Dancing at Midnight (19 page)

out of this one, little girl," he warned.

"Little girl? Little girl! Contamination be damned, I think I will slap

you!" Belle raised her hand but John caught it easily.

"You haven't my instincts, Belle," he said silkily. "You could never win

a battle between us."

His air of condescension was just the spark to set Belle's anger into

full-fledged fury. "Let me tell you a thing or two, Lord Blackwood," she

raged, pulling her hand back. "First of all, I don't know who your

brother is, and second of all, even if I did

want to marry him, I fail to see why that would have anything to do with

you, since you have made it abundantly clear that you want nothing at

all to do with me. Thirdly, I see no reason why I would ever have to

explain my actions to you of all people.

So, fourthly—"

"Stop at three, Belle," John smirked. "You're losing my interest."

Belle shot him her best attempt at a sneer and raised her hand as if she

were going to try to slap him again. His interest sufficiently engaged,

she stomped mightily on his foot. John didn't even wince. She hadn't

thought he would; her slippers were

not made out of especially hard material. Still, her spirits were buoyed

by her small victory, and she scoffed, "Your instincts are getting old,

John."

"If you want to inflict real damage, get some sturdy shoes, Belle. And

they might save you from another blister next time you

go for a hike."

Belle swallowed as she remembered how gently John had cared for her

foot. It was difficult to reconcile that tender man with

the sardonic and insulting one standing in front of her now. With a

deliberately impatient sigh, she looked him in the eye and said,

"I would like to go back to the party. So if you would kindly step aside

..."

John didn't budge. "Who are you thinking about marrying?"

Belle groaned to herself as her lies came back to haunt her. "None of

your business," she snapped.

"I said, who are you thinking about marrying?"

"And /I /said, it's none of your business."

John leaned forward. "Not the Earl of Westborough by any chance?"

Belle's eyes bugged out. /"He's /your brother?"

She really didn't know they were related. No one could fake that

expression. But John wanted to be absolutely certain, and so

he said, "His surname didn't clue you in?"

"I only met him last week. I don't know his surname. He was simply

introduced to me as the Earl of Westborough. And before you accuse me of

any other heinous crimes, let me tell you that I only knew that your

father was an earl because Alex told me.

I had no idea which one."

John didn't say anything, just stood there silently judging her. Belle

found his behavior extremely irritating and said, "Although

now that you mention it, he does look a bit like you. Slightly more

handsome, perhaps, and he doesn't limp."

John ignored her insult, recognizing it for what it was: a mindless jibe

from one wounded animal to another. "You really didn't

know he was my brother?"

"No! I swear to you!" And then Belle felt as if she were acting like she

was begging his forgiveness when she hadn't done anything wrong, so she

said, "But that doesn't change any of my plans."

"Plans? To marry him?"

"I'll inform you of my plans when I see fit." I /hope I inform myself of

my plans when I see fit, /Belle thought wildly, /

because I haven't any idea what I'm saying./

John's hands clamped down on her shoulders. "Who are you planning to marry?"

"I'm not telling."

"You sound like a three-year-old."

"You're treating me like one."

"I'm only going to ask you one more time," John warned softly, his face

approaching hers.

"You have no right to talk to me like this," Belle whispered. "Not after

you—"

"For God's sake, Belle, don't throw that in my face again. I've already

admitted that I've treated you badly. But I have to know. Don't you

understand that? I have to know!" John's eyes blazed with passion. "Who

are you planning to marry?"

Belle saw the desperation in his face and her resolve shattered. "No

one!" she burst out. "No one! It was a lie! Just a lie to get

you to come to London because I missed you." John's grip slackened with

surprise, and she quickly jumped away and turned

her back to him. "Now I'm completely humiliated. I hope you're satisfied."

John stared openmouthed at her back as her words sunk in. She still

cared for him. The knowledge was a balm on his aching heart. But he did

not for one moment appreciate the torture she'd put him through, and he

fully intended to tell her that.

"I do not like being manipulated," he said in a low voice.

Belle spun around, completely infuriated. "You don't like being

manipulated? That's all you can say? You don't like being manipulated.

Well, let me tell you something. I don't like being insulted. And I have

found your behavior extremely insulting."

She swept past him, her back ramrod straight, and her head held with a

dignity she did not feel.

John was still so stunned by her unbelievable confession that her

movement caught him by surprise, and he just barely

caught hold of her fingertips when he tried to stop her. "Belle," he

said, his voice ragged with emotion. "Please don't go."

Belle could have easily left the balcony; his grip on her was tenuous at

best. But something in his hoarse voice compelled her to turn around,

and once she did, she was spellbound by the fierce longing in his eyes.

Her mouth went dry, and she forgot how to breathe. She had no idea how

long she stood there, her gaze captured by this man who had come to mean

so much to her.

"John," she whispered. "I don't know what you want."

"I want you."

His words hung heavily in the air as Belle's heart begged her head to

let herself believe him. What did he mean—he wanted her. Did he just

want to touch her, to kiss her? She already knew that he

was strongly attracted to her; he'd never been able to hide that, just

as it had been quite obvious that she felt the same way.

Or did he want her in his life? As his friend, companion, or even his

wife. Belle was terrified to ask the question. He'd already broken her

heart once; she was not especially eager to let him do so again.

John saw the hesitation in her clear blue eyes and hated himself for

having made her so wary. It was time to tell her how much

he cared for her, he knew that. But his own fears held him back, and

instead he said softly, "May I kiss you?"

