Dancing at Midnight (9 page)

All she wanted to be was mad.

And she was. Furious.

By the time Belle reached Westonbirt, her tears had dried up, and she

was quite happily plotting all sorts of vengeful schemes against John.

She didn't expect to actually carry any of them out, but the mere act of

planning them raised her spirits.

She plodded through the great hall and was nearly to the curved

staircase when Emma called out from a nearby parlor,

"Is that you, Belle?"

Belle backtracked to the open doorway, poked her head in, and said hello.

Emma was sitting on a sofa with ledgers spread out on the table in front

of her. She raised her eyebrows at Belle's disheveled appearance. "Where

have you been?"

"Out for a walk."

"With only one shoe?"

"It's the latest rage."

"Or a very long story."

"Not that long but rather unladylike."

"Bare feet usually are."

Belle rolled her eyes. Emma had been known to wade through knee-deep mud

to get to her favorite fishing hole.

"Since when have you become the model of taste and decorum?"

"Since, oh, never mind, just come and sit with me. I'm about to go insane."

"Really? Now that sounds interesting."

Emma sighed. "Don't tease me. Alex won't let me out of this blasted

parlor for fear of my health."

"You could look on the bright side and view it as a sign of his eternal

love and devotion," Belle suggested.

"Or I could simply strangle him. If he had his way, I'd be confined to

my bed until the baby arrived. As it is, he's forbidden

me to go riding by myself."

"Can he do that?"

"Do what?"

"Forbid you."

"Well, no, he doesn't order me about like most men do to their wives,

but he made it quite clear that he'd be extremely worried every time I

took Boston out for a ride, and blast him, I love him too much to upset

him like that. Sometimes it's best just to

humor him."

"Mmm," Belle murmured. "Would you like some tea? I'm a bit chilled." She

got up and rang for a maid.

"No, thank you, but go ahead and get some for yourself."

A maid entered silently and Emma ordered some tea. "Oh, and will you

please tell Mrs. Goode that I'll come by to discuss this evening's menu

within the hour? We'll be having a guest, so I think we ought to do

something special."

The maid nodded and left the room.

"Who is dining with us tonight?" Belle inquired.

"That John Blackwood fellow you met a few days ago. Alex invited him

yesterday. Don't you remember? I think we discussed

it at tea."

Belle felt her heart sink down to her stomach. She'd forgotten all about

their dinner plans. "It slipped my mind, I guess," she said, wishing

that she already had her tea so that she could hide her face with the

cup. Her cheeks were growing unpleasantly warm.

If Emma noticed Belle's blush, however, she made no mention of it. Belle

immediately began discussing the latest fashions

from Paris, and the two ladies stayed on that topic until long after the

tea arrived.

Belle dressed with particular care that evening, knowing full well that

John was the reason for her assiduousness. She chose

a simply cut gown of ice blue silk which set off her eyes and wore her

hair piled loosely atop her head, allowing soft wispy

curls to frame her face. A strand of pearls and matching earrings

completed the look, and, satisfied with her appearance, she headed

downstairs.

Emma and Alex were already in the parlor waiting for John to arrive.

Belle barely had time to sit down when the butler

entered the room.

"Lord Blackwood."

Belle looked up as Norwood finished intoning John's name. Alex rose and

strode to the doorway to greet his friend.

"Blackwood, good to see you again."

John nodded and smiled. Belle was irritated by the fact that he looked

extremely handsome in his evening attire.

"Allow me to introduce you to my wife." Alex led John over to the sofa

where Emma was seated.

"How do you do, your grace," John murmured politely, placing a swift

kiss on the back of her hand.

"Oh, please, I cannot bear so much etiquette in my own home. Please do

call me Emma. Alex has assured me that you are

a special friend of his, so I don't think we need to be formal."

John smiled at Emma, deciding that Alex had been his usual lucky self

when it came to claiming a bride. "Then you must call

me John."

"And of course you already know Belle," Alex continued.

John turned to Belle and took her hand in his. A fierce heat traveled up

her arm, but she forced herself not to jerk her hand

back. He didn't need to know how he affected her. But when he raised her

hand to his lips and kissed her softly, she wasn't

able to control the blush that stole across her cheeks.

"It is indeed a pleasure to see you again, Lady Arabella," he said,

still holding her hand in his.

"Pl-please call me Belle," she stammered, hating herself for her loss of

composure.

John finally released her hand and smiled. "I brought you a gift." He

held out a box tied with a ribbon.

"Why, thank you." Curious, Belle untied the bow and lifted the lid.

Inside she found her slightly muddied boot. She stifled a

laugh as she lifted it out of the box. "I had a blister," she explained,

turning to Alex and Emma. "It was really quite painful,

and I took off my boot..." Her voice trailed off.

John turned to Emma. "I would have brought one for you, too, but you

don't seem to have left any shoes on my property recently."

Emma grinned and reached down toward her feet. "I shall rectify that

matter immediately."

John found himself liking Alex's duchess immensely. It was easy and

painless to like her, he supposed. Unlike her cousin,

she didn't cause his heart to race and his breathing to stop every time

he saw her.

"Perhaps I could simply give you one of my slippers now," Emma added,

"and then you could give it back to me next time

you dine with us."

"Is that an invitation?"

"Of course, Blackwood," Alex put in. "You are always welcome here."

The foursome exchanged pleasantries for a quarter of an hour, awaiting

the call to dinner. Belle sat quietly, surreptitiously

studying John, pondering why he would do something as sweet as wrapping

her boot up as a present after he acted so rudely

that afternoon. How was she supposed to react? Did he want to be her

friend again? She kept a weak smile pasted to her

face, silently cursing him for setting her into such confusion.

