Dancing at Midnight (31 page)

wait.

He was well into the second act when Belle knocked on the door.

"Come in!"

She poked her head in. "Am I disturbing you?"

"On my first day as a married man? I think not."

She walked in, shut the door behind her and headed over to the chair

next to John's.

"Hmm-mmm," he said, catching her by the hand. "Over here." One deft tug,

and she toppled onto his lap.

Belle laughed all the way down and planted two kisses along the line of

his jaw, marveling at how comfortable she'd grown

with this man. "What are you reading?" she asked, peeking at his book.

/"The Passionate Pilgrim? /Whatever are you reading

that for?"

"You read it."

"And?"

He tweaked her nose. "And I remembered how adorable you looked when we

were talking about it the day I met you."

Belle's reply was another kiss.

"I've figured out what was wrong with our wedding," John mused.

"Oh?"

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth.

"Most couples." he murmured, punctuating his words

with little flicks of his tongue, "get to spend an entire week in bed

after they get married. We didn't even sleep late."

Belle fluttered her lashes. "We could go back," she suggested.

His hand stole up her midriff and rested on her breast. "An interesting

idea."

"Do you think so?" she asked in a breathy voice.

John squeezed her ever so gently, reveling in her response. "Mmm-hmm."

He smiled lazily as he watched her arch her back.

He could feel her nipple hardening into a tight little bud, and his body

hardened in response.

"Will we always feel this way?" she whispered.

"Christ, I hope so." He leaned forward and captured her mouth in a hard,

demanding kiss. His lips and tongue were ruthless, demanding everything

of her, relentless in their mission to claim her very soul.

Belle's reaction was fast and furious. His brutal kiss inflamed her

desire, and she returned his passion in equal measure, raking

her hands along his back. His hot mouth moved down her neck, burning a

trail of fire along her skin. "Did you lock the door?"

he asked raggedly, his lips never leaving her throat.

"What?" Belle was so lost on a sea of passion she could barely hear his

words.

"Did you lock the door?"

She shook her head.

"Damn." Reluctantly John tore his mouth from her tender skin and slid

out from under her. Belle landed in a soft heap on the

chair as he crossed the room to the door, her breath coming in uneven gasps.

John gave the key a decisive twist and turned back to his bride, his

eyes gleaming with desire. Unfortunately, he had only

taken two steps toward her when he heard a loud knock. He swore under

his breath and shot a quick look to Belle to make

sure that she was presentable before turning around. Taking his

irritation out on the hapless doorknob, he viciously yanked

the door open.

"What?" he snapped.

"My lord," came the quavering voice of the footman. "A letter for you,

my lord."

John nodded curtly and picked up the paper resting on the footman's

silver tray.

"There is usually a letter opener on that desk over there," Belle said,

flicking her head toward the desk.

John followed her advice and slit the seal. The letter was written on

expensive white paper.

My dear Lord Blackwood,

Do you think I'm stupid?

If you should like to meet I would be more than willing to arrange a

time and place on

a more neutral ground. I have always had a partiality for the docks.

George Spencer

"Who is it from?" Belle asked.

John crumpled the paper in his hands. "George Spencer," he said in a

distracted voice.

"What?" she shrieked. "Why is he writing to you?

"Well, he is trying to kill me," John said mildly, his passion sadly

diffused by the interruption. "And aside from that, I sent

him a letter earlier today."

"What? Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

He sighed. "You're beginning to sound like a nagging wife."

"Well, you took care of the wife part yesterday, and as for the

nagging—I think it's my prerogative given our intolerable

situation. Now will you answer my question?"

"Which one?"

"All of them/' she ground out.

"I wrote him a letter because I thought I might have a better chance of

protecting myself if I could meet with him face-to-face

and discern the level and nature of his hatred for me. I didn't tell you

because you were sleeping. And then you were, er, otherwise occupied."

"I'm sorry for snapping at you," Belle said, somewhat appeased. "But I

don't see what you can expect to accomplish by meeting him. You're just

giving him an opportunity to kill you."

"I don't plan to take any unnecessary chances, love. I asked him to meet

me here. He'd have to be very desperate to try

anything in my home, or your home, as the case may be."

As soon as the words left his mouth, John knew they were the wrong ones,

for Belle cried out, "But you don't know how desperate he is! If he

really, really hates you, he might not care about the consequences of

killing you in front of witnesses. Darling, I can't allow you to take

such chances." Her voice broke. "Not when I love you so much."

"Belle, don't say—"

"I'll say whatever I damn well please! You take chances with your life,

you don't say you love me, you won't even let me tell

you that I love /you." /She made an inarticulate sound and jammed her

fist into her mouth for a moment to still an oncoming sob.

