Dancing at Midnight (21 page)

Persephone had been speaking.

"Isn't that kind of you?" Persephone said. "I'll just wait in the

drawing room with Belle and her friend while you fetch them

for me."

Belle had just managed to throw herself in a chair opposite the sofa

when her chaperone entered. "Persephone, what a surprise."

Persephone leveled a rather shrewd look in her direction. For all her

flittering about, she was no dullard. "I'm sure."

John stood politely at Persephone's entrance. "Would you like a

chocolate?" he asked, holding the box out toward her.

"I rather would, actually."

Belle fought a blush as she remembered what had happened when John had

offered /her /a chocolate. Luckily, Persephone

was too busy choosing between the sweets to notice.

"I do like the ones with nuts," she said, plucking one out of the box.

"Is it so very cold out?" Belle inquired. "I heard you saying that you

needed warmer gloves."

"Well, it certainly has cooled off since yesterday. Although I must say

it's quite hot inside."

Belle bit back a smile. When she looked over at John she noticed that he

had started to cough.

"Your gloves, madam."

"Excellent." Persephone stood and walked over to the footman who had

just entered the room. "I'll be on my way, then."

"Have a good time," Belle called out.

"Oh, I shall, my dear. I certainly shall." Persephone walked out and

started to close the door behind her. "Actually," she said, blushing

slightly. "I believe I'll just leave this door, er, open, if you don't

mind. Better circulation of the air, you know."

"Of course," John said. And then when Persephone was gone, he leaned

forward and whispered, "I'm shutting the door just

as soon as she's out of the house."

"Hush," Belle admonished.

The minute they heard the front door dose, John got up and shut the door

to the drawing room. "This is ridiculous," he muttered. "I'm almost

thirty years of age. I have better things to do than sneak around behind

some chaperone's back."

"You do?"

"It's damned undignified, I tell you." He made his way back over to the

sofa and sat down.

"Is your leg bothering you?" Belle asked, concern clouding her eyes.

"You seem to be limping a bit more than usual."

John blinked at the change of subject and looked down at his limb. "I

guess so. I hadn't noticed. I've grown used to the pain,

I imagine."

Belle crossed over to the sofa and sat back down. "Would it help if I

rubbed it?" She placed her hands on his leg and began to

rub the muscle just above his knee.

John closed his eyes and laid back. "That feels marvelous." He let her

continue her ministrations for several minutes until he

said, "Belle ... about last night."

"Yes?" She continued massaging his leg.

John opened his eyes and stilled her hand by placing his own over her

fingers. She blinked, sobered by his serious expression.

"No one has ..." His mouth opened and closed as he searched for words.

"No one has ever defended me like that."

"What about your family?"

"I didn't see very much of them when I was growing up. They were quite

busy."

"Were they?" Belle said, disapproval evident in her voice.

"It was always made clear to me that I would have to make my own way in

the world."

Belle stood abruptly and walked over to a vase, nervously rearranging

its flowers. "I would never say something like that to my child," she

said, her tone strained. "Never. I think a child should be loved and

cherished and—" She whirled around. "Don't you?"

He nodded solemnly, entranced by the passion and fire in her eyes. She

was so ... good. No flowery word could possibly be

more descriptive.

He could never be worthy of her. He knew that. But he could love her,

and protect her, and try to give her the kind of life she deserved. He

cleared his throat. "When are your parents returning?"

Belle cocked her head at the abrupt change of subject. "They were

supposed to get back any day now, but Emma recently forwarded me a

letter from them saying that they were having such a good time that they

were staying a bit longer. Why do

you ask?"

He smiled up at her. "Would you mind rubbing my leg again? It hasn't

felt this good in years."

"Of course." She returned to his side. When he didn't pick up the

conversation, she prodded him with, "My parents..."

"Oh, yes. I just want to know when I can ask your father for your hand

and be done with it." He shot her a cheeky grin. "Ravishing you in dark

corners does have its excitements, but I'd much rather just get you to

myself and have my way with

you in the privacy of my own home."

"Have your way with me?" Belle asked unbelievingly.

John opened his eyes and shot her a rakish grin. "You know what I mean,

love." He pulled her to him and nuzzled her neck.

"I'd just like to have some time alone with you without fearing that

someone is going to walk in on us at any moment."

He started to kiss her again. "I want to be able to finish what I start."

Belle was having none of that, however, and wriggled away. "John

Blackwood, was that a proposal of marriage?"

Still leaning back, he looked up at her through his lashes and smiled.

"I rather think it was. What do you say?"

/" /'I rather think it was. What do you say?' " Belle mimicked. "I say

that that is just about the least romantic proposal I have

ever heard."

