1:40am...

I should be dreaming about making lasagne right now...(seriously, if anyone can interpret that dream, I would be much amused...perhaps I should enter Master Chef...)

Thank you so much for your reviews!

This is certainly one of the hardest stories I've written and hearing your opinions makes all the difference!

Thank you and I appreciate every single one!

Do enjoy :D

Groove Addicts - Wings of Glory (Because epic trailer music makes sharpening a pencil seem like saving the world!)

Scala - With or Without You (This is a Belgian women's choir. I'm quite picky about choir sounds...heh...but they are good!)

"Isabella!"

I screamed harder. Edward. Murderer! His arms were clamped tight around my body, his hand on my mouth.

"Isabella!" he cried again.

I bit into the soft flesh of his palm. He cursed and dropped me for only a second.

I stumbled forward into Mrs Maple. The body swung. Her dead limbs hit me. I cried out. Edward's hand snatched at my wrist. "Let go of me!" I screamed. "Let go!"

"Isabella! It's not me!" The one candle in the room only showed me his outline, his raging green eyes. "Isabella!"

I thrashed against him, "You murderer!" I spat. The dagger! I remembered. With my free hand, I tore the blade from my calf. My arm swung haphazardly in an arc as he pulled at me, and the blade barely cut his cheek. He swore again, but did not relent. Instead he grabbed my wrist and pressed his nails in, forcing the dagger to clatter to the ground.

"Be still, damn you!" he shouted, and then quickly brought my wrists behind my back and tugged so that I knew that in a single moment he could snap my bones.

"Bastard!" I wailed, helpless.

"I did not do this, Isabella!" Edward roared.

"Lying bastard!"

He tugged me roughly around so that I was fully facing Mrs Maple's body. "Do you think I wrote that?"

It was then that I saw a piece of parchment, pinned to the crone's chest with a black hilted knife.

My Lord Masen,

Another one gone, and still you are no closer.

Let your guilt be calmed, though; you needed her knowledge dead, anyway.

For my favour, you are welcome.

"You could have written it," I croaked.

"You know I didn't," Edward breathed. His voice sounded strained.

Suddenly, hot tears began snaking down my face. I stared at Mrs Maple's eyes. She stared back, blank. "I don't understand," I whispered. A sob racked my throat. "I don't understand!"

Edward dropped my hands from his hold, and instead turned me around and pulled me to his chest.

I clasped my hands around his face and buried my face in the rough fabric of his doublet. Sobs shook my shoulders.

I felt Edward's fingers weave through my hair, cradling my head as if I were a child. "I promise I will explain everything," he murmured. "Everything I know."

I just clutched him closer still, as if without him I would simply fall to a million pieces.

"We must go," he said after only a second more.

I pulled back, "But what about...about..." I could not even say her name. But Edward nodded grimly and, leaving me, ripped the note from Mrs Maple's chest. I turned away as he began to detach Mrs Maple from the chain on which she hung.

I stared into a black corner of the room. From the way my screams had sounded, the room must have been large. In the half light, I could see chains hanging from the wall...and cuffs. What was this place?

"Isabella," Edward murmured. He had lain Mrs Maple down on the floor and covered her face with a piece of white cloth. It looked too clean and pure in a place this dark.

Shakily, I came and stood next to him. "God bless you," I whispered, my voice cracking. "Find peace."

"I am sorry," Edward said quietly to the dead woman, his voice raw with guilt. Then he took my hand and led me back up the steps, through the dark workshop and out into the frozen air of the night.

It was a relief to be outside again. A relief to be alive.

Edward's black stallion stood patiently around the corner, the breath coming from its huge nostrils was white in the air.

I hesitated, stopping in my tracks.

It was ridiculous, really, that after the night I had had I was still afraid to get on such a beast.

Edward turned, frowning. He must have remembered my previous experiences with the damned thing, for his expression softened. "He won't hurt you."

I gulped, and let him lift me up into the saddle. I realized that the last time I had been upon a horse was after I had been shot. And now, just like then, Edward swung himself up behind me and put a muscled arm around my waist. The horse whinnied and changed its footing, jogging me. But I knew I would not fall, not with Edward behind me.

I felt him kick the horse's side, "En piste!" he commanded, and we set off.

