Dancing at Midnight (15 page)

that he could make it on his own, that he didn't need to inherit a title

and an estate to become a gentleman.

But in coming to Bletchford Manor he'd met Belle, and it was almost as

if the gods were laughing at him, calling out, "See, you'll never really

make it, John. /This /is what you'll never have."

He squeezed his eyes shut. He had done the right thing, hadn't he?

He knew he'd hurt her. The pain in her eyes had been naked and raw. He

could still see her face in his mind. And then Belle

was joined by Ana, her eyes silently condemning him. "Noooo," she

moaned. "Noooo." And then the voice of her mother—

/"It might as well have been you."/

John wrenched his eyes open, trying to banish the women from his mind.

He had done the right thing. He could never be the

pure soul Belle deserved. A scene from his dream flashed in his mind. He

was on top of her. She was screaming.

He had done the right thing. His desire for her was too intense. She

would have broken under the force of his passion.

A dull, hollow ache formed in his chest, squeezing at his lungs. In one

fluid motion, he mounted his stallion and took off at a speed even

faster than Belle's. As he crashed through the forest, the leaves

whipped viciously at his face, but John ignored them, accepting the pain

as penance due.

*

*

*

*

*Chapter 9

*

Belle had no memory of her breakneck gallop home. She rode without care

to her own safety; all that seemed to matter was getting back to

Westonbirt and putting as much distance between herself and John

Blackwood as possible.

But once she arrived home and raced up die stairs she realized that

Westonbirt was not far enough. How could she bear to

remain with her cousins when the man who had broken her heart was only a

short ride away?

She stormed into her room, pulling off her cloak with a vicious tug, and

proceeded to grab three valises from her dressing room. Furiously she

began to stuff dresses into them.

"My lady, my lady, what are you doing?"

Belle looked up. Her lady's maid was standing in the doorway, a

horrified expression on her face. "I'm packing," she snapped. "What does

it look like I'm doing?"

Mary rushed in and tried to grab the valise away. "But my lady, you

don't know how to pack."

Belle felt hot tears pricking her eyes. "How difficult can it be?!" she

burst out.

"You need trunks for those gowns, my lady, or you'll crush them."

Belle dropped her bags, feeling suddenly deflated. "Fine. Yes. Of

course. You're right."

"My lady?"

Belle swallowed, trying to keep her emotions inside, if only until she

could get to another room. "Just pack everything as you

see fit. I'll leave just as soon as the duke and duchess return." With

that, she rushed from the room, running down the hallway

until she reached Emma's office, where she sequestered herself, sobbing

furiously for the rest of the day.

Emma and Alex didn't return for a week. Belle didn't know what she did

during that time to keep herself occupied. Mostly

she just stared out the window.

When Emma arrived, she was naturally perplexed at the sight of Belle's

bags, packed and neatly stacked in a small storage

room off the main hallway. She immediately sought her cousin out.

"Belle, what is the meaning of all this? And why are you wearing my dress?"

Belle looked down at the violet frock she was wearing. "I packed all of

mine."

"Exactly. Why?"

"I can't stay here."

"Belle, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I have to go to London. Tomorrow."

"What? Tomorrow? Does this have something to do with Lord Blackwood?"

Belle's immediate aversion of her head was all Emma needed to know that

she was correct. "What happened?"

Belle swallowed nervously. "He humiliated me."

"Oh, my Lord, Belle. He didn't..."

"No. But I wish I had. Then he'd have to marry me, and I—" She broke off

with a sob.

"Belle, you don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying! Why is it that no one can credit me

with the ability to know my own mind?"

Emma's eyes widened at her cousin's loss of composure. "Perhaps you

should tell me what conspired during my absence."

In a shaky voice Belle related her tale. By the time she was finished,

her voice was so racked with emotion that she had to

sit down.

Emma perched herself on the end table next to Belle's chair and placed

her hand gently on her arm. "We'll leave for London immediately," she

said quietly.

For the first time in a week Belle felt a glimmer of life within her.

Somehow she felt that she might be able to heal herself if

she could just get away from the scene of her heartbreak. She looked

over at Emma. "Alex won't like your going."

"No, he won't, but you haven't left me much choice now, have you?"

"He could come with us. I wouldn't mind."

Emma sighed. "I think he has some important estate business that he has

to conduct here."

Belle knew how much her cousin hated to be separated from her husband,

but still, she was desperate to get away.

"I'm sorry," she said lamely.

"It's all right." Emma stood and straightened her shoulders. "We'll make

plans to leave tomorrow." Belle felt tears forming in

her eyes. "Thank you."

Belle had been correct about one thing: Alex hadn't liked his wife

hightailing it off to London one bit. Belle had no idea what

had transpired between them in the privacy of their own chamber, but

when the two ladies headed down the steps the next

day to their carriage, Alex was not in a good mood.

"One week," he said warningly. "One week, and I'm coming to get you."

Emma placed her hand on his arm and told him to hush. "Darling, you know

that my aunt and uncle aren't returning for a

fortnight. I can't come home until then."

"One week."

"You can come and visit me."

"One week." And then he kissed her with so much passion that Belle blushed.

*  *  *

Soon the two ladies were comfortably ensconced in the Blydon house in

Grosvenor Square. Now that she was some distance away from John, Belle

felt herself growing stronger, but she could not shake off the

melancholy which pervaded her spirit.

Emma was doing her best to be insufferably cheerful, but she obviously

missed Alex. He wasn't helping at all, sending notes

twice a day telling her that he missed her and would she please come

home where she belonged.

