Dancing at Midnight (17 page)

"She's thinking about getting married, actually."

/"What?"/

Emma found herself wishing that she had some way of capturing John's

expression, for truly it was priceless. "I said she's

thinking about getting married."

"I heard you," John snapped.

Emma smiled again.

"And who is the lucky man?"

"She wouldn't tell me, actually. She just said that it was someone she

met in London last week. An earl, I think, or maybe it

was a marquess. She's been going to quite a number of parties."

"Obviously." John didn't even make an effort to keep the sarcasm out of

his voice.

"She seems to be enjoying herself."

"She certainly wasted no time in finding herself a man," he said peevishly.

"Well, you know how it is."

"Know how what is?"

"Oh, love at first sight and all that."

"Yes," John said darkly.

"Actually," Emma said, leaning forward.

"What?"

/I'm brilliant, /Emma thought. /Absolutely brilliant. /"Actually," she

repeated. "She said he reminded her a little of you."

Fury, jealousy, outrage, and a hundred other nasty emotions raced

through John in exceedingly unhealthy proportions.

"How nice for her," he bit out icily.

"I knew you'd be pleased," Emma said in a breezy tone. "After all, you

two were such good friends."

"Yes, we were."

"I'll make sure that you get an invitation to the wedding. I'm certain

that it will mean a lot to Belle to have you there."

"I'll be busy then."

"But you don't know when the wedding will be. She hasn't set a date."

"I'll be busy," John repeated, his voice hard.

"I see."

"Yes, I'm sure you do." John wondered if Alex's wife was uncommonly

cruel or just exceedingly naive. "It has been very

kind of you to stop by with news of Belle, but I'm afraid I have

business I must attend to immediately."

"Yes, of course," Emma said, standing up with a sunny smile. "I shall

convey your best wishes to Belle." When he made no comment, she offered

him an innocent look and asked, "You do wish her the best, don't you?"

John only growled.

Emma stepped back and smothered a laugh. "I shall tell her you said

hello, then. And please do come and call soon. Alex would love to see

you, I'm sure." As she walked down the steps to her carriage, it

occurred to her that she'd better send Belle a note saying that John

would be arriving in London very, very soon.

John watched Emma disappear down the drive from his front steps. As soon

as she was gone from view, he swore viciously, kicked the side of his

house for good measure, and strode back to his study where he poured

himself a tall glass of whiskey.

"Goddamn, good for nothing, fickle female," he muttered, taking a

healthy swig. The liquor burned a trail down his throat, but

John could barely feel it.

"Getting married?" he said loudly. "Married? Ha! I hope she's

miserable." He drained the rest of the glass and poured a new one.

Unfortunately the whiskey did not dull the pain that was squeezing at

his heart. When he had told Belle that she'd be better off without him,

he'd never dreamed that it would be this excruciatingly painful to think

of her in another man's arms. Oh, he'd

figured that she would get married someday, but the image had been hazy

and unfocused. Now he couldn't get the picture of

her and this faceless earl or whoever he was out of his mind. He kept

seeing her smile in that impish way of hers and then lean

up to kiss him. And then once they were married, oh God, it was awful.

He could see Belle, nude in the candlelight, holding her arms out to

this stranger. And then her husband would cover her body with his and ...

John drained his second glass of whiskey. At least he didn't know what

this man looked like. He certainly didn't need to picture

the scene in any more vivid detail.

"Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn," he muttered, punctuating each "damn"

with a kick to the side of his desk. The desk won the battle handily,

being made of solid oak, and John's foot would no doubt show bruises the

next day.

Was it going to be like this for the rest of his life? He had gone into

the village the other day, and every woman had reminded

him of Belle.

He'd bumped into one who had eyes that were almost as blue. Another had

been just about her height. Would his heart lurch every time he saw a

blond woman across a crowd?

He sank down to the floor, leaning against the side of his desk. "I'm an

ass," he moaned. "An ass."

And that litany sounded in his mind until he finally fell asleep.

/He was walking through a house. It was lush, opulent. Intrigued, John

walked further./

/What was that strange thumping sound?/

/It was coming from a room at the end of the hall. He walked closer,

terrified by what he thought he might find there./

/Closer. Closer. It wasn't thumping, after all. John felt the fear begin

to drain from his body. It was ... dancing. Someone was dancing. He

could hear the music now./

/He pushed open the door. It was a ballroom. Hundreds of couples whirled

around in effortless waltzes. And

at the center../.

/His heart stopped. It was Belle./

/She looked so beautiful. She threw back her head and laughed. Had he

ever seen her so happy?/

/John moved closer. He tried to get a good look at her dance partner,

but the man's features were always blurred./

/One by one, the other couples dropped from view until there were only

three people left in the room. John,

Belle, and Him./

/He had to get away. He couldn't bear to watch Belle with her lover. He

tried to move, but his feet were glued

to the spot. He tried to look away, but his neck refused to twist./

/The music grew faster. The dancing couple whirled out of control

until... they weren't dancing./

/John narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look. What was happening?/

/The couple was arguing. Belle looked as if she were trying to explain

something to the man. And then he

hit her. The back of his hand slammed across her cheek, his rings

leaving red welts across her pale skin./

/John yelled out her name, but the couple didn't seem to hear him. He

tried to go to her, but the feet that

had just refused to carry him from the room wouldn't take him in the

opposite direction, either./

/The man hit her again, and she fell to the floor, her arms rising up to

shield her head. John reached out, but

his arms weren't nearly long enough. He called her name, over and over,

and then, blessedly, the couple

faded from view.

