Ashton laughed. Old habits indeed…

"Do you think we'll get back in time to stop Emily?"

Ashton bowed his head. "For now I'm more worried about Blankenship's men, whoever they are, and what he intends to do with them." He watched Lucien check the pistol. "Before long we might all need to carry one, old friend. I've never been a religious man, but I believe now is the time to pray."

Emily spent her last hours collecting her few possessions into the small cloth bag that Libba left under her bed. Tucked away were her butterfly comb and brush, her night rail, and a spare set of clothes to change into once she could remove Libba's uniform. The trickiest part would be Penelope. She couldn't leave the puppy behind. Libba would fetch the dog and bring her out to the cart. Soon she would be Emily's only companion.

Libba returned and helped Emily into the extra maid gown. Emily tucked her small bag of possessions in her arms while Libba fixed the white cap over her hair. If she kept her head down, she might yet escape.

Libba peeked out the door, then waved to Emily that the halls were clear. There was no sign of anyone; the upper manor hall was quiet. She walked briskly, head bent to the floor, her ears pricked for the slightest noise.

In the parlor, Cedric and Godric laughed about something. She lingered for a brief painful second.

Goodbye, my League of Rogues.

She slipped down the servants' stairs and out a door that led to the stables. The urge to look back just once was strong, but she resisted. She would take only memories. On cold nights she'd sink into those blissful moments and find herself here again, even if it was only in her dreams.

Jonathan sat impatiently on the cart seat, his face dark. He scowled when he saw her, as though he'd hoped she wouldn't have come. He raised his hand, motioning for her to hurry. A basket lay next to him. It contained a drowsy Penelope .

"What's wrong with her?" Emily hissed as she climbed up into the seat next to him.

"Nothing. When Libba brought her down I fed her warmed cream. It'll keep her quiet until we reach the village."

Emily relaxed, but the pup was more than just drowsy. "Just warm cream?"

"Well, there might be a pinch of something stronger to make sure she didn't run off. Needs must as the devil drives, as they say."

Emily knew that only too well.

Jonathan slapped the long reins against the bay's back and the cart jerked into motion. When they reached the road, Emily breathed a sigh of relief, one shadowed by sadness.

On to Blackbriar…

Rain pelted Emily's face, soaking her clothes. She cursed herself for not bringing a wool hooded cloak to wear.

"How much farther is it?" The heady scent of wet grass and wool surrounded her. She shivered, and her skin iced over with the rain.

"Not far," Jonathan said. "We'll have to get a room at the inn. You can't travel in this weather, and I can't return tonight. The food might spoil." His beautiful mouth twisted in an unpleasant frown.

She trembled again. "I suppose you are right."

Jonathan put his arm about her shoulders to pull her closer. He was just as wet, but much warmer.

"Th-thank you." Her teeth clicked together as a bone deep chill sank into her .

"Don't mention it, Miss Parr." His eyes were on the road, not on her.

Emily relaxed a little and Penelope stirred beneath Emily's black skirts. She dropped a hand down near the hound and the pup anxiously licked her fingers.

"There, there, darling," she murmured.

They rode in silence the rest of the way. The drive to the village stole much time, since the road skirted around Godric's lands and the lake.

The village itself seemed nearly deserted. The cart creaked and groaned as it rode over the rough uneven stones of the main street, echoing in the midst of the storm's rumblings. Jonathan guided the horse towards the tall barn next to an inn called The Pickerel.

"Take Penelope inside. Wait for me near the bar." Jonathan didn't wait for her to protest.

She took the hound and her cloth bag, and dodged through the rain into the inn. Oil lamps were lit on the tables and several villagers huddled around the main fireplace, warming their hands. They all turned their heads at her entrance. A plump woman wiping the bar with a cloth smiled, then seeing her, drenched and shivering, immediately changed to concern.

"You poor lamb!" She rushed around the counter to get a better look.

"M-May I wait here?" Her teeth chattered so sharply that her jaw ached.