"Don't you even care?"

He gripped her upper arms with stunning force. "I care, Belle," he all

but growled. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"No one is trying to. Only you."

A deep and ragged breath racked his body. "Can it be enough to know that

I care, Belle? That you've reached depths of my

heart I didn't even know existed? Can that be enough for now?"

She swallowed convulsively. Lord, she hated it when she couldn't

understand him. Still, she nodded. "For now," she said, her

voice low. "Not for long. Certainly not forever."

He took her face in his hands and leaned down to kiss her, but she broke

away. "I suppose we have to deal with this monster

first. It is difficult to build a marriage when I fear for your life."

John tried to ignore the hollowness that had settled in his heart when

she pulled away. "I promise you, darling, that I am taking the safest

course of action. I have no wish of dying, but I cannot spend my life

hiding away from Spencer. Eventually, he'll find me."

"I know. I know. What did the note say?"

John stood and crossed the room to the window. "He won't meet me here,"

he said, looking out at die busy street. "I imagine he thinks it's some

sort of a trap."

"Is it?"

"A trap? No, although now that I think about it, the idea does have its

merits."

"What else did he say?"

"He wants to meet me at the docks."

"I hope you don't plan to meet with him /there." /Belle shuddered. She'd

never actually been to the docks, but every Londoner knew that it was a

dreadful part of town.

"I'm not stupid," John replied, unconsciously

echoing Spencer's written words. "I'll see if he'll meet me in some

other public place. A crowded place," he added, mostly just

to reassure her.

"Just so long as you don't go alone. I'm sure Alex and Dunford would be

happy to accompany you. And Ned, too, if he's not already back at

university."

"I doubt that Spencer will be willing to say what he wants to say to me

in the company of others, Belle. But don't worry,

I don't plan to meet him without friends nearby. He won't have an

opportunity to try anything funny."

"But why would he meet with you other than to try to kill you?"

John scratched his head. "I don't know. He probably wants to tell me

/how /he wants to kill me. Or how much."

"This isn't funny, John."

"I wasn't trying to make a joke."

Belle buried her face in her hands. "Oh, John/' she moaned. "I'm so

scared of losing you. It's almost funny. Part of the reason

I fell in love with—" She held up her hand. "No, please don't interrupt.

Part of the reason I fell in love with you is because I thought you

needed me. I've got hordes of people who like me or love me, but no one

has ever /needed /me like you do. But

now I realize ..." She broke off, choking on a sob.

"What, darling?" he whispered. "What do you realize?"

"Oh, John, I need you, too. If something should happen..."

"Nothing will happen to me," he said fiercely. For the first time in

years he had something to live for. He wasn't going to let a raping

bastard take it all away.

Belle looked up at him through teary eyelashes. "What are we going to do?"

/"We /aren't going to do anything," he replied, walking over to her and

tousling hei hair. Then, for good measure, he crouched

down, pried her hands from her face, and kissed her brow. "I, however,

am going to write Spencer a note."

He walked over to the table where he'd left the quill and paper he'd

used earlier in the day. "What do you suggest I say?"

he asked in a mild voice, trying to divert her mind away from her dread

and anxiety.

"I think you should call him an idiotic son of a—"

"I don't think that will work," John cut in smoothly, wondering where on

earth she'd come up with such a colorful vocabulary.

"We don't want to insult him."

/"We /may not, but I certainly do."

"Belle," he sighed, hiding his smile. "You are a priceless gem. Whatever

did I do to deserve you?"

"I don't know," she replied, standing up. "But if you want to keep me, I

have one important piece of advice: don't die." With that, she took a

deep breath and left the room, quite unable to be anywhere near a piece

of paper that might eventually cause John's death.

John shook his head as he watched her leave. She wasn't taking this very

well. But then, how could he blame her? If someone were trying to kill

her, he'd be scouring London like a madman, desperately trying to get to

him first.

Pushing such a distasteful thought from his mind, John turned back to

the quill and paper before him. How strange to conduct a correspondence

with one's assassin.

Spencer,

Do you think /I'm /stupid?

I suggest we meet somewhere slightly more palatable,

perhaps Hardiman's Tea and Pastry Shoppe.

You may name the time.

Blackwood

He had taken Belle to Hardiman's several times during their hasty

courtship. They could get a private table there, but more importantly,

the establishment was frequented by enough society matrons and

debutantes that Spencer would not dare try

anything foolish. Furthermore, it would be easy for Alex to sit

nonchalantly a few tables away.

John once again dispatched the messenger to Spencer's lodgings. He

expected a quick answer; Spencer would surely be

waiting at home for a reply to his invitation.