"Have you had so many proposals, then?"

"As a matter of fact, I have."

That wasn't quite what John had expected to hear. "I thought you were

supposed to be the practical and pragmatic one in your family. I thought

you wouldn't want weepy words of love and all that."

Belle swatted him on the shoulder. "Of course I do! Every woman does.

Especially from the man she actually wants to accept.

So devise some weepy words and I'll—"

"Aha! So you accept!" John grinned victoriously and pulled her on top of

him.

"I said I want to accept. I didn't say I did accept."

"A minor technicality." He started to kiss her again, barely able to

believe that she would soon be well and truly his.

"A major technicality," Belle said in an annoyed voice. "I can't believe

what you just said to me. You want to marry me and /

be done with it? /Good gad, that's awful."

John realized that he had blundered but was too relieved to make amends.

"Well, what my proposal lacked in grace, it made

up for in sincerity."

"It better have been sincere." Belle shot him a disgruntled look. "I'll

say yes just as soon as you ask me properly."

John shrugged his shoulders and pulled her back to him. "I want to kiss

you some more."

"Don't you want to ask me something first?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"What do you mean?" Belle tried to squirm away from him, but he held firm.

"I mean to kiss you."

"I know that, you oaf. What I want to know is, why don't you want to ask

me something right now?"

"Ah, women," John said, sighing melodramatically. "If if s not one

thing, it's another. If—"

Belle punched him in the arm.

"Belle," he said patiently. "You must realize that you have thrown down

the gauntlet. You're not going to say yes until I do it

right, right?"

Belle nodded.

"Then allow me a short grace period at least. These things take time if

one wants to be creative about it."

"I see," Belle said, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a smile.

"If you want romance—true romance, mind you, you're going to have to

wait a few days."

"I think I'll manage."

"Good. Now will you come over here and kiss me again?"

She did.

*  *  *

John came by later in the week. As soon as he had Belle alone, he pulled

her into his arms and said,

"Twice or thrice had I loved thee,

Before I knew thy face or name;

So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame—"

"Angels affect us oft, and worshipped be," Belle finished. "I'm afraid

it's your bad fortune that my governess was mad about

John Donne. I've got most of it memorized." At his disgruntled look, she

added, "But I must commend you on your passionate recitation. It was

quite moving."

"Obviously not moving enough. Out of my way, if you please, I've got

work to do." Head down, he tromped out of the room.

"And stay away from the Donne!" Belle called out. "You'll never fool me

with one of his."

She couldn't be certain, but she thought she heard him mutter a rather

inelegant word as he shut the front door behind him.

*  *  *

John made no mention of his impending proposal during the entire next

week, even though he escorted Belle to a few affairs

and called on her nearly every morning. She didn't bring up the topic,

either. She knew he would deny it, but he was enjoying

his plans, and she didn't want to spoil his fun. Every so often he would

give her a sidelong assessing kind of glance, and she

knew he was up to something.

Her suspicions proved correct one morning when he arrived at the Blydon

mansion with three dozen perfect red roses, which

he promptly laid at her feet right in the middle of the great hall. He

sank down on one knee and said,

"Drink to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine;

Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I'll not look for wine.

The thirst that from the soul doth rise,

Doth ask a drink divine:

But might I of Jove's nectar sup,

I would not change for thine."

He almost got away with it. Belle's eyes misted up, and when he said the

part about the kiss in the cup, her right hand

strayed involuntarily to her heart.

"Oh, John," she sighed.

Then disaster struck.

Persephone descended the stairs.

"John!" she cried out in a delighted voice. "That is my absolute

favorite! How did you know?"

John lowered his head and clenched his fists at his sides. Belle shifted

her hand from her heart to her hip.

"My father used to recite that to my mother all the time," Persephone

continued, her cheeks rosy. "It never failed to make

her swoon with happiness."

"I can imagine," Belle muttered.

John looked up at her, his expression sheepish.

"And it was especially appropriate, you know," Persephone added, "as her

name was Celia, God rest her soul."

"Appropriate?" Belle asked, her eyes never leaving John's. As for him,

he wisely kept his mouth shut.

"It's called 'Song: To Celia' after all. By Ben Jonson," Persephone said

with a smile.

"Is it now?" Belle said wryly. "John, who is Celia?"

"Why, Persephone's mother, of course."

Belle had to admire him for keeping a straight face. "Well, I'm glad

that Jonson wrote the verse. I'd hate to think that you

were writing poetry to someone named Celia, John."

"Oh, I don't know, Celia's a fine name, I think."

Belle offered him a sickly sweet smile. "I think you'll find that Belle

is far easier to rhyme."