"Of course, dear!" The woman took a fresh towel and dried Penelope. "Caught in the storm without a proper coat? Here, let me help you."

"Th-thank you. "

Jonathan came in, shaking his sandy hair.

"Jonny, love!" the woman greeted him.

Jonathan raised his arms. "Lucy, you're prettier every time I see you."

The middle aged woman blushed, "Oh, hush, you scoundrel." She swatted his shoulder.

"Could we have a room, Lucy?" Jonathan tilted his head in Emily's direction.

"Ahh, so she's yours, is she?"

"It is not what you think, Lucy."

"It never is, love. But it always is." Lucy winked, but said nothing else. She grabbed a set of keys from a nail on the wall, then led them up a set of narrow stairs and down a hall of four rooms. She picked the last one on the right and opened it for them. Inside stood a narrow bed, a small table and basin of water next to some towels.

Emily set down Penelope and her bags, while Jonathan ripped off his dripping cloak and outer coat.

"I'll send up some soup for you both." Lucy left them alone.

Emily stood indecisively for a moment, cold and wet, and watched Jonathan warily. "Should we share a room?"

The handsome devil just laughed. "It is part of my price…and one room is cheaper than two."

"But you never told me your price."

Jonathan, still not looking at her, ripped off his white lawn shirt and hung it over the edge of the single chair near the table to let it dry. Roped golden muscles cut his broad chest. Where Godric was an inch taller, Jonathan's muscles seemed larger, presumably from the years of labor on the estate. She was struck by the similarity all the same.

He crossed the distance between them and without a word plucked the silly white cap off her head. Her hair spilled down in a tumble.

"Better." He reached out to touch her.

Emily backed up another step.

"What are you doing?"

"My price, Miss Parr. I'm collecting it now." Jonathan's green eyes burned.

Emily nearly panicked but a knock interrupted them. Jonathan opened the door and took the two bowls of soup from Lucy before shutting the door in her face.

"Sit and eat, then we'll discuss payment."

It seemed her fears about the method of payment weren't unfounded. The soup warmed her up considerably, but the wet gown didn't prevent the chill that crept over her. I ought to change , Emily thought, but she wouldn't undress with Jonathan in the same room. She let Penelope lick her bowl and eat the crust from her bread. All the while Jonathan watched her.

"Mr. Helprin, may I ask a rather odd question?"

Jonathan waved a hand in the air, urging her to continue.

"Are you related to Godric?"

Soup spewed across the table. He froze, then carefully wiped a napkin over his mouth. "What makes you ask that?"

"Are you?" She pressed.

"Of course not."

Emily set her spoon down. "I'm sorry to have offended you. It's just that…well, you look so much like him. You even act like him."

When she raised her face, his eyes locked with hers.

Jonathan propped his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands. "I take no offense, you merely startled me. No one has ever said that before." He paused, eyes resting on her face, yet his expression was unreadable. After a moment he shoved his chair back, scraping it against the wooden floor. Rather than approach her, he paced away, the lithe grace of his movements every inch identical to his master's.

When he turned, she was struck by his profile, the long-limbed muscled body of a man who'd worked in the service, but there was still a refined quality to him. Half the ton lacked the innate well-bred features and manners that came so naturally to Jonathan. Something in his very breaths set him apart from his fellow servants.

"You are so like him," she half-whispered. "The way you move, talk."

"I suppose that is because I grew up wanting to be like him. I was born and raised in that house. My mother was his mother's lady's maid. I used to follow him about when I was a boy. He is eight years older than me."

Could it be that simple? She supposed it could, and she felt like a ninny for thinking otherwise. They weren't related. He merely mirrored his master the way any man would reflect someone he admired. But still, her instincts shouted otherwise. But she just had to be sure…

"Did your mother have green eyes?"

"No. "

"And your father?"

"I never knew him." An answer that wasn't really an answer, just like Godric. It was time to change the subject.

"What will you do after I've left? Will you return to the manor?"

Jonathan's lips pursed for a moment. "Assuming His Grace hasn't discovered it was me who helped you, then yes, I shall return."

