Dancing at Midnight (25 page)

in front of John's brother's house at three in the morning, and he

certainly had no qualms about showing his ire.

He scowled as he gave her a leg up into the tree. "I'm not leaving until

I see you depart from this house. Preferably through

the front door."

Belle didn't look down at him as she grabbed the first branch. "I wish

you would. There's no telling how long I might be inside."

"That's what I'm worried about."

"Dunford, even if he detested me, John would insist upon seeing me home.

That's just the sort of man he is. You needn't worry about my welfare

when I'm with him."

"Perhaps, but what about your reputation?"

"Well, that's my problem, isn't it?" Belle hoisted herself up onto the

next branch. "This is much easier than it looks. Have you

ever climbed a tree, Dunford?"

"Of course I have," he replied in an irritated voice. She was now even

with the second-story windows. Not for the first time,

he cursed himself for letting her talk him into this insane scheme. But

then again, if he didn't help her, she'd probably have

come alone, which was even more insane. He'd never seen Belle like this

before. For her sake, he hoped this Blackwood

fellow felt the same way about her.

"I'm almost there, Dunford," she called out softly, testing the

sturdiness of the branch which would have to bear her weight

as she moved horizontally toward the window. "Will you promise me that

you'll leave once I'm inside?"

"I'll promise no such thing."

"Please," she pleaded. "You'll freeze out here."

"I'll leave only if Blackwood comes to the window and gives me his word

as a gentleman that he'll see you safely home."

Dunford sighed to himself. He'd not be able to protect Belle's virtue—if

there was anything left to protect, which he sincerely hoped there

was—but at least he could make sure she got home safely.

"All right," she agreed, and started inching her way along the thick

branch toward the window. After about three seconds on

her hands and knees, a better idea offered itself to her, and she

straddled the branch, thankful for the breeches she had swiped

out of her brother's closet. Using her arms for support, she slowly

pushed her way along. When she reached the window, the branch sagged

perilously, and Belle quickly climbed onto the wide ledge. Below her she

could hear Dunford's footsteps as he scurried toward the building,

obviously certain that he was going to have to catch her as she plunged

toward the ground.

"I'm fine," she called out softly. She started to push the window up.

John was awakened by the sound of the window scraping against its frame.

Years of soldiering had left him a very light sleeper, and the recent

attack against his life had honed his senses even further. With one

fluid motion he grabbed his pistol from his nightstand, rolled onto the

floor, and crouched next to the bed, his leg screaming against the

sudden movement. When he realized that the intruder was having a bit of

trouble getting the window open, he took advantage of the delay and

grabbed his dressing gown. His back to the wall, he made his way around

the perimeter of the room until he was standing right next to the window.

He would not be surprised this time.

With considerable exertion Belle managed to hoist the window up. Once

there was enough space for her to squeeze through,

she waved down at Dunford and wormed her way in.

The minute her feet touched the floor, a steely arm grabbed her from

behind, and she felt the cold butt of a pistol pressed up against her

neck. Fear froze her body and her mind, and she went stiff as a board.

"All right," she heard a furious voice behind her hiss. "Start talking.

I want to know who you are and what you want with me."

"John?" Belle croaked.

She was instantly spun around. "Belle?"

She nodded.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

She swallowed nervously. "Could you put the gun down?"

John realized that he was still holding his weapon and dropped it on a

nearby table. "For the love of God, Belle, I could've

killed you."

She managed a tremulous smile. "I'm glad you didn't."

He raked a hand through his thick hair and then finally took a good look

at her. She was dressed in black from head to toe. Her bright hair,

which would have undoubtedly glowed in the moonlight, was stuffed under

a cap, and the rest of her appeared to be stuffed into a pair of men's

breeches. Or rather, a pair of boy's breeches. Her shapely form was

shown off quite nicely by her unconventional attire, and he doubted that

there were men's breeches small enough to compliment her backside so

delightfully.

"What are you wearing?" He sighed.

"Do you like it?" Belle smiled at him, determined to brazen this out.

She pulled the cap from her head, allowing the mass of

her hair to tumble down her back. "I got the idea from Emma. From

something she did once. She, umm, dressed as a boy, and—"

"Spare me the story. I'm sure Ashbourne was as furious as I am now."

"I think he was. I wasn't there. But the next day—"

"Enough!" He held up a hand. "How in hell did you get up here?"

"I climbed the tree."

"Where'd you get a damn fool idea like that?"

"Do you have to ask?"

John shot her a look which told her that he was not amused at having his

own behavior thrown back at him.

"You could have broken your neck, woman."

"You didn't leave me much choice." She reached forward to place her hand

on his arm.

John jerked back. "Don't touch me. I can't think when you touch me."

That was encouraging, Belle thought, and reached forward again.

"I said stop it! Can't you see I'm furious with you?"

"For what? For taking a risk in coming up here to see you? This wouldn't

have been necessary if you hadn't been such an addlebrained idiot and

refused to see me."

"I had a very good reason for refusing to see you," John snapped.

"Oh, really? And what was that?"

"None of your damned business."

"I can see you're just as childish as ever," Belle sneered. "Ouch!" She

jumped back as a rock hit her in her arm.

"What was that?" John hissed, grabbing his gun again and pulling her

back from the window.

"When did you grow so paranoid? It's only Dunford, growing irritated at

me, no doubt, for waiting so long to tell him that

I made it in safely." Belle wriggled from his grasp and moved to the

open window. Dunford was looking up at her. She couldn't see his face

clearly, but she knew that concern was etched into his expression.