"I'm sure it is, but I prefer a challenge. Now then, Persephone—that

would be a poem worthy of my intellect."

"Oh, stop," Persephone laughed.

"Persephone ... Hrnmm, let's see, we could use cacophony, but that's not

very elegant."

Belle couldn't help but be swept away by John's good humor. "How about

lemon tree?" she offered.

"That has definite possibilities. I shall have to get to work on it

immediately."

"Enough teasing, my dear boy," Persephone said, taking John's arm in a

maternal fashion. "I had no idea you were such an

admirer of Ben Jonson. He is a particular favorite of mine. Do you also

enjoy his plays? I adore /Volpone, /although it is

rather wicked."

"I've been feeling rather wicked myself lately."

Persephone giggled beneath her hand and said, "Oh good. Because I saw an

advertisement for a performance. I was hoping

to find someone to escort me."

"I would be delighted, of course."

"Although perhaps we ought not bring Belle. I'm not sure it's fit for

unmarried ladies, and Belle tells me that I'm not quite stern enough as

a chaperone."

"Belle tells you /that?"/

"Not in so many words, of course. I doubt she wants to spoil such a good

thing. But I know which way the wind blows."

"You're not going to the theater without me," Belle put in.

"I suppose we shall have to take her," John said with an affected sigh.

"She can be quite stubborn when she puts her mind to it."

"Oh, be quiet," Belle returned. "And get to work. You have some writing

to do."

"I suppose I do," John replied, nodding at Persephone as she disappeared

down the hall. " 'Persephone in the Lemon Tree' is

sure to be my masterwork."

"If you don't get to work soon it's going to be 'Belle sends you to hell.' "

"I'm quaking in my shoes."

"As well you should be."

John saluted her and then stepped forward and stretched out his arm,

assuming a dramatic pose. "Persephone in the lemon tree—Sings to me

indomitably." He quirked a boyish grin. "What do you think?"

"I think you're marvelous."

John leaned down and kissed her on the nose. "Have I told you that I

have laughed more in the last few weeks than I have in

my entire lifetime?"

Wordlessly, Belle shook her head.

"I have, you know. You do that to me. I don't know quite how you've done

it, but you've stripped away my anger. Years of

hurt and pain and cynicism made me brittle, but now I can feel the sun

again."

Before Belle could tell him that that was poem enough for her, he kissed

her again and was off.

*  *  *

A few nights later Belle was cuddled up in her bed, several anthologies

of poetry strewn around her. "He's not going to fool

me with another 'Song—To Celia' again," she said to herself. "I'll be

ready for him."

She was a little worried that he might be able to trip her up with one

of the newer poets. Her governess had gone over only

the classics with her, and it was only because Lord Byron was so

notorious that she'd known "She Walks in Beauty."

A quick trip to the bookshop that afternoon had supplied her with

/Lyrical Ballads, /by William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge as

well as /Songs of Innocence and Experience /by a rather obscure poet

named William Blake. The proprietor assured her that Blake would someday

find great fame and tried to sell her /The Marriage of Heaven and Hell

/in addition, but Belle had put her foot down, figuring that there was

no way John would be able to find something romantic in /that./

/A /smile on her face, Belle opened up /Songs /and began to flip through

the pages, reading aloud as she went along.

"Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?"

She pursed her lips and looked up. "This modern stuff is very strange."

Shaking her head, she turned back to the book.

/Thump!/

Belle caught her breath. What was that?

/Thump!/

No doubt about it, someone was outside her window. Terror gripped her

and she slid out of bed to the floor. On her hands

and knees, she crawled across the room to her dressing table. With a

quick glance to the window, she grabbed a pewter candlestick from Boston

that Emma had given her as a birthday present a few years earlier.

Remaining close to the ground, Belle scooted over to the window. Careful

to stay out of the intruder's line of vision, she

climbed up onto a chair which was placed against the wall right next to

the window. Shaking with fear, she waited.

The window creaked and then she saw it start to rise. A black gloved

hand appeared on the windowsill.

Belle stopped breathing.

A second hand found its place next to the first, and then a firm body

tumbled in soundlessly, somersaulting when it hit the floor.

Belle raised the candlestick, setting her aim for the prowler's head

when he suddenly turned and looked up at her.

"Good God, woman! Are you trying to kill me?"

"John?"

*

*

*

Chapter 13*

*

*

/"What /are you doing here?" Belle gasped.

"Would you put that thing down!"

Belle finally lowered the candlestick and offered John her hand. He took

it and got to his feet. "What are you doing here?"

she repeated, her heart starting to flutter strangely at the sight of

him in her bedroom.

"Isn't it obvious?"

