Chapter Seven: Jane in the Rain

"Well, Jamil Khan, what a surprise! How's your father?" The robust English king's hearty greeting made the slim, brown boy feel doubly guilty. Why had he waited so long to come forward? Sweet Queen Jane was the one in trouble, yet it was Princess Mary's grumpy, frowning face that flashed through his mind.

"Your Majesty, my father and I have wronged you! You see, Queen Jane has a secret. We begged her to tell you before the marriage, but she refused. And now her time is running out!"

"Tell the truth, boy," the king commanded, summoning his security team and grabbing his black leather jacket. "From the beginning."

"Your Majesty, I will tell you everything, but we must hurry!"

Far off in the country, night had come. The rainy sky was black. The two royal ladies awoke just as the limousine lurched to a halt.

"Goodness! The two of us went out like candles on a cake. I reckon we're just two royal sleepyheads!" Queen Jane was joking, but her fingers trembled slightly as she buzzed the royal driver. Her summons was ignored. Jane buzzed again, her smile fading.

"Your Majesty, I don't like this." Mary was still rubbing her eyes, but she felt as though she had to take hold of things. Her sweet young stepmother was already starting to panic. Jane was frantically searching for her cell phone, her heavy diamond rings making it hard to paw through her tiny little designer bag.

"The king will find us," Jane kept saying, her voice full of panic as she dialed the same palace number over and over. "Henry will know where we are and he'll come get us at once!"

"We've got no way to reach him," Mary said sensibly. "I think our phones are dead. Our staff forgot to charge them. We'll have to walk back to the road and flag down someone to help us."

"Walk? In these heels?" Jane looked doubtfully at her designer pumps, which featured sexy and fashionable four-inch heels.

"I'll go." Mary was wearing flat shoes and a practical gray dress.

"But it's raining." Jane hesitated, her fingers fretting with the heavy collection of priceless gems that ornamented her slim neck. "All right, you may go. But please hurry, Mary. And please, please be careful! You may not know it, but your father loves you more than his entire kingdom. If anything were to happen to you . . ."

"It won't." Mary didn't like tears or scenes. But when she leaned over to kiss her stepmother, Jane hugged her so hard that she felt the hot sting in her eyes. Mary knew that her young stepmother was not always very sensible, but she really was very sweet.

Jane listened to the sound of her brave, sensible stepdaughter splashing off into the dark. Mary had grown so much since they first met. Jane hated sending the girl away. She hated being alone. Yet sending the only child of her adored husband away was the only way she could face what she was about to do.

"Hello, beautiful," said a sinister male voice from the darkness.

Mary was soaking wet by the time she reached the road. She realized now that it might have been better to stay in the limousine until help arrived. The icy rain was drenching her, yet Mary was too stubborn to quit. The queen was counting on her. Jane was gentle and good and made her father very happy. But more than that, Jane was a friend. Mary was shivering by the time she saw the bright headlights coming towards her.

"Mary! Mary, my child!" The king was out of the car at once, wrapping a warm waterproof cloak around his shivering daughter. "Jamil Khan, take care of her. The rest of you, come with me!"

Down on her knees, Jane was crying in the ice-cold rain.

"That's it, baby. You remember how I like it. Oh, yeah!"

Shamefully, Jane remembered everything. George had been her first. Early in her modeling career, she had flown to a shoot down under, falling in love overnight with the carefree Australian lifestyle and the naughty, bad-boy photographer who seemed to snap pictures of everything they did together. Yet it wasn't the damned pictures that made her moan in anguish as she allowed herself to pleasure the sleazy blackmailer, willingly taking his slick, swollen flesh into her hot and trembling mouth.

Jane was moaning because she knew she could never go home. She was moaning because the wicked thrill of George in her mouth was never going to replace the love she felt for Harry and his daughter. She was moaning because she was weak, and wicked, and part of her still enjoyed the feeling of being truly bad.

Jane was so wrapped up in her own bad behavior that when the gunshot rang out she half-hoped the bullet was meant for her. Instead it was George who fell over dead, a smile still on his face.

"Come on, Jane. On your feet. Let's get you home."

It was a rainy night. The king put away his pistol and wrapped a cloak around his wife. But Jane could not stop sobbing.