Belle slowly nodded and stepped forward as John reached out and took her

other hand in his. An overwhelming shyness washed over her, and she

dropped her gaze.

"Don't look away," he whispered, moving his hand to her chin. He gently

tilted her face up as he closed the distance between them. "You're so,

so beautiful. And so kind and good and smart and funny and—"

"Stop!"

His nose was now resting on hers. "Why?"

"It's too much," she replied tremulously.

"No. No, it's not. It will never be too much."

He tilted his face so that his lips could gently brush over hers, and

Belle felt a shiver of excitement rush through her. They continued in

that way for a long minute, their lips just barely touching, until John

could bear it no longer, and he crushed her to him.

"Oh God, Belle, I've been so, so stupid," he groaned. He didn't kiss

her, just held her next to him as if he could somehow imprint her body

on his. He clutched her tightly, hoping that some of her gentle goodness

and courage would infuse into him.

I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you," he whispered raggedly. "It was

the one thing I'd never meant to do."

"Shhh," Belle broke in. She couldn't bear to listen to him torture

himself. "Just kiss me. Please. You see, I've been thinking

about it for days, and I—"

John needed no further urging, and this kiss was as fierce as the first

had been gentle. He devoured her hungrily, drinking her in

as he murmured nonsensical words of love and desire. His hands were

everywhere, and Belle wanted them everywhere, wanted him more than she'd

ever imagined, more than she could ever understand. She sank her hands

into his thick hair, marveling at the texture of it even as his lips

slid down her neck to the base of her throat.

"I can't believe this," she moaned.

"What?" he managed to ask between nips.

"This. Everything. The way you make me feel. The—Oh!" Belle let out a

whispered shriek as his mouth traveled to the sensitive skin just behind

her ear.

"What else can't you believe?" he asked devilishly.

"That I want you to keep on kissing me," she answered in a feverish

voice. "And that there is a party still going on in the next room."

Belle's words had an unintended effect, and with great effort John

pulled away from her and let out a low curse. "I'd almost forgotten," he

muttered. "Someone could discover us any minute."

Belle felt unbelievably cold without his arms around her, and she

couldn't stop herself from reaching out to him. "Please," she whispered.

"I've missed you so."

She was a mighty temptation, but John held firm.

"I didn't come all the way to London just to ruin your reputation."

"I wish you would," she muttered under her breath.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing."

"We'll have to go back in separately."

Belle smiled at John's concern. "Don't worry. I'm certain Dunford is

covering for us splendidly." At John's raised eyebrow,

she added, "I told him a little about you."

He shot her such a look that she was compelled to further explain, "Just

a little, though, so don't worry that I've spilled all your secrets."

John pushed down the guilt that bubbled within him. She didn't know his

biggest secret, and he'd have to tell her eventually. But

not now. He didn't have to tell her now. "Your hair is mussed," he said

instead. "You might want to do something about that.

I'll go back to the party first. I'm sure my brother is looking for me."

Belle nodded, and together they walked into the darkened hall. Before

they parted ways, however, she took his hand. "John,"

she said softly. "What happens now? I have to know."

"What happens now?" he repeated with a jaunty grin. "Why, I court you.

Isn't that what's supposed to happen next?"

She answered him with a smile and ran off.

When John reentered the drawing room he was not surprised to find his

brother regarding him with a curious expression.

"Where did you disappear to?" Damien inquired.

"Just wanted to get some fresh air." If Damien had noted that Lady

Arabella had left the room at the same time, he didn't

mention it. "Why don't you introduce me to a few of your friends?" John

suggested.

Damien nodded politely. Sometime while he was busy introducing John,

Belle reappeared and made a beeline for Dunford.

"That was some exit," he said with a grin.

Belle flushed. "Nobody noticed, did they?"

Dunford shook his head. "I don't think so. I was just keeping an eye on

you in case you needed any sort of rescuing. In the

future, however, I'd keep my trysts to under five minutes were I you."

"Oh dear. How long was I, er, were we gone?"

"Longer than you'd intended, I'm sure. I set it about that you'd gotten

something on your dress. All the ladies were properly sympathetic."

"You're priceless, Dunford." Belle grinned.

"Ah, there you are, Lady Arabella."

Belle turned to see Lord Westborough walking toward her. John was at his

side, a knowing smile on his face.

"How nice to see you again, my lord," she murmured politely.

"And I believe you have already met my brother," Damien added. "Lord

Blackwood."

"Yes, of course. We are well acquainted." Belle winced inwardly at her

double-entendre and refused to look up at John, certain that she would

be rewarded with a devilish grin. She was saved, however, from any

potentially embarrassing conversation by

the arrival of their hostess, Lady Forthright.

"Ah, Westborough," she shrilled. "I did not see you come in. And Lady

Arabella, it is always a pleasure."

Belle smiled and bobbed a polite curtsy.

"And this must be your brother," Lady Forthright continued.

Damien nodded and introduced them. He then saw another friend and

excused himself, leaving John and Belle in the clutches

of their none too gentle hostess.

"Lord Blackwood? A baron, are you?" she queried. "Hmmm. I'm not familiar

with the title."

Belle's insides clenched in anger. Lady Forthright had always been a

meddlesome woman who tried to cover her lack of self-confidence by

insulting others.

"It's a relatively new title, my lady," John said, his expression

deliberately even.

"Just how new is 'relatively'?" She smiled coyly at her little joke and

then looked to Belle to see if she also disdained this newcomer to their

ranks. Belle answered her with a scowl that intensified when she

realized that the room had grown a bit