Once again, I felt as though Edward was the only thing keeping me from breaking as we road through the silent, misted streets of Southwark. I felt stiff and frozen. Like I couldn't breathe. The beat of his heart against my back, his warm breath on my neck, his strong arms holding me...he kept the horrible image of those empty eyes at bay...just.

Rain began to spatter down as we emerged onto the side of the Thames. I let it run down my face and through my hair.

It wasn't until we reached London Bridge that some more conscious part of me realized we had been taking a different route to the one I knew, but I did not ask.

We rode the in silence, the horse's clopping hooves and the patter of rain were the only sounds through the streets. We never took main roads, instead Edward navigated easily through dark alleyways and backstreets until we emerged once again onto the manicured, clean street where the Cullen Mansion presided over all the other houses, its lanterns still burning in the porch.

Edward rode around to the stables, the guard letting him without any questions and went to fetch a stable boy.

Edward lifted me off outside the doors. I did not fall this time, but simply stood there, still feeling frozen.

"Isabella," Edward said after giving his reigns to a bedraggled boy. He came round to stand in front of me, and gently hooked a finger under my chin, pulling my face up to look at him. I could only guess what he saw. Emptiness, I suppose. The same emptiness that was echoing through my whole body now. "Do you truly wish me to tell you all tonight?" he asked softly. A rain drop slid from his lip. "You have been through so much."

"I would not sleep tonight regardless," I whispered.

He studied my face sadly, and then put his arm around my waist and gently guided me through the back door. It was strange to be in a well-lit, extravagantly furnished home after my time in the Noble's House.

The scent of roses floated through the hallway, and the candles lit up the papered walls. Edward led me through to the drawing room, where only a week ago I had sat and listened to Lady Alice playing her harpsichord. The fire still crackled in the hearth, though I doubted the residents of the house were awake. I did not know the time, but it felt so very late and dark.

Only a few candles were lit in here, and so the room was bathed in warm firelight. Edward sat me down in the cushioned seat closest to the hearth.

"I will be back," Edward said to me, brushing my cheek with his finger as he left.

It was only as Edward helped me to sit that I realized that I was shaking. Mrs Maple. Those eyes. Those dead eyes. They stared at me through my memory. Haunting me.

I unclasped my cloak with trembling fingers and let it fall from my back. I had forgotten I was in my nightgown, its thin fabric giving me little warmth or dignity.

Edward returned with a maid trailing behind him, carrying a tray with two silver cups on it. She put it on the side table, bobbed a curtsy and left.

Edward saw my state of dress. Silently, he took a burgundy blanket from one of the chairs and gently put it around my shoulders.

I looked down as his hands slid along the fabric, even though it was hardly a touch.

Then he took one of the cups and handed it to me. It was mulled wine, it seemed. "Drink," he said.

I did not wish to, but I knew well enough by now not to deny him. I put the cup to my lips and sipped. The liquid flooded warmth through my body.

"You should not have had to see that," Edward said quietly, pulling up a chair to sit in front me.

"You see it all the time," I whispered, staring at the wine.

He nodded, "I do."

"Do you not feel sick with yourself?" I could not keep the venom from my voice, even when I had had no intention of it being there. I looked up.

His eyes met my gaze, pained and honest, "Every second of every day, Isabella."

I bit my lip, looking away again. "So why, then?" I asked quietly.

Edward sighed, "Oh, if I could only keep you pure and innocent of all this."

"But I am not," I said.

He gazed at me sadly, "Indeed you are not..." he hesitated, and then leaned forward. "Isabella, I do not know what you will wish to do once you know everything. And I would not stop you if you wished to leave this damned place and never see London again. But I must beg of you one thing, Isabella; you must never tell anyone what I am now going to tell you. Not for me," he said. "God knows that I do not deserve anything from you. But for those under my protection who would suffer if the truth was found out."

I stared into my cup for a moment, and then looked at him, "I will do what is right."

Edward gave me a dark look for a second, and I wondered if perhaps he would refuse to tell me now. But then he sat back, "I should have known you would say that. You are more honourable than your station requires of you."

I said nothing.

He took his cup of wine from the tray and started tracing his finger around the rim – that curious habit I had noted on my first night here. He began, "The Masen family has been noble for a long time. We've never been high up, though some of us would have wished we were. It is hard to break through the tight circles of the upper court, though."