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. He should go talk to

Belle. It tore him apart to see her so distraught, but he

didn't know what to say to her. He didn't know any words that would make

her feel better. He'd been married to her less than twenty-four hours

and already she was miserable. He'd failed his bride, and he felt

helpless to alleviate her suffering.

/His bride./

John's lips quirked into a faint smile. He liked the sound of that. He

stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor.

He strode out into the hall as quickly as his injured leg would let him.

"Belle!" he called out, heading up the stairs.

"Belle! Where are you?"

She appeared at the top of the steps, panic evident on her face. "John?

Is something wrong? What's going on?"

"I just wanted to see you, that's all." He smiled lightly, trying to

relieve her tension. "Do you always ask three questions

when one would suffice?"

"For heaven's sake, John, you scared the life out of me. Please don't

yell like that again. I'm distraught enough as it is."

He crossed the distance between them and put his arm around her.

"Please, darling. You're going to make yourself ill. Let's go back to

your room and talk."

"Our room," Belle said with a sniffle.

"What?"

"Our room. I'm married now. I don't want a room of my own any longer."

"I don't want you to have one either. Belle, we will have a normal life

soon. I promise you that."

Belle let him lead her to their bedroom. She wanted so much to believe

him. "I can't help being scared, John," she said softly.

He pulled her to him and breathed in the light fragrance of her hair. "I

know, darling, I know. But let's put off that fear for the moment. There

is nothing to be afraid of right here, right now."

Her lips quivered into a tiny smile. "This very second ... ?"

"All there is is me." He traced the line of her jaw with his lips,

moving languorously to her ear. And then it wasn't enough.

His hands curved around her backside, pulling her even more intimately

against him. He kissed every spot of exposed skin,

moving to her hands and wrists once he was through with her neck. He had

just moved back to her left earlobe when they

heard a voice at the door.

"Ahem."

John didn't even turn, just waved his hand at the offending servant.

"Ahem!"

The voice was more insistent so John reluctantly tore himself away from

Belle and twisted his head toward the door. An extremely well-dressed

lady was standing there with an odd expression on her face. John had

never seen her before, although

she did have the most amazing set of blue eyes—really, really blue,

rather like ...

An uneasy feeling crept through him as he slowly turned to Belle, who

was still rather firmly pinned against his body. She

looked ill. Very ill. Almost green.

"Mother?"

John jumped away from Belle with amazing speed.

Caroline, the Countess of Worth, peeled off her gloves with an

efficiency that bordered on fury. "I see you've been very busy since

I've been gone, Arabella."

Belle gulped. Her mother's use of her full name was not a sign for

optimism. "Well, yes," she stammered. "I have."

Caroline turned to John. "I think you had better leave."

"He can't!" Belle said quickly. "He lives here."

Caroline's only outward sign of perturbation was a strained swallowing

motion in her throat. "I'm sure I misheard you."

John quickly stepped forward. "Perhaps I had better introduce myself. I

am Blackwood."

Caroline didn't offer him her hand. "How nice for you," she said

acerbically.

"And this," he continued, motioning toward Belle, "is my wife, Lady

Blackwood."

"Excuse me?" Not even a chink in her calm facade.

"We're married, Mother," Belle said with a weak smile. "Just yesterday."

Caroline snot a disbelieving look at her daughter, then at the man she

had married, then back at her daughter. "Belle, do you

think I could speak to you privately for a moment?" She grabbed her

daughter's arm with a force that was at odds with her pleasant words and

hauled her across the room. "Are you crazy?" she hissed. "Do you realize

what you've done? Where

on earth is Emma? And how could she let you do this?"

From across the room, John wondered if this propensity to ask questions

in rapid succession without waiting for a reply was

a family trait.

Belle opened her mouth to say something, but Caroline held her hand up.

"Don't!" she warned. "Don't say a thing to me."

With a deft movement, she grabbed Belle's arm and deposited her back at

John's side.

"Mother," Belle said. "If you'll just..." Her words trailed off at

Caroline's quelling stare.

"If you'll both excuse me," Caroline said smoothly. She walked over to

the door and called out, "Henry!" Belle and John heard

a muffled answer, to which Caroline replied, /"Now, /Henry!"

"I don't like being made to feel like an errant child," John hissed in

Belle's ear.

"I /am /an errant child," she whispered back. "At least to them. So

please be patient."

Belle's father appeared in the doorway. Henry, the Earl of Worth, was an

attractive man with graying hair and an easygoing

air about him. His eyes lit up with obvious love when he saw his only

daughter. "Belle! Darling! What are you doing in London?"

"Oh, this and that," Belle mumbled.

"She got married," Caroline said flatly.

Henry said nothing.