Well, he might be here to kidnap her and spirit her away to Gretna

Green, or he might be here to ravish her, or he might just

be here to say hello. "No," she said slowly. "It isn't obvious."

"Do you realize that in the past week I have seen you four times with

Persephone, twice with my brother, once with your chum Dunford, and

thrice at social functions where I'm allowed to talk with you only in

the presence of women over the age of sixty?"

Belle bit back a smile. "We've had some time together here when you've

come to call."

"I don't count it as being alone when I must worry about Miss Lemon Tree

barging in at any moment."

His expression was so petulant that Belle had a vision of him as an

eight-year-old stamping his foot at some horrid injustice.

"Now, now," she chuckled. "Persephone's not that bad."

"She's supreme as far as chaperones go, but that doesn't eliminate the

fact that she's got bloody repellent timing. I'm damned

near afraid to kiss you half the time."

"I hadn't noticed any decline in the frequency of your attempts."

John shot her a look which said he did not entirely appreciate her

humor. "All I'm saying is that I'm damned sick and tired of sharing you."

"Oh." Belle thought that was just about the sweetest thing she had ever

heard.

"I just climbed up a tree, shimmied along an unsteady branch, and then

vaulted through a window at an extremely unsafe height. All, might I

add, with a bum leg," John said, pulling off his gloves and brushing

himself off. "Just to be alone with you."

Belle swallowed as she stared at him, dimly registering the fact that he

had actually referred to his injury without bitterness

or despair.

"You wanted a romantic proposal," he continued. "Believe me, I'm never

going to get more romantic than this." Out of his

pocket he pulled a crumpled, red rose.

"Will you marry me?"

Overcome with emotion, Belle blinked away the tears pooling in her eyes.

She opened her mouth but no words came out.

John stepped forward and took both of her hands in his. "Please," he

said, and that single word held such promise that Belle

started nodding furiously.

"Yes, oh yes!" She threw herself in his arms and buried her face in his

chest.

John held her tightly for several minutes, savoring the feel of her warm

body next to his. "I should have asked you so long ago,"

he murmured into her hair. "Back at Westonbirt. I tried so hard to push

you away."

"But why?"

His throat tightened.

"John, are you ill? You look as if you've eaten something that's gone off."

"No, Belle, I—" He fought for words. He wouldn't deceive her. He

wouldn't enter into a marriage based upon lies. "

When I told you that I wasn't the man you thought I was—"

"I remember," she interrupted. "And I still don't understand what you

mean. I—"

"Hush." He placed his finger on her lips. "There is something in my past

I must tell you about. It was during the war."

Wordlessly, she took his hand and led him to her bed. She sat and

motioned him to do likewise, but he was far too restless.

He turned abruptly and strode over to the window, bracing himself

against the sill. "A girl was raped," he blurted out, thankful

that he couldn't see her expression. "It was my fault."

Belle paled. "Wh-what do you mean?"

John recounted the details, finishing with, "That's how it happened. At

least that's how I remember it. I was drunk." He let out

a short, hollow laugh.

"John, it wasn't your fault." Her words were soft, but they were filled

with love and faith.

He didn't turn around. "You weren't there."

"I know you. You wouldn't have let something like this happen if you

could have prevented it."

He whirled to face her. "Weren't you listening to me? I was drunk. If

I'd had my wits about me I would have been able to

fulfil my promise to Ana's mother."

"He would have found a way to get to her. You couldn't have guarded the

girl every minute of the day."

"I could have— I—" He broke off. "I don't want to talk about it."

Belle stood and crossed the room, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

"Perhaps you should."

"No," he said quickly. "I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to

think about it. I—" He choked on his words.

"Will you still have me?"

"How can you even ask?" she whispered. "I lo—" She stopped, too scared

of upsetting the precious balance they'd achieved

to voice her true feelings. "I care for you so much. I know what a good

and honorable man you are, even if you don't."

He reached for her, pulling her roughly into his arms. He clung to her,

covering her face with kisses. "Oh, Belle, I need you so much. I don't

know how I survived without you."

"And I you."

"You are such a treasure, Belle. Such a gift to me." He suddenly whirled

her around, spinning her in a dazzling waltz.

They twirled about, turning circle after circle until they both

collapsed on the bed, laughing and out of breath.

"Look at me," John gasped. "I cannot remember the last time I allowed

myself to be so happy. I smile all day long without

knowing why. I climbed a bloody tree, vaulted through your window, and

here I am—laughing." He jumped to his feet, pulling

her along with him. "It's the middle of the night, and yet here I am

with you. Dancing at midnight, holding perfection in my arms."

"Oh, John," she sighed, unable to think of any words to express her

feelings.