Edward looked away distastefully, "My father, though, was good at such things. He developed contacts, made deals, wormed his way into power. We were reaching higher, coming closer and closer to the Queen's inner circle when one day my father said something which wasn't to her liking. In the Queen's usual way she reacted harshly. We lost all our lands, our houses, our money. And we had no one to help us. My Lady Esme, my father's sister, was already married to Carlisle, and he had never liked my father. He refused to help. Said there were worthier causes. And so we lost everything."

"So you became poor?" I said, finally understanding it all. "That's why you help the poor and – "

"No, Isabella," he stopped me, shaking his head. "If only it had been so romantic and simple...so very right. But no. My father was left enough money to have one home of a reasonable size. But there was no way he could make any more money to make his way back into the Queen's company. So he used the money instead to buy a sword smiths."

"Anthony Masen and his son," I muttered.

Edward nodded, "Quite right." He pulled out something from his belt – the dagger, I realized. He spun it between his fingers, watching as the engraving blurred. "It was one of the few blades I ever made."

"You made?" I asked.

Edward looked at me with a dry smile, "Of course. My father was above that kind of work. He found the money to hire someone to teach me how, and then sat up in the chambers above the shop and drank himself into oblivion."

"That's...impressive," I said, gazing at the blade. Made by those hands...

My Lord laughed, "It took me a while. And this blade – " he tapped the black leather hilt of his broadsword. "Took almost the entire year we were in that house for."

"Only a year?"

He nodded, looking into the firelight, "You see, perhaps six months after our fall from grace, this girl knocked on the door. I was in the back of the shop, working on your dagger, but I heard some sort of argument going on between her and my father. I looked out, but only for a moment." Edward suddenly put his head in his hand. "She was so skinny, so frail...and she was only twelve, if not younger. Too young. All I know is that I heard her cry and then the basement door slamming shut."

The basement where Mrs Maple's body is now lying...

"My father came upstairs to me, and told me that I was not to go down to the basement. That there was a person in there who he was deciding what to do with and that I was not allowed to interact with in any way. Vermin, he called her."

"And did you?" I asked. My cup was cradled against my chest now, my chin resting on the silver rim. "Did you save her?"

Edward shut his eyes, a vein in his jaw popping out, "No." His voice sounded racked with pain. He looked at me, "I did nothing. I followed my father's orders, and didn't go near the basement. Even when I heard her weeping. I did nothing." He looked away. "And then one day, maybe three days afterward, she was just gone. And that night we dined well, with wine and peacock, when all we'd had for months had been mead and stale bread."

"Edward," I whispered, scared for what I would next hear.

He gave a shaky breath, "And from there on, we dined well almost every night. And more people started coming to the sword smith. I don't know why – the promise of free ale was what I heard one man say as my father led him in. I heard the cellar door open often after that. More and more often. My father eventually told me to stop making swords and daggers – he said we did not need them anymore."

"You did not ask why?" I said.

"No," Edward replied. "My father was not to be questioned. Ever. You understand, Isabella...I had been brought up this way. To only observe and learn. To never disobey. And to never question. We were nobility – far above these rats my father locked up. Aside from the sword smith I had been taught by, who was a pretty rough man himself, I had had no interaction with these people. I trusted my father to know which people mattered in the world and which people didn't."

"But – " I began.

"I did not say it was an excuse, Isabella," Edward said. "But it is the truth."

I looked down, knowing his words were fair, "Forgive me," I said quietly. "I am wrong to judge what I do not understand."

Edward looked at me, his emerald eyes calm, "You are not to be blamed for thinking badly of me, Isabella. I feel sick with myself over my lack of morals...my lack of caring for my own race. But I knew nothing else. It was only the girl who stayed in my mind. Because I saw her...and she was so young." He cleared his throat, pushing back the pain in his eyes.

"Anyway, I stayed in the back of the shop. I had finished my sword, and I trained with it. I knew very little in the way of sword fighting, but it did not matter when I spent so much time with it. It blotted out the noise of the people who came through. And there were so many by that point..."

Edward took another swig of wine and put his cup down on the tray. "And then one day my father told me to pack up my belongings – that we had a house once more. The one they now call the Noble's House, though I believe at the time it was called Durberry. I found out later that my father had been careful – there was no way you could trace his name back to that house. That's why it is now perfect for my own use. But then it was because if things went amiss, he wanted a hiding place where he wouldn't be found.

