Dancing at Midnight (12 page)

Swallowing nervously, she nodded.

"Good. I much prefer it that way." John caught her about the waist and

pulled her to him. This time, Belle made no protest, captured by the

warmth and excitement of his body heat. "Am I doing this correctly?" he

asked softly as he led her in the dance.

"I—I think so."

"You only /think /so?"

Belle snapped herself back into reality. "No, of course not. I know so.

You're a very elegant dancer. Are you certain this is the first time

you've ever waltzed?"

"Actually, my sisters used to force me to partner them when they were

learning."

"I knew you weren't a novice."

"I was only nine."

Belle pursed her lips in thought, unaware of the kissable temptation she

was presenting for John. "I don't think people even

waltzed when you were nine."

He shrugged his shoulders. "We had a very advanced household."

As they twirled around the parlor, John wondered if he was fighting a

losing battle. He kept telling himself that he had to stay away from

Belle, but his resolve had so far proved useless next to her sunny

smile. He knew that he couldn't marry her; to

do so would only hurt the woman he wanted to protect and cherish.

He felt like a fraud just standing next to her after what he had done in

Spain.

John exhaled slowly, his sigh a mixture of contentment and frustration.

He had promised himself this afternoon. Just a few

hours of happiness without any memories of Ana.

"We're supposed to make conversation," Belle said suddenly.

"Are we?"

"Yes. Otherwise people would think we don't like each other."

"There isn't anyone here to form an opinion one way or another," John

pointed out.

"I know, but I am teaching you how to waltz, after all, and most of the

time one waltzes during a party, not in a private parlor."

"More's the pity."

Belle ignored his comment. "That is why I think you ought to learn how

to talk while you dance."

"Is it usually so difficult?"

"It can be. Some men need to count while they waltz in order to keep

time, and it's difficult to have a conversation with someone when all he

says is 'one, two, and 'three.' "

"Well, then, by all means, talk away."

"All right." She smiled. "Have you written any poetry lately?"

"You were just looking for an excuse to ask me that," John accused.

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Belle, I told you I'm not a poet."

"I don't believe you."

John groaned, and in his frustration he missed a step. "I will try to

write you a poem," he said finally.

"Splendid!" Belle exclaimed. "I cannot wait."

"I would try not to expect great things, were I you."

"Nonsense." She positively beamed. "I am breathless with anticipation."

"What is this?" a voice suddenly broke in. "A dance in my own home and I

wasn't invited?"

John and Belle halted in mid-twirl as they looked around to see Emma

entering the room.

"I was teaching John how to waltz," Belle explained.

"Without any music?"

"I thought it best not to ask for your assistance on the piano."

Emma grimaced. "That was probably a wise idea." She looked over at John.

"I have yet to meet anyone whose skill at the

piano does not exceed my own. Including the residents of our stables."

"So I've been told."

Emma ignored his wry smile. "Did you enjoy your lesson, John?"

"Very much so. Belle is a superb dancer."

"I've always thought so. Of course I've never danced with her myself."

Emma moved over to a chair and sat down. "Do you

mind if I join you for tea? I took the liberty of asking Norwood for

another pot. I'm sure this is hopelessly lukewarm by now."

"By all means," John said graciously. "This is your house, after all."

Emma smiled knowingly as she noticed that John and Belle were still

standing in each other's arms.

"Don't let my presence deter you from your dance," she said with an

impish grin.

The pair immediately made their embarrassed excuses, disengaged

themselves, and Belle sat down on the sofa. John

murmured something about having to get back home, to which Emma replied

with alacrity, "Oh, but you /cannot!"/

Belle leveled a suspicious eye at her cousin and immediately realized

that Emma had decided that she and John would suit

very well, indeed.

"It's pouring," Emma hastily explained. "You must stay until the rain

lets up a bit."

John declined to point out the rain actually /had /let up a bit, and if

he waited much longer, it was only going to worsen again.

He offered the pair of beautiful women an inscrutable smile and sat down

across from them on an elegant yet highly uncomfortable chair.

"You mustn't sit there," Emma said. "It's terribly uncomfortable, and I

would get rid of it if Alex's mother didn't assure me it

was absolutely priceless. Why don't you move over to the sofa next to

Belle?"

John raised a single eyebrow at her.

"I hate when people do that," Emma muttered under her breath.

Nonetheless, she continued brightly, "I assure you that

you'll have a horrid backache on the morrow if you stay in that chair

for more than five minutes."

John rose and sat down comfortably next to Belle. "I am your obedient

servant, your grace," he said politely.

Emma flushed, hearing the tinge of humor and mockery in his voice. "Oh

dear," she said loudly. "I wonder what is keeping

that tea. I'll have to go check on it." With remarkable speed, Emma rose

and exited the salon.

John and Belle turned to each other, Belle blushing to the very roots of

her golden hair. "Your cousin has not mastered the

art of subtlety." John pointed out dryly.

"No."

"I'm not exactly certain what she expects to accomplish. She will

probably run into a maid with the tea not two steps from this parlor."

Belle swallowed, sheepishly remembering the time she and Alex's sister

Sophie had managed to leave Emma and her future husband alone together

for a full five minutes under the pretext of going to inspect a

nonexistent harpsichord. "I imagine she'll

be able to think of something."

"As much as I would love to take you into my arms again, I have no

desire to be interrupted by your cousin returning with tea."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Belle mumbled. "She'll find a way to

alert us of her impending presence. She's quite resourceful."

As if on cue, they heard Emma yelp from the other side of the closed

door. "What a surprise!"

Belle frowned. "I would have thought she'd have given us a /bit /more time."