"Libba promised she wouldn't tell anyone how I got away. I'm sure you will be safe."

Jonathan laughed, the sound rich, dark, dangerous. "Concerned for me?"

"I'm concerned for all of us. Blankenship is not a man to be taken lightly." She stood and looked about the small room. "May I have some privacy to change?" It was probably safer not to undress around him, but her wet clothes were thick and suffocating on her skin.

"That won't be necessary, Miss Parr. I will be happy to aid you." He started towards her.

Emily stepped back, the wood wall striking her from behind. "Mr. Helprin, please, don't come any closer."

"I know this is a game, Miss Parr. It's not the first time I've performed dramatic roles for a woman. Just like His Grace's last mistress you seek to sate yourself with a younger man now and then. Evangeline liked to pretend the Revolutionaries had captured her. But you didn't need an elaborate ruse to have me. I know Godric really isn't in danger." He reached for the buttons on the front of her gown. She was suddenly very aware of the large size of his hands, the breadth of his shoulders and the power of his muscled frame.

She bared her teeth like a cornered animal. If she had to fight him, she would. "Let go of me."

"Shh…Calm down, Miss Parr. It will be enjoyable, I assure you. I know that's why you asked me to help you. It's obvious, you are here to be with me. I've never had complaints…and we shall be very, very warm afterwards." His voice oozed with honey.

Emily, exhausted and distressed, pawed at his hands, trying to push him away.

"I tell you your master is in danger and that I'm fleeing to save his life and you assume it's part of some elaborate ruse for you to take me to bed? Do you possess that thick of a skull that logic cannot penetrate?" What she had hoped would have been a bitter tirade ended in a most unladylike sneeze and a sudden headache.

The sound of horses riding up outside in the rain could be heard.

"Hark!" he gasped. "It's Blankenship's men. We're surrounded! It's only a matter of time before they catch us. We should steal this one brief moment while we can."

"This is not a game, Mr. Helprin!"

Emily swayed as a wave of dizziness struck her. Her hands fell on his shoulders when she struggled to stay upright.

Jonathan lifted her up off the floor, and carried her to the bed. "Just close your eyes. I'm sure I'll feel the same as my master. "

Emily struggled, muscles straining as she fought to keep Jonathan at a respectable distance.

"Get off me, you stupid oaf! I cannot believe you are such an addlepaited twit! I don't want you!" Her protest was lost on him and she sneezed again.

Jonathan pinned her down on the narrow bed, wedging his hips between her legs.

"That is what Evangeline said, but then she kissed me and all but dragged me to her bed. She said she liked to play games, that most women did. You cannot be all that different, Miss Parr."

He slanted his mouth down over hers.

I swear when I have the chance, I will kick him right in his manhood , she vowed. Emily clawed at his chest, but she was so tired and her head felt thick with a fogginess that frightened her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

Jonathan's mouth moved to her neck and the second her lips were free a small pitiful sob escaped Emily's throat.

Jonathan froze when she sobbed again. He pulled back, startled.

"My God. You really don't want me." The look of sheer shock on his face relieved her. He seemed completely horrified at his actions.

Emily sank limp into his arms, but managed a weak nod and then sneezed again.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Parr, I thought…it doesn't matter. Did…I hurt you?" He moved off her and sat back. Emily rolled onto her side away from him and burst into tears. Jonathan awkwardly patted her back. He couldn't understand the rending of her heart from her soul, the shat tering of her essence into a thousand pieces. She wept for the life she left behind, the love she'd never know again.

"There, there." He tried to comfort her.

She slowed in her tears and only hiccupped once or twice, quivering. "I…don't think I'm well…" she started to say. A rough knock at the door cut the string of words from her lips.

"We're busy!"

The knock turned into a furious beating. Jonathan rose to his feet with a grumble, still shirtless as he moved.

When he opened the door, an absolute silence fell for all of two seconds before someone roared, and Jonathan hastily begged to explain. A fist flew through the door's opening to catch Jonathan square in the jaw.