"From that time onward, I was out of what was happening. I had no knowledge of any goings on. Only that we were getting richer. And then lords began visiting. All my father told me was that they were there to do business with him, and that I was not to disturb them. I began to spend time with my aunt, Lady Esme, and then more with Lord Carlisle himself, who spoke to me long about the faults of society."

He traced the carving on the side of the chair's arm. "It was a night in midwinter when I finally found out the truth. My father had had to make an unexpected trip out of town. The lords he had been dealing with had managed to sweet talk the Queen into reinstating us, and he was out fixing up our estate. And so I was alone in the house when Lord Golding came knocking."

"Lord Golding?" I repeated, frowning. "He was the one in the Swan..."

Edward nodded, "The world could not miss that bastard. But at the time, he was my father's friend – to be feared and respected. He went into the drawing room and began drinking my father's wine. As he drunk more and more his fat tongue became looser and looser, and he began to speak of my father's doings. The amount of money he was bringing in. The number of 'exports'..."

Abruptly, Edward stood up and went to the fire, putting his hand upon the mantel piece. His knuckles grew white with the tension. "I will never forget his words," he said, his head bowed, his anguished eyes lit by the flames. "'Good thing your sister was there to give him the idea.'"

I froze in my seat. "'Sister,'" I whispered. No...oh God no... "The girl..."

Edward nodded, his body rigid. "My own sister. It was my own sister who walked into the shop that day. My own sister who had been arguing with my father. Who he threw in the basement and sold." His breaths were loud and heavy now, "And I did nothing. My sister."

"Edward," I breathed, and rose from my seat. Tentatively, I touched his hand. It released its grip on the stone. Gently, I reached up to touch his cheek. I heard his breath slow and I turned his face to mine. I fixed my gaze with his, much like he had done to me so many times. "It was not your fault," I said quietly. "This was not your fault."

"How can it not be?" he replied. "When I could have prevented it."

I shook my head, keeping my hand on his cheek, his stubble scratching my palm. "You were a boy, and you knew nothing else. Like you just said."

"She was my blood, Isabella," he said. "My kin. It is different."

"No," I whispered. "Not when you didn't know."

"I should have," he muttered savagely, moving away from me. My hand dropped limply to my side. "It was so obvious – Anthony Masen's bastard daughter coming to his door and begging for money when she was on death's door. No wonder my father hid her. Bastard!" he spat, suddenly slamming his hand into the top of the chair. I stepped back.

He slowed then, and took a deep breath, looking at me, "Forgive me," he said softly. "I did not mean to act so." He gave me a dry smile. "You have hardly seen the gentlemanly courtier in me, my Lady."

"You needn't show it to me," I said. "I am not a lady. Just a very fortunate orphan."

"I suppose that makes two of us," Edward said, gesturing for me to sit again. He did, too, though I could see the rigidity was still there.

"Your father died of a disease?" I recalled.

He frowned, "Who told you that?"

"Lady Alice," I said.

Edward nodded, "That would explain it. I would never want her to know. I can save her from this darkness, at least." He took a breath and stroked his jaw, "After Golding had said that, I plied him to tell me more. He did not reveal anything, though; he just laughed at me and told me not to look so stricken – bastards were mistakes only redeemed by their dispensability."

Suddenly any sickness I had for Edward murdering that man left me. He was not worthy of life.

"My father returned home shortly after Golding left," Edward said. His hands clutched the arms of the chair now. "I confronted him in the drawing room – threw him down into a chair and put my sword to his throat and demanded he told me where we were getting the money from."

It took very little imagination to see a younger Edward in a better-furnished version of the drawing room – more like the one we sat in now – holding his blade to an unattractive, horrible man's neck. This image...it did not repel me as it should have done. For I knew that had I been a boy in such a situation, I would have done the same thing.

"He was calmer than I thought he'd be," Edward said, his eyes deep in memory. "He easily told me of how he had been stealing people off the streets of London and shipping them away to foreign countries. The men turned into labourers, the women and girls into prostitutes."

"A slave trade?" I breathed. "But I thought it was only from Africa...who would buy English slaves?"

"You would be surprised. English are some sort of a delicacy to other countries. A woman's fair skin makes her more desirable in brothels overseas. Men can be used as soldiers or labourers. And they are far less expensive than slaves from Africa when you need only sail them across the Channel and into Europe.

"Into Europe?" I repeated.