"I'm fine, Dunford," she called down.

"Is he going to see you home?"

"Yes, fine. Don't worry."

"I want to hear it from him."

"Stubborn man," Belle muttered. "Umm, John? Dunford won't leave until

you give him your word that you'll see me home safely."

John scowled and crossed over to the window. "What the hell were you

thinking?"

"I'd have liked to have seen you stop her," Dunford growled back. "Are

you going to escort her home or do I have to remain

here and—"

"You know damned well I will, and the two of us are having a talk

tomorrow. You're either stupid or drunk or both to let her—"

/"Let /her? /Let /her? Oh, Blackwood, you're going to have a fine time

of it as her husband. I didn't /let /her do anything. Napoleon himself

couldn't have stopped her. I wish you the best of luck. You're going to

need it." Dunford spun on his heel and walked

back to the carriage he'd left a block away.

John turned back to Belle. "You'd better have a very good reason for

pulling a stunt like this."

Belle gaped at him. "I told you, I needed to see you. What better reason

is there? And could you possibly shut the window?

It's cold in here."

John grumbled, but he shut the window. "All right. Start talking."

"You want me to start talking? Why don't you start talking? I've been

wondering why a man would creep into my bedroom one day and make love to

me and then refuse to see me the next."

"It's for your own good, Belle," he said through clenched teeth.

"Now where have I heard that before?" she asked, sarcasm dripping from

every word.

"Don't throw that back at me now, Belle. It's an entirely different

situation."

"So I /might /understand—if you told me what was going on. And while

you've been off and immersed in your affairs, I've been having quite a

little adventure."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that someone tried to kidnap me two days ago." Belle had

turned away, so she didn't see the blood drain from John's face. Taking

a deep breath, she risked everything and said, "And if you really cared

about me, I would think you'd want to see about protecting me. I'd

rather not go about this alone, you know."

John grabbed her harshly by the shoulders and turned her around. The

expression on his face told her that he still cared for her, and she

would have been overjoyed if he hadn't looked so completely anguished.

"Tell me what happened," he insisted, his face pinched with concern.

"Tell me everything."

She quickly told him about the incident in the alley.

/"Goddamn!" /he exploded, pounding his fist into the wall.

Belle gasped as she saw a crack snake through the plaster.

"And you're sure they said a highborn gentleman wanted you? You in

particular?"

She nodded and winced as he shook her. "And also that his arm was in a

sling."

John let out a foul expletive. He'd shot his attacker just a few nights

ago in the shoulder. With a ragged sigh he limped over to

a table with a bottle of whiskey and a glass. He picked up both and then

discarded the glass, taking a healthy swig of the liquor directly from

the bottle. He swore again and then held the bottle toward Belle. "Want

some?"

She shook her head, unnerved by his stark expression. "No, thank you."

"You may change your mind," he said, laughing harshly.

"John, what is wrong?" Belle rushed to his side. "What is going on?"

He looked her straight in the eye, straight into those perfect blue eyes

that haunted him every night. There was no point in

keeping the truth from her any longer. Not after his enemy had already

decided that she was a valuable commodity. He was

going to have to keep her close to him now if he wanted to keep her

safe. Very close. At all times.

"John?" Belle implored. "Please tell me."

"Someone is trying to kill me."

The words fell on her like an avalanche. "What?" she gasped. She swayed

and would have fallen to the floor if he hadn't

reached out and caught her. "Who?"

"I don't know. That's the damned part about it. How in hell am I

supposed to watch my back if I have no idea what I'm

watching for?"

"But do you have any enemies?"

"None that I know of."

"Merciful heavens," Belle breathed, and John had to crack a smile at her

extremely ladylike attempt at cursing.

"Whoever wants me dead has realized that you are very, very important to

me and isn't above using you."

"Am I?" Belle asked softly.

"Are you what?"

"Very, very important to you?"

John let out a harsh breath. "For God's sake, Belle. You know that you

are. The only reason I haven't been following you

like a lapdog for the past few days is that I had hoped that my

assailant hadn't yet made the connection between us."

Amidst her terror over John's safety, Belle felt a warm glow of

happiness at his words. She hadn't misjudged him.

"What are we going to do now?"

John sighed raggedly. "I don't know, Belle. Keeping you safe is my first

priority."

"And yourself, too, I should hope. I couldn't bear it if something were

to happen to you."

"I'm not going to spend my life running, Belle. Or rather, limping, as

the case may be," he added wryly.

"No, I can see that you wouldn't like that."

"Damn it!" His fingers tightened around the bottle of whiskey, and he

very likely would have thrown it against the wall if

Belle hadn't been there to temper his fury. "If I only knew who was

after me. I feel so goddamned helpless. And useless."

Belle rushed to comfort him. "Please, darling," she implored. "Don't be

so harsh with yourself. No man could do more than

you're doing. But I think the time has come for us to seek out help."

"Oh?" he asked derisively.

Belle ignored his tone. "I think we should go to Alex. And Dunford, too,

perhaps. They're both quite resourceful. I think they

 could help."

"I'm not going to involve Ashbourne. He's got a wife now to worry about

and a child on the way. And as for your friend

Dunford, I don't precisely respect his judgment after tonight."

"Oh, please don't blame Dunford for that. I didn't leave him much

choice. It was either come and watch over me or know

that I was going to do it on my own."

"You're a fine piece of work, Belle Blydon."

Belle smiled at what she decided to interpret as a compliment. "And as