His hands fell away. He gave the front of her gown a critical onceover. “That will do for now. It’s after midnight, and the fog is quite thick. No one will notice you once we are outside.”

“Midnight?” She reached down to the small chatelaine watch pinned to the waist of her gown. When she saw that he was right about the time, she shuddered. “I arrived at eight, as instructed. Dear heaven, I have lost four hours.”

“I apologize for the delay in my own arrival. I did not get word that you were missing until an hour ago.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Later. Put your shoes on. We have an unpleasant walk ahead of us before we are free of this place.”

She did not argue. She lifted her skirts and petticoats and shoved one stocking-clad foot into a boot. She did not bother with the laces.

Owen contemplated the body on the bed while he waited. “You’re sure you are unhurt?”

She blinked, trying to comprehend the lethal edge on his words.

“He did not rape me, if that is what you are wondering,” she said crisply. “You will have noticed that he is still fully clothed.”

“Yes, of course,” Owen said. He turned back to her, his odd eyes even colder than usual. “Sorry. It is just that for the past few hours I have been consumed with the sensation that something was wrong. When I came through the door a moment ago, I discovered that I was right.”

“You were too late to save his lordship, do you mean, sir?”

“No, Miss Dean, too late to save you. Fortunately, you were able to save yourself.”

She got her other foot into the second boot. “I certainly do not mourn Hollister. I believe he was a monster. But I cannot take the credit for his current condition.”

“Yes, I can see that now,” Owen said with a chilling calmness.

“Do not pretend to humor me, sir.” She leaned down to scoop up her heavy cloak. “I want to make it quite clear that I did not murder his lordship.”