"Did you hear me?" Caroline burst out, her composed exterior beginning

to crumble. "She got married."

Henry sighed wearily and ran his hand through his thinning hair. "Was

there some reason you couldn't wait, Belle?"

"I was in a bit of a rush."

Caroline turned pink, not wanting to ponder the implications of that

statement.

"Surely you could have waited a few days," Henry continued. "Did you

think we wouldn't let you have your choice? You know

us better than that. We've let you refuse a dozen eligible men,

including young Acton, whose father happens to be my best friend. This

fellow looks nice enough. We probably wouldn't have had an objection."

He paused. "I presume this /is /the fellow you've married."

Belle nodded, wondering why a lecture from her father always managed to

make her feel about seven years old.

"Does he have a name?"

"Lord Blackwood," Belle said clearly.

John took the initiative and stepped forward, extending his hand. "John

Blackwood, my lord. I'm pleased to meet you."

"I should hope so," Henry replied dryly. "Have you the means to support

my daughter?"

"I just purchased a new home, so I haven't much to spend freely," John

replied frankly. "But I am wise and conservative in my investments. She

shall not want for anything."

"Where are you from?"

"I grew up in Shropshire. My father was the Earl of Westborough. My

brother succeeded him to the title."

"How'd you come about yours?"

John briefly told him about his time in the army. Henry nodded

approvingly and finally asked, "Do you care for my daughter?"

"Very much, my lord."

Henry surveyed the younger man, whose hand was now clutched quite firmly

in Belle's grasp. "Well, Caroline, I think we're

just going to have to trust our daughter's judgment on this score."

"There is little else to do," Caroline said bitterly.

Henry placed a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder. "I'm sure we will

have time enough to sort out all of the particulars.

For now, I think we should concentrate on becoming acquainted with our

new son-in-law, don't you think, Caroline?"

She nodded, loving Belle too much to do anything else.

Belle ran forward and threw her arms around her mother. "You'll see,

Mama," she whispered. "He's perfect."

Caroline smiled at her daughter's unbridled happiness, but whispered

back, "Nobody's perfect, Belle."

"He's perfect for me."

Caroline gave Belle one last squeeze before putting her at arm's length

so that she could get a good look at her. "I expect

you're right," she replied. "Now why don't we let your father get to

know your, er, husband while you help me get settled in.

It has been an uncommonly long journey."

Belle thought that, all in all, her mother was taking this news

surprisingly well. She shot a fleeting smile at John and followed

her out of the room.

"I don't suppose you've sent a notice to the /Times," /Caroline was

saying as she ascended the stairs.

"There hasn't been time."

"Hmmm. Well, I'll have your father see to that immediately. Where is

this new home John has purchased?" Caroline turned

around as she reached the top of the stairs, a worried expression on her

face. "He did say his name was John, didn't he?"

"Yes, Mama. And it's right next to Westonbirt. I met him while I was

staying with Emma."

"Oh." Caroline made her way to her bedroom, where a maid was unpacking

her cases. "I suppose I'll arrange a reception

for you next spring, when everyone is in town. But I do think that we

ought to do something soon, if only to let everyone

know you're married."

Belle privately wondered why it was imperative that "everyone" be

immediately appraised of her marital status.

"Won't the notice in the /Times /suffice?"

"Not at all, my dear. We need to let the /ton /know that you have our

approval. No need for everyone to realize that we

hadn't even met John until today."

"No, I suppose not."

Caroline suddenly clapped her hands together. "I know! The Tumbleys's

winter ball! It's perfect. Everyone always comes

in from the country to attend."

Belle gulped nervously. Every year the Earl and Countess of Tumbley held

a ball in November. It was one of the few events for which the

aristocracy would travel back to London in the winter. Normally, she

would have loved to go, but she didn't think it would be safe for her

and John to venture out into large crowds at night. "Er, when is it,

Mother?"

"Sometime in the next few weeks, I imagine. I'll have to check my

correspondence for the exact date. I have such a stack of letters to go

through."

"I'm not really sure that we would want to go, Mama. We are newly

married, you know, and wanting a bit of privacy."

"If you wanted privacy, you should have hightailed it back to the

country the minute after you said, 'I will.' But as long as you're here,

you'll go to this ball, and you'll do it with a smile on your face. And

then you can go back to wherever it is that you're living now and

rusticate. Where /are /you living now—I mean, whaf s it called?"

"Bletchford Manor."

/"Whatford /Manor?"

"Bletchford Manor."

"I heard you the first time. It's a dreadful name, Belle."

"I know."

"No, I mean it's hideous."

"I know. We're planning to change it."

"See that you do. After the Tumbley bash, that is, because you're not