Edward nodded, "Do not presume that Europeans are any less barbaric than those of the New World, Isabella. They want the cheapest labour possible. They might not be low enough to enslave their own countrymen, but the English are hated by many. And my father was low enough. He realized a trade far more lucrative and cheaper than trading crops or materials. He laughed as he said how he couldn't believe no one else had thought of it.

"London is a pool of free bodies, Isabella, all ripe for the taking. No one will miss them – no one with any power – and they don't put up much of a fight, such is their strength. It is like leaving a field full of fur coats for anyone to take."

"But how did he transport them?" I asked. "Surely people must have noticed?"

"Yes," Edward said. "The right people, though. The Lords who became his circle of contacts. From what little information I have uncovered since, my father sold the first instalments to foreign, illegal traders upon the Thames. They had no quarrels transporting slaves – I can only guess that they were already importing illegal goods anyway. But eventually the Lord who ran the port at the time found out. Lord Gurchison."

"Oh," I said quietly. The man who Edward had killed on my first night here.

"He had been having issues with the Poor Laws at court, and he found my father's trade a perfect solution to rid his port of the poor. He allowed my father to smuggle them onto ships providing he took as many poor as possible from the port, to lower the amount of tax Gurchison was having to pay. And then more Lords heard of my father's services – here and abroad. I know that there is an earl in the New World who requested a shipment of British slaves for his new plantation – he didn't trust the foreign slaves, apparently. I found the letter in my father's office shortly after..." he stopped, his jaw going taut.

"After?" I asked, unable to contain myself. A whole new, dark world had just been revealed to me. Right here, in the heart of London.

Edward was standing again. "I asked him about my sister," he said quietly, staring into the flames of the fire. "His daughter. I asked him what had happened to her. He laughed." Edward hissed out a breath, his chest rising and falling heavily.

"He laughed. And told me many things had probably happened to her. She had been his first sale. She had found out he was her father and had come begging for food. Having no money, the last thing he needed was a little girl who by law he was meant to feed. So he had locked her in the basement while he'd worked out what to do. He said he'd walked by the docks, and joked with one of the traders about him having any use for a little girl..." Edward seemed to choke on his words. "He asked if she was a...a virgin."

"Oh my Lord," I whispered.

"My plate and cup were filled by the rape of my sister," Edward spat. "And my father did not care. After he had told me of her sale, he just looked at me and said 'At least the bitch was worth something.'"

Edward stilled. It was eerie...his fist relaxed, and he looked at me, his eyes almost blank, except for a slight feel of...haunting. "That," he said quietly. "Was when I stabbed him."

"You...you killed him?" my words tripped over one another.

Edward nodded, "And as the blood poured out from that cold, shit-filled heart, he looked at me and...he almost looked like a real father."

Edward dropped back down in his chair, looking defeated, confused...a boy again. A boy who had just taken his father's life. "And then he smiled...the kind of caring smile my mother had a long, long time ago. As if he loved me. And everything, everything he just told me was forgotten and he was just the one person I had ever trusted. And he just whispered 'Your brother will take care of you'...and then he died."

The fire crackled in the hearth.

Questions cried out in my mind, but my lips did not speak.

"I do not know where such a brother is," Edward said eventually, shifting in his seat. "I do not even know if he exists. If my father was just delirious. But it is not unlikely that he made more than one bastard." Edward gave a bitter laugh, "In fact, I can think of nothing more likely. But I will never know. I could find no trace of him. I suspect that he was sold – that seems like the easiest way to rid oneself of bastards these days."

"And your sister?" I asked tentatively.

Edward shook his head, "I do not even know her name. I have tried to find the trader who shipped her off, but my father knew how to cover his tracks. Even if I did know which ship she left on, I would have no clue where she was, or if she even survived the voyage."

"I'm so sorry," I whispered.

He looked up at me from his hunched position. "I am not deserving of any pity, Isabella. However much good I do, however many lives I save...it will never balance the scales against my passiveness when hundreds of people were being crammed into that basement and being sold. I did nothing. And now it has started again, and again I have done nothing that has been any help."

"So that is why you are killing nobles," I said. It felt like years since I asked that question. "They are your father's associates..."

Edward nodded, "Once I heard reports of the disappearances starting again, it was if my father had returned, as if somehow he had lived. The way they are conducted is too similar. Youths and younger adults being targeted. The prettier women. The disappearances being in crowded places, where one would assume one was safe. The taking of multiple family members...and none of them, none of them ever returning. These are not muggings or rapes or hostages. These are mass kidnappings. Just like my father."

