Dancing at Midnight (32 page)

stepping a foot out of London before then."

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Chapter 19*

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John sat in Hardiman's Tea Shoppe the next day, his back to the wall as

he watched out for a man he hadn't seen in over five years, a man who

wanted him dead. He'd secured a table in the rear, with Alex and Dunford

discreetly seated four tables away.

John kept his eyes on the door, and ten minutes past the agreed upon

meeting time, George Spencer walked into the establishment. John felt

the years rush away, and he was back in the Spanish tavern again,

watching his countryman violate an innocent girl.

Spencer scanned the room with icy blue eyes until his gaze fell on John.

He flicked his head back, propelling his straight blond

hair from his eyes. He strode arrogantly through the shop until he

reached John's side.

"Blackwood." His voice was cold.

"Spencer. You'll pardon me if I don't offer you the courtesy of rising."

"Not at all. I've heard you're lame. I wouldn't want you to overexert

yourself." He shoved the chair back and sat down.

John nodded graciously. "A war wound. Some of us remained with the

company through the action. Where did you go, Spencer? France? Switzerland?"

Spencer's hands clutched at the table, and he nearly rose from his seat

in his rage. "Damn you, Blackwood. You know that you forced me to

desert. Do you know what it's like to come back to England in dishonor?

My father had to pay off the authorities

just to keep me from getting arrested."

John fought to keep his own rage in check. "And you think you don't

deserve to be arrested after what you did?" he hissed.

"You should have been hanged."

"Spare me your sensitivity, Blackwood. That girl was nothing. A stupid

peasant, nothing more. She'd probably shared her charms with a dozen men

before me."

"I saw the blood on the sheets, Spencer. And I heard her screams."

"For the love of God, Blackwood, I did the girl a favor. She was going

to have to get that out of the way sooner or later."

John gripped the table in an effort to keep himself from strangling him.

"She killed herself three days later, Spencer."

"Did she?" Spencer looked unconcerned.

"Don't you feel any remorse?"

"Damn town was overpopulated, anyway." Spencer held out his hand and

idly examined his fingernails. "Those Spaniards breed like rabbits."

"She was an innocent girl," John bit out.

"I am forever impressed by your sense of chivalry. But then again, you

always did have a soft spot for the ladies. May I offer

you my congratulations on your advantageous marriage? So sorry it's

going to be such a short union."

"Leave my wife out of this," John bit out. "You aren't fit to speak her

name."

"Oh my, aren't we getting dramatic? I hope love hasn't made you soft,

Blackwood. Or perhaps your knee took care of that

years ago."

John took a deep breath and forced himself to count to five before

speaking again. "Just what is your plan, Spencer?"

"Why, to kill you. I thought you'd figured that out already."

"May I ask why?" he asked, his voice icy with politeness.

"Nobody plays me for the fool, Blackwood, nobody. Do you understand me?"

Spencer was growing agitated, and his brow

was tense and damp with perspiration. "What you did—"

"What I did was shoot you in the ass." John leaned back and allowed

himself his first smile of the day.

Spencer jabbed his finger at John. "I'm going to kill you for that. I've

been dreaming about it for years."

"What took you so long?"

John's calm manner only served to enrage Spencer even further. "Do you

know what happens when a man deserts? He isn't exactly welcome back in

England. His fiancee decides that she might do better elsewhere. His

name is dropped from all the

lists that matter. You did this to me. You."

"And is England suddenly welcoming you with open arms? I had heard you

weren't welcome at the best of parties."

For a moment John thought that Spencer was going to leap over the table

and go for his throat. Then, abruptly, the blond man calmed down.

"Killing you won't solve all my problems, of course. But it will bring

great joy into my life."

John sighed. "Look," he said mildly, "I suppose I don't really need to

tell you that I'd rather you didn't kill me."

Spencer let out a short bark of laughter. "Elegantly said, but then

again, I'd rather you hadn't ruined my life."

"Why did you come today? Why sit here and make idle conversation?"

"Maybe I was curious. What about you? One would think you'd be hesitant

to meet with your killer." He leaned back and presented John with a

jaunty grin.

John was beginning to wonder if Spencer was insane. He was obviously

obsessed, but at the same time, he seemed bent on maintaining normalcy,

sitting here chatting with John as if they were old friends. "Maybe /I

/was curious," he replied. "It's a

unique situation. It's a lucky man who gets the opportunity to meet with

his killer under such civilized circumstances."

Spencer smiled and inclined his head, graciously acknowledging what he

perceived to be a compliment.

"Suppose you tell me what you're planning. You wouldn't want this to be

anything less than a challenge, would you?"

"I couldn't care less if if s a challenge. I just want you dead."

John smiled tightly. Spencer certainly didn't believe in indirect

speech. "No hints at what I might expect?"

"Something quick and easy, I think. No need to make you suffer."

"How kind of you."

"I'm not a monster, just a man of principle."

While John was pondering that unbelievable statement, Spencer focused on

something over his shoulder. "Is that your lovely

wife I see, Blackwood? I must commend you on your marital success."

John felt his insides run cold. He twisted in his seat, his gaze

swinging around until it fell upon Belle, who had just entered

the shop with Emma and Persephone.

John took another deep breath, trying to contain himself. He was going

to kill her. He was going to put her over his knee and blister her

bottom. He was going to lock her in her room for a week. He was—

"Not very excited to see her, I see."

John swiveled back to Spencer and snapped, "Another word from you, and I

will strangle you as I sit."