John's thoughts were similarly occupied, wondering how on earth Belle

would react to him that evening. She couldn't possibly understand all of

the reasons he needed to keep his distance, and Lord knew he couldn't

explain it to her. Rape, was not,

after all, an acceptable topic for polite conversation.

When dinner was ready, Emma whispered something into Alex's ear and then

he rose and took her arm. "You'll excuse me

if I defy convention and take my wife in to dinner," he said, smiling

rakishly. "Belle, we'll be in the less formal dining room.

Emma thought it would be more comfortable."

John stood and offered his hand to Belle as the other couple swept out

of the room. "They seem to have left us quite alone."

"I imagine they did that on purpose."

"Do you think so?"

Belle took John's hand and rose. "You should take it as a compliment. It

means Emma likes you."

"And do /you /like me, Belle?"

There was a long pause, followed by a decisive, "No."

"I suppose that I deserve no better." He allowed her hand to drop back

to her side.

She whirled around. "No, you don't. I cannot believe you even had the

nerve to come over here to dine tonight."

"I was invited, if you recall."

"You should have declined. You should have sent word that you were ill,

or that your mother was ill, or your dog or your

horse or anything to avoid accepting the invitation."

He had nothing to say other than, "You are, of course, correct."

"You just don't—You don't kiss someone and then speak to her the way you

did to me. It isn't polite. It isn't nice, and—"

"And you are always nice?"

His voice wasn't the least bit mocking, which confused her. "I try to

be. Lord knows I tried to be nice to you."

He inclined his head. "You certainly did."

"I—" She broke off and looked up at him. "Aren't you even going to argue

with me?"

He lifted his shoulder in a tired gesture. "What would be the point? You

are obviously in the right, and I, as usual, am in the wrong."

Belle stared at him incomprehensibly, her lips parted in amazement. "I

don't understand you."

"It is most likely for the best that you don't even try. I apologize, of

course, for my behavior this morning. It was unpardonable."

"The kiss or your horrid words afterward?" The words flew out of her

mouth before she could stop them.

"Both."

"I accept your apology for your insults."

"And the kiss?"

Belle kept her eyes fixed on the crescent moon which shone through the

window. "There is no need to apologize for the kiss."

John's heart slammed into his chest. "I am not sure I understand your

meaning, my lady," he said cautiously.

"I only have one question." Belle tore her gaze away from the moon and

forced herself to look at him. "Did I do something

wrong? Something to offend you?"

John let out a harsh laugh, unable to believe his ears. "Oh God, Belle,

if you only knew." He raked his fingers through his hair

and then planted his hands on his hips. "You couldn't offend me if you

tried."

A hundred conflicting emotions raced through Belle's heart and mind in

the space of one second. Against her better judgment,

she touched his arm. "Then what happened? I need to know."

John took a ragged breath before he faced her. "Do you really want the

truth?"

She nodded.

He opened his mouth, but it was several seconds before his lips formed

words. "I'm not the man you think I am. I've seen

things ..." He closed his mouth, a muscle working violently in his

throat as he fought to control the emotions playing across his face.

"I've done things. These hands..." He looked down at his hands as if

they were foreign objects. His voice dropped down

to a low whisper. "I'm a greedy bastard, Belle, just for kissing you

this morning. I'm not fit even to touch you."

Belle stared at him, horrified by the pain etched on his face. How could

he not see what was so clear to her? There was something within him.

Something so good ... It seemed to glow from his very soul. And he

thought that he was worthless.

She didn't know what had happened to make him so, but his pain

devastated her. She took a step forward. "You're wrong."

"Belle," he whispered, "you're a fool."

Wordlessly, she shook her head.

John looked deeply into her eyes, and heaven help him but he couldn't

stop the slow descent of his lips down onto hers.

For the second time that day, Belle felt that unfamiliar rush of desire

as her body swayed closer to his. His mouth brushed gently against hers,

and Belle daringly ran her tongue along the soft skin of his inner lip,

just as he had done to her that morning. John's reaction was

instantaneous, and he pulled her roughly toward him, needing to feel the

heat of her body pressed up against his.

The intimate contact set off an alarm in Belle's mind, and she gently

pulled herself away from him. Her cheeks were flushed,

her eyes bright, and there were considerably more wisps of hair framing

her face than there had been just a few moments

earlier. "Alex and Emma are expecting us in the dining room," she

reminded him breathlessly. "We're going to be quite late."

John closed his eyes and exhaled, mentally willing his body to cool

down. After a moment he offered her his arm, quirking his mouth into a

lopsided smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "We shall blame our

tardiness on my leg."

Belle felt an immediate rush of sympathy for him. He was a proud man and

wouldn't like to admit that his injury slowed him

down. "Oh, no, that's not necessary. Emma is forever complaining that I

walk too slowly. I shall simply tell them that I was showing you one of

the paintings in the gallery. Alex has a marvelous Rembrandt."

John placed his forefinger against her lips. "Shush, we'll blame it on

my leg. It's about time I got some benefit from this

damned thing."

They exited the parlor, and Belle noticed that he moved quite quickly

through the long halls to the dining room. "Tell me when we're almost

there," he whispered in her ear.

"It's just around the corner."

John slowed down so much that Belle thought they'd stopped. When she

glanced down at his legs, she noticed that he

was limping far more noticeably than usual. "You're terrible," she

scolded. "I know you can bend your leg more than that."

"I'm having a bad day." His expression was positively angelic.