Edward sighed, "The only people who know of my father's scheming other than me and Carlisle are the lords my father had once made deals with."

"One of them is the Snatcher?"

"Yes," he said. "But I have killed many already and still the snatching continues. So all I can do is keep killing...until I stop whoever is imitating my father."

I gazed at the man before me. The man people called the 'Noble Killer'. He is noble, I realized. He is noble even if he does not realize it. Even if events long passed keep him from feeling anything but guilt.

"You should go," Edward said, rising from his chair. "I make you stay when you must have no wish to be near me."

"Edward," I said quietly, standing. "I am sorry – "

"Isabella, I already said – "

"No," I whispered. "Do not silence me, for I wish you to hear my words." I watched him as he looked me up and down, surprised by my stubbornness. I swallowed, feeling my mouth go dry, "I am sorry for what I have said to you. Every stupid, uneducated word which has left my lips since I met you. I have called you a criminal when that is what you least are. I have cursed you and insulted you and brought you so close to death a number of times..." with a rush of pain, I realized just how close that had been. How stupid I had been.

"I could have ruined everything you have worked for, every life you have saved. I accused you of crimes that were your father's alone. Crimes that you are trying to rectify."

"Isabella – "

"I know you think that the scales would never balance after all the bad that has happened around you. But how can your scales be worse than mine, when I have spent my entire life in safety and warmth and never done a thing for anyone else?" I took a step toward him. "You are a good person. You are a good person in a world of selfish, single-minded people. You do good and you do not ask for anything in return. You are so good that you do not even think of yourself as so and – "

"Isabella," his voice was more powerful this time. Suddenly, his hands were holding my wrists, clasping them between us. His eye burned emerald bright. "You do not know what you speak of."

"But I do now," I said forcefully. "You cannot hide this from me any longer. You cannot allow me to confirm all your beliefs any longer."

"Isabella..." He breathed. And then his lips...his lips were on mine, warm and strong. I gasped. He let go of my wrists, instead putting his hands tight around my waist. My arms slid up and around his neck, the blanket falling to the ground. Our mouths danced against each other, and my heart swelled, almost to breaking point. So much emotion...inexplicable and glorious. Edward's fingers wove into my loose hair, pulling us even closer together.

"Edward," I heard myself sigh, my voice hardly recognizable.

"My love..."

That word...it seemed to awaken me, as much as it made my heart thud faster in ecstasy.

Edward pulled back as I did. We stared at each other, both our chests rising and falling quickly. I could not bring myself to look away from those emerald eyes, from their dark green depths. I knew his look echoed my own. Surprise...and discovery. Like nothing I had ever felt before...nothing...

There was a knock on the door.

I had been unaware that I had been clutching Edward's arms, but now my hands dropped as the door opened to admit Master Jacob Black, dressed in that same slightly-too-small jerkin I had seen him in last week...when I had been shot...

"Isabella!" he exclaimed, coming towards us as if nothing was out of the ordinary...as if my lips weren't swollen and my hair dishevelled...but perhaps that was just me feeling it. "You've returned!"

"Master Black," I said, bobbing in a curtsy which his station did not demand, but I felt incredibly apologetic. As if I had just committed a great sin...

He paused, stopping right between me and where Edward stood – from the corner of my eye, I saw he had frozen – and then laughed, his young eyes so carefree. "You needn't call me that anymore, my love."

Those two words were tossed in so easily that I simply stared at him. Who does he believe himself to be? We have barely met...

Master Black realized my confusion, "Oh," he said, glancing between me and Edward. "I assumed you knew..." he stopped at Edward. "I thought you were going to tell her?"

"'Tell me?'" I repeated, looking at Edward. "Tell me what?"

"Miss Swan..." Edward returned to his formal name for me. But his voice was racked with something close to regret, that and pain.

But Jacob Black cheerfully butted in, "Earlier today my Lord agreed to be my best man and even pay!"

I froze, "What for?" Oh Lord...Oh sweet God...

Master Black beamed at me and took my hands in his, "For our wedding, my Lady!"

Please review and tell me what you think! Your opinions are, as always, invaluable!

Hope you enjoyed :D Pas de Trois should be up soon! Have a good one!