Belle made no effort to let anyone know that she was back in town, but

on her third day back, her butler informed her that she

had a visitor.

"Really?" she asked without much interest. "Who?"

"He asked that he be allowed to surprise you, my lady."

Her heart slammed in her throat. "Did he have brown hair and brown

eyes?" she asked frantically.

"He did wish it to be a surprise."

Belle was so nervous she actually grabbed the butler and shook him. "Did

he? Please, you must tell me."

"Yes, my lady, he did."

She dropped her hands and sank into a nearby chair. "Tell him I don't

wish to see him."

"But I thought Mr. Dunford had always been a special friend of yours, my

lady. I shouldn't like to send him away."

"Oh, it's Dunford." Belle sighed, relief and disappointment both flowing

through her. "Tell him I'll be right down." After a

moment or two, she rose and went to her mirror to check her appearance

quickly. William Dunford had been a close friend of hers for several

years. They had courted briefly but had quickly realized that they would

not suit and decided not to ruin their friendship by pursuing a romance

any further. He was also Alex's best friend and had played a

considerable role in the not so

easy task of helping Alex and Emma find their way to the altar.

"Oh, Dunford, it's so good to see you!" Belle exclaimed as she entered

the salon where he was waiting. She crossed the room

to give him a quick hug.

"It's good to see you again, too, Belle. Did you enjoy your spell of

rustication with the newly-weds?"

"Westonbirt was lovely," Belle answered automatically, sitting down on a

sofa. "Although there was an uncommon amount of rain."

Dunford plopped down lazily into a comfortable chair. "Well, this is

England, after all."

"Yes," Belle replied, but her mind was a thousand miles away.

After a full minute of waiting patiently, Dunford finally said, "Hello?

Belle? Yoo-hoo."

Belle snapped back into the present. "What? Oh, I'm sorry, Dunford. I

was just thinking."

"And obviously not about me."

She smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry."

"Belle, is something wrong?"

"Everything is fine."

"Everything is not fine, that much is clear." He paused and then smiled.

"It's a man, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Aha! I see that I am correct."

Belle knew she had no chance fooling him, but she nonetheless felt she

ought to give it at least a weak try. "Maybe."

"Ho!" Dunford chortled. "This is rich. After years of men falling

prostrate at your feet out of love and devotion, little Arabella

has finally been felled herself."

"This isn't funny, Dunford."

/"Au contraire. /It's most amusing."

"You make me sound like some kind of heartless ice princess."

"No, of course not, Belle," he said, immediately contrite. "I must

admit, you have always been uncommonly nice to every pimply-faced boy

who has ever asked you to dance."

"Thank you. I think."

"It's probably why so many pimply-faced boys ask you to dance."

"Dunford," Belle warned.

"It's just that after God knows how many proposals, none of which you

showed the least inclination of accepting, ifs amusing

to see you similarly besotted." After his long explanation Dunford sat

back. When Belle offered no comment, he added,

"It is a man, isn't it?"

"What—as opposed to a woman?" Belle snapped. "Of course it's a man."

"Well, I could have been completely off the mark. Your favorite spaniel

could have died."

"I don't have a spaniel," Belle said peevishly. "It's a man."

"Doesn't he return your affections?"

"No." Her voice was heartbreakingly sad.

"Are you certain?"

"I have reason to believe that he"— Belle chose her words

carefully—"cares for me, but he feels that he cannot act on that emotion."

"Sounds like a chap with a little too much honor for his own good."

"Something like that."

"Out of curiosity, Belle, just what is it about this fellow that has you

so enamored of him?"

Her face immediately softened. "I don't know, Dunford. I really don't.

He has this marvelous sense of honor. And humor, too.

He teases me, not in a malicious way, of course, and lets me tease him

back. And there is something so good in him. He can't

see it, but I can. Oh, Dunford, he /needs /me."

Dunford was silent for a moment. "I'm sure that all is not lost. We can

make him come about."

"We?"

He shot her a roguish smile. "This sounds like the most fun I've had in

years."

"I'm not sure it's worth the effort."

"Of course it is."

"I'm not sure I want him back."

"Of course you do. Were you listening to your own words not thirty

seconds ago?"

"I wish I were as confident as you are."

"Look, Belle, you've been telling me for the last two years that you

want a love match. Are you really going to throw it all

away over a little pride?"

"I could find somebody nice to marry," Belle said, rather

unconvincingly. "I'm sure I could. Men ask me all the time. I wouldn't

be unhappy."

"Maybe not. But you wouldn't be happy either."

Belle slumped. "I know."

"We'll set my plan into motion tonight."

"What exactly does this plan entail?"

"The way I see it, if this man—just what is his name, anyway?"

"John."

Dunford smirked. "Really, Belle, you can do better than that."

"No, really," Belle protested. "His name really is John. You can ask Emma."

"All right then, if this John fellow really does care for you, he's

going to be blindingly jealous when he hears that you're

planning to get married, even if he is trying to be noble by giving you up."

"An interesting plan, but who am I going to marry?"

"Me."

Belle shot him a look of utter disbelief. "Oh, /please."/

"I didn't mean we would really get married," Dunford retorted. And then

he added somewhat defensively, "And you don't have

to sound quite so disgusted with the idea. I'm considered a reasonably

good catch, you know. I simply meant that we could

start a rumor that we were planning to wed. If John really wants you, it

should do the trick."

"I don't know," Belle hedged. "What if he doesn't really want me? What

then?"

"Why, you jilt me, of course."

"You wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not. It would do wonders for my social life, actually. I'd

have scores of pretty little things coming by to offer me consolation."