Spencer leaned back and chuckled, enjoying himself enormously.

"Our conversation is over." John stood up and walked across the room

without a backward glance. Alex and Dunford would

make sure Spencer didn't attack him. He grabbed Belle's arm before she

could even sit down, hissing in her ear, "You are

going to be a very unhappy woman."

Belle had the good sense to keep her mouth shut. Or it might just have

been that she was dying to get a good look at George Spencer, who had

risen to leave just after John. He passed right by them on his way out,

tipping his hat at her and murmuring,

"My lady."

The only bright spot in John's nightmare was the enraged expression on

Belle's face. He had no doubt that she would have

had a fair portion of Spencer's face under her fingernails if he hadn't

been holding her firmly by the arm.

Once Spencer was safely out of the shop, John yanked her around to face

him and said,

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Before she had a chance to answer him, Alex showed up at his side,

grabbed Emma similarly and hissed,

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Persephone looked at Dunford and smiled, waiting for her turn, but much

to her disappointment, he just stood there and glared

at all three women.

"John," Belle said. "I don't really think this is the time." She turned

to the rest of their group and gave them a wide but weak

smile. "So sorry, but we're going to have to leave."

John growled. Persephone took that as a sign of agreement and waved at

him. "Hope to see you soon," she said brightly.

John growled again and this time Persephone said nothing.

Belle looked up at her husband. "Shall we go?"

He walked out, and since her arm was attached to his hand, she went

along with him. When they reached the street,

John turned to her and said curtly, "Did you bring a carriage?"

She shook her head. "We hired a hack."

This didn't seem to please John, and Belle didn't say anything while he

hailed down another one. They rode home in absolute silence. She stole

occasional looks at his profile and noticed that a muscle in his cheek

was twitching violently.

He was furious. She peeked over at him again. The twitch had speeded up.

Beyond furious. He was only waiting until they got home so he wouldn't

embarrass her in front of the driver.

She supposed she should be thankful for small favors.

The hack pulled up in front of the Blydon mansion, and Belle scurried

out while John paid the driver. She raced up the front

steps, through the hall, and into the rear drawing room. She wasn't

trying to avoid John—well, perhaps she would have tried

if she thought she had any chance of getting away with it. But as it

was, she was simply trying to choose a room which was

as far away from the servants as possible.

John was only a few steps behind her, so completely enraged he was

barely limping. He slammed the door behind him.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"I was worried about you."

"So you followed me to my meeting with Spencer? Pardon me if I don't

commend your common sense."

"But—"

"Do you understand what kind of man Spencer is?" John exploded. "He

/rapes /women. Rapes. Do you understand the

meaning of the word rape?"

Belle crossed her arms. "I hate it when you get sarcastic."

"Deal with it."

She clenched her teeth against his harsh tone and turned away.

"Damn it, woman! You put yourself in a dangerous situation. And dragged

along Emma and Persephone in the process.

Did you think about that?"

"I thought you might need me," she ground out.

"Need you? Of course I need you. Safe and sound and tucked away in the

house. Not wandering around in front of killers."

Belle whirled back around. "I'm not some helpless little miss who is

willing to sit at home while you gallivant about town. And

if you think for one minute that I'm not going to do everything in my

power to keep you safe, then your brain is quite broken."

"Listen to me, Belle," John said in a low voice. "We didn't know that

much about Spencer. We had no idea what he was going

to do. For all I knew, he might have decided that the best way to get to

me was through you. He might have grabbed you this afternoon."

"I thought you said you were sure that Spencer wouldn't try anything in

a crowded shop. Were you lying to me? Were you?

Were you lying just to keep me from worrying about you?"

"Damn it all to hell, of course I wasn't lying to you. I /didn't /think

Spencer would do anything at Hardiman's. All the same, I couldn't be one

hundred percent certain, and I didn't see any reason to put you in any

danger."

"I'm going to help you, John, whether you want it or not."

"Good God, woman, stop being so stubborn. These things take planning and

finesse. If you keeping barging into this

without looking where you're going, you're just going to get in the way."

"Oh, please, John. I wouldn't have to barge into anything if you would

only include me."

"I won't have you put into a situation from which you cannot extricate

yourself."

"Do me a favor, John. Worry about yourself. I can run fast. Faster than

you."

John flinched as though he'd been hit. "I had no idea my injury made me

so much less of a man in your eyes."

"Oh, John, you know I didn't mean it that way."

Belle flung her arms around him and held him close. "I'm just so scared

and so angry, yes angry at this man." Belle paused and caught her

breath, surprised by the realization that she felt more fury than fear.

"I'm angry, and I lashed out at you, and that

wasn't fair. It's just that I love you so much, and—"

"Belle, please."

She let go of him and furiously pushed him away. "Please what? Please

don't tell you I love you? Please don't /love /you?"

"I can't accept it, Belle."

"What is wrong with you?" she burst out. "Why can't—"

"What is wrong with me," he said in steely tones, his hands gripping her

upper arms like manacles, "is that I raped a girl."

"No," she choked out. "No, you didn't. You told me you didn't."

"It might as well have been me," he said, unconsciously echoing Ana's

mother's words.

"John, don't say such things. It wasn't your fault."

He let go of her with a chilling abruptness and strode over to the

window. "I could have gone up to that room a thousand times before I

finally did."

Belle's hand crept up to cover her horrified mouth. "Oh, John, what has

this done to you?" she whispered.

"Has it made me less of a man? Yes. Has it blackened my soul? Yes. Has it—"