/

/

/

The next morning John woke up feeling not quite so sorry for himself,

although he did have a headache distinctly worthy of

pity, self or otherwise. He wasn't at all certain what he had dreamed

about last night, but whatever it was, it had left him

with the conviction that he wasn't going to sit around and watch Belle

throw her life away on some dissolute earl.

That he did not know for certain that her possible fiance was an earl or

that he was dissolute did not enter the picture. What

if he beat her? What if he forbade her to read? John knew that he wasn't

good enough for her, but he was no longer certain

that anyone else was, either. John, at least, would try to make her

happy. He would give her everything he had, give her

every piece of his soul that was still intact.

Belle belonged with someone who would appreciate her wit and wisdom as

well as her grace and beauty. He could just imagine her having to sneak

books into the house behind the back of her disapproving aristocratic

husband. He probably wouldn't even consult her on any important

decisions, feeling that a woman could not be intelligent enough to offer

a worthy opinion.

No, Belle needed him. He had to save her from a disastrous marriage. And

then, he supposed, he'd simply marry her himself.

John wasn't unaware that he was about to pull one of the greatest

about-faces in history. He could only hope that Belle would understand

that he had realized she'd had been right all along. People made

mistakes, didn't they? After all, he wasn't some infallible storybook hero.

*  *  *

"No, Persephone, I think you should stay away from lavender."

Belle and her companion had gone shopping. Persephone was eager to part

with some of the ample funds given to her by Alex.

"I've always liked lavender, though. It's one of my favorite colors."

"Well, then we shall find a gown with lavender accents, but I fear that

the color does not suit you as well as some others."

"What would you suggest?"

Belle smiled at the older woman as she fingered a bolt of dark green

velvet and held it up under her chin. She was quite

enjoying her time with Alex's maiden aunt, although it did at times seem

that their roles were reversed. Persephone constantly asked for her

opinion on all matters, from food to fashion to literature. She rarely

left Yorkshire, she'd explained, and had no

idea how to go about in London. Still, Persephone had a quick wit and an

understated sense of humor which entertained Belle

to no end.

But it wasn't Persephone's companionship which was bringing such a ready

smile to Belle's face that afternoon. She had just received an urgent

message from Emma instructing her to be ready for John's arrival any day

now. Apparently he had not

taken the news of her impending marriage well.

/Good, /Belle thought with not a little smugness. She shuddered to think

how she would have reacted had someone brought

her similar news of John. She probably would have wanted to scratch the

offending woman's eyes out. And she was not

normally a violent person.

"Do you really think this green will do the trick?" Persephone asked,

frowning at the fabric.

B6lle snapped out of her reverie. "Hmmm? Oh, yes. You've got such nice

green flecks in your eyes. I think it'll bring them out."

"Do you think so?" Persephone held up the bolt of velvet and looked in

the mirror, tilting her head in a decidedly feminine manner.

"Oh very much, and if you are so partial to lavender, perhaps you would

be willing to substitute this deep violet color. I think it

will look lovely on you."

"Hmm, maybe you're right. I do adore violets. I've always worn violet

scented perfume."

Persephone's interest sufficiently engaged, Belle wandered over to

Madame Lambert, the not entirely French proprietress

of the shop.

"Ah, Lady Arabella," she gushed. "Eet eez so good to see you again. We

have not seen you for many months."

"I've been out in the country," Belle replied congenially. "But if I

might ask you a private question?"

Madame Lambert's blue eyes sparkled with excitement, and, undoubtedly,

the prospect that Belle's request would somehow

make her a mint of money. "Yes?"

"I need a gown. A very special gown. Two very special gowns, actually.

Or perhaps three." Belle frowned as she contemplated her forthcoming

purchase. She needed to look ravishing when John came to London.

Unfortunately, she had no idea when he would arrive, or even—banish the

thought—if he would arrive.

"Zat should not be a problem, my lady."

"I need a different sort of gown than I usually purchase. Something more

... alluring."

"I see, my lady." Madame Lambert smiled knowingly. "You perhaps wish to

attract a particular gentleman. I will make you ravishing. Now when do

you need zese gowns?"

"Tonight?" Belle's answer was more of a question than a reply.

"My Gawd!" Madame Lambert shrieked, completely forgetting her accent. "I

am good but I cannot perform miracles!"

"Will you be quiet?" Belle whispered urgently, looking nervously around.

She liked Persephone, but she didn't think that she

needed to know that her charge was planning a seduction. "I only need

one of them tonight. The rest can wait. At least until tomorrow. It

shouldn't be that difficult. You have all my measurements. I assure you

I haven't grown fat since our last meeting."

"You ask a great deal, my lady."

"If I weren't absolutely convinced that you could do it, I wouldn't have

asked. After all, I could have gone over to Madame Laroche." Belle

smiled and let the words hang in the air.

Madame Lambert sighed dramatically and said, "I have a gown. Eet was for

another lady. Well, not a lady exactly." At Belle's horrified

expression, she hastened to add, "But she had exquisite taste, I assure

you. She, er, lost her source of funds and could

not pay for eet. With a few minor alterations, I think eet will fit you."

Belle nodded and called over to Persephone that she was going to the

back room for just a moment. She followed Madame Lambert, who led her to

a closet door. "Eef you want to attract a man without appearing vulgar,"

the dressmaker said, "then

zees is what you need." With a flourish, she pulled out a gown of

midnight blue velvet which was startling in its simplicity.