The door opened. "Look who I bumped into in the hall," Emma said,

holding onto Alex's hand. "I wasn't expecting him back

until much later this evening."

"Her carefully-laid plans foiled by an attentive husband," John murmured

as he stood.

Belle stifled a laugh and said, "How lovely to see you, Alex."

"I was only out inspecting the fields," he replied, a perplexed frown

crossing his features.

"Nonetheless, it is brilliant to have you back," Emma said unconvincingly.

"Did you locate that tea?" John asked.

"The tea? Oh, yes, the tea. Well, no, I didn't actually."

"A-hem."

Emma jumped at the sound of Norwood clearing his throat directly behind her.

"Your tea, your grace?"

"Oh. Thank you, Norwood. Over there on the table, I think."

"Tea actually sounds quite appealing after riding about in that rain all

afternoon," Alex said pleasantly. "Although it does seem

to be letting up."

Belle wasn't certain, but she thought she heard Emma groan.

Emma fixed a cup for Alex, and after he had taken a healthy gulp, he

said, "There's to be a fair tomorrow near the village.

I saw people setting it up while I was out."

"Oh really?" Emma responded with delight. "I adore fairs. Shall we go?"

"I'm not sure," Alex said with a frown. "I don't like the idea of your

getting jostled about by crowds."

That remark was greeted by a mutinous glare on Emma's part. "Oh, don't

be a stodge," she retorted. "You can't keep me

locked up forever."

"All right. But you must promise to be careful." Alex turned to John and

Belle, who were watching the interchange from the

sofa with amused expressions. "Won't the two of you join us?"

A refusal automatically rose to John's lips, but before he could speak

an image of Belle in his arms danced through his mind.

They were waltzing ... Her eyes were glowing with happiness. His heart

was filled with tenderness and his body with desire. Maybe he /could

/have a bit of joy in his life. Maybe five years of hell was payment

enough for his sins.

He turned to Belle. She cocked her head and smiled, raising her brows in

invitation. "Of course," he said, "I'll stop by after

lunch, and we'll depart together from here."

"Splendid." Alex took another gulp of tea and glanced out the window

where the skies were darkening ominously. "I don't mean

to be rude, Blackwood, but if I were you, I'd head home now while the

rain is light. It looks like it is going to pour again soon."

"I was just thinking the same thing myself." John stood and bowed to the

ladies.

Belle was, of course, sorry to see him leave, but the humorous sight of

Emma, slumped dejectedly in her chair after her husband unwittingly

ruined all of her careful orchestrations, more than made up for her

disappointment.

*  *  *

When John arrived home that afternoon there was another note waiting for

him.

/I am in Oxfordshire./

John shook his head. He'd have to find some way of contacting the

previous owners of Bletchford Manor. They had seemed

a trifle batty to him—just the sort to have friends who would write such

odd notes.

It never occurred to him that the note might be in any way connected to

the gunshot in the woods.

*  *  *

John poured himself a glass of brandy before climbing the stairs to his

bedroom that evening. He started to take a sip, but

then set it down on his nightstand. He felt warm enough without it.

Was this happiness? The feeling had been absent from his life for so

long he wasn't sure how to recognize it.

He crawled into bed, content. He never expected to dream.

/He was in Spain. It was a hot day, but his company was in good spirits;

no fighting for the last week./

/He was sitting at a table in the tavern, an empty plate of food in

front of him./

/What was that strange thumping sound coming from upstairs?/

/He poured himself another drink./

/Thump./

This place is ripe, I think. /John rubbed his eyes. Who had said that?/

/Another thump. Another cry./

/John walked slowly toward the stairs. What was wrong? The noise grew

louder as he made his way along the second-floor hallway./

/And then he heard it again. This time it was clear. "Noooooooooo!"

Ana's voice./

/He burst through the door. "Oh, God, no," he cried. He could barely see

Ana, her slight form completely

beneath Spencer, who was pumping relentlessly into her./

/But he could hear her weeping. "Noooo, noooo, please, noooo."/

/John didn't pause to think. Crazed, he pulled Spencer up off the girl

and threw him against the wall./

/He looked back down at Ana. Her hair—what had happened? It had turned

blond./

/It was Belle. Her clothes were torn, her body ravaged and bruised./

/"Oh, God, not this!" The cry seemed to well up from John's very soul./

/He turned back to the man slumped against the wall, his hand tightening

on his gun. "Look at me, Spencer,"

he demanded./

/The man lifted his head, but he was no longer Spencer. John found

himself looking into his own face./

/"Oh, God, no," he gasped, stumbling back against the bed. "Not me. I

couldn't do that. I wouldn't."/

/The other John laughed. It was a sick, maniacal sound./

/"No, I wouldn't. I couldn't. Oh, Belle." He looked down at the bed, but

she was gone./

/"No! Belle!"/

John was awakened by the sound of his screams. Gasping for air, he

clutched his arms to his stomach. He rolled back

and forth, his body racked by silent sobs.

*

*

*

*

*Chapter 8*

Belle lay propped up in bed, thumbing through the collection of

Wordsworth's poetry she had never gotten around to reading

that afternoon. She found herself squinting slightly more than normal,

so she leaned over to her bedside table and lit another candle. As soon

as she had herself settled again, a knock sounded on the door.

"Come in."

Emma burst into the room, her violet eyes flushed with excitement.

"Sophie's having her baby!" she exclaimed. "Three weeks early! A

messenger just arrived with her husband's note."

"That's wonderful," Belle breathed.

"Isn't it?"

"Oh, yes! It's not good for a baby to be early, but three weeks isn't

much, and Oliver wrote that Sophie might have miscounted anyway."

"Will you and Alex leave in the morning?"

"First thing. I wanted to leave right away, but Alex would have none of