Dancing at Midnight (33 page)

"Stop!" She covered her ears, unable to bear his words. "I don't want to

hear it."

He whirled around. "You're damn well going to hear it." When she didn't

move, he stalked back to her and wrenched her

hands from her ears. "This is the man you married, Belle. For better or

for worse. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"When will you understand that I don't care what happened in Spain? I'm

sorry that it did, and I pray for that poor girl's soul,

but beyond that, I don't care! It hasn't made you an evil person, and it

doesn't make me love you any less!"

"Belle," he said flatly. "I don't want your love. I can't accept it."

Before she even realized what she was about, her hand flew up, and she

slapped him across the face. "How dare you?"

she breathed, her entire body shaking with rage. "How dare you belittle

me this way?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I have never, not even once in my life, given my love to another man.

And you throw it back in my face like a trifle."

His hand closed around her wrist. "You misunderstand me. It is because I

value your love so highly that I do not accept it."

"You don't accept it because you don't want to accept it. You're mired

in misplaced guilt and self-pity. How am I meant to

build a life with a man who cannot leave the past where it belongs?"

He dropped her hand, feeling like the lowliest of bastards simply for

touching her.

"How can I possibly let myself continue to love a man who can never love

me back?"

He stared at her, his entire body suddenly feeling rather queer. "But

Belle," he whispered. "I do love you."

John wasn't certain how he expected her to respond, but it was certainly

not in the manner she did. She stepped back as if hit,

and for a moment she was utterly incapable of speech. She pointed a

finger out, jabbing it in his direction while her throat

worked violently. "No," she finally gasped. "No. Don't say that. Don't

tell me that."

He merely looked at her, every emotion he had ever felt for her clearly

written on his face. Love, guilt, hope, longing, fear ...

They were all there.

"You can't do that," she said, each word a hoarse little stab of pain.

"You're not allowed. You can't say that and not let me

do the same. It isn't fair."

He reached for her. "Belle, I—"

"No!" She jumped back. "Don't touch me. I— Don't touch me."

"Belle, I don't know what to say." He looked down.

"I can't talk to you," she said wildly. "Not now. I can't talk to you.

I... I... I..." Her words jumbled in her throat. Her entire

body was so overtaken with emotion that she could no longer speak. She

swallowed convulsively, pulled open the door,

and flew from the room.

"Belle!" John called out. She didn't hear him. He sank into a chair. "I

love you."

But the words sounded pathetic, even to him.

*

*

*

*

*Chapter 20

*

Belle had no idea where she was going when she left the room, but when

she bumped into Mary, her maid, in the corridor,

she knew what she needed to do.

"Put on your cloak, Mary," she said, her voice uncharacteristically

sharp. "I need to go out."

Mary glanced out the window. "It's quite overcast, my lady. Are you

certain your errand cannot wait until tomorrow?"

"I don't have an errand. I just want to go outside."

Mary heard the choking sound in her lady's voice and nodded. "I'll be

right back."

Belle clutched her own cloak to her body. She'd never even had a chance

to take it off after she and John had stormed

home from Hardiman's Tea Shoppe.

After a moment Mary came scurrying down the stairs. Belle didn't even

wait for her to reach the bottom before pulling

open the front door. She needed fresh air. She needed to be outside.

They strode along Upper Brook Street to Park Lane. Mary immediately made

to turn south. "Don't you want to go to Rotten Row?" she asked when

Belle kept heading west without her.

Belle shook her head furiously. "I want to get away from the crowds."

"I wouldn't worry about that, my lady." Mary looked about. All of

fashionable London was scrambling to leave the park. The heavens looked

as if they might open at any moment. "I really think you should consider

going home. I'm sure it will rain soon.

And it's growing dark. Your mother will have my head. Or your husband."

Belle whirled around. "Do mention him."

Mary took a step back. "All right, my lady."

Belle immediately let out a contrite sigh. "I'm sorry, Mary. I don't

mean to be so short with you."

Her maid placed a consoling hand on her arm. They had been together for

several years now, and Mary knew her employer

well. "It's all right, my lady. He loves you very much."

"That's just the problem," Belle muttered. She took a deep breath and

forged further into the park. How far they walked she wasn't sure.

Probably not very far, but the wind and the cold tired her. Finally, she

turned around. "Let's go home, Mary."

The maid breathed an audible sigh of relief. They trudged for a few

moments until Belle suddenly slammed her arm out in

front of Mary. "Hold," she whispered loudly.

"What's wrong?"

Belle squinted her eyes at the blond man she saw thirty or so yards up

the path. Was that Spencer?

With her eyesight it was impossible to tell. Damn, why had she been so

foolish? She never would have come to the park with

only a maid for an escort if she'd been thinking clearly. A fat raindrop

landed on her nose, jolting her out of her frozen stance.

"Back up," she whispered to Mary. "Very slowly. I don't want to attract

attention."

They tiptoed back toward a wooded area. Belle didn't think the blond man

saw them, but her nerves were still on alert. It

probably wasn't Spencer, she tried to tell herself. If it were, it would

certainly be too much of a coincidence to think that he

was also out taking a walk in Hyde Park on a cold, windy day, for no

other reason than to take in some fresh air. The only

reason he'd be out would be to follow her, and the blond man up ahead

did not appear to be following her.

Still, she had to be careful. She moved more deeply into the trees.

The air suddenly pounded with thunder, and the rain began in earnest,

fast and furious. Within seconds, both Belle and Mary

were drenched to the bone. "We must get back," Mary yelled over the din.

"Not until the blond man—"

"He's gone!" Mary tugged on her arm and began to drag her out to the

clearing.

Belle yanked her arm back. "No! I can't! Not if he's—" She looked up

ahead. No sign of him. Not that she could see much

of anything. It had already been growing dark, and the rain had

completed the job.

A sudden crack pounded in her ears. Belle gasped, jumping back. Was that

thunder? Or a bullet?

She began to run.

"My lady, nooo!" Mary tore after her.

Panic-stricken, Belle ran through the wood, her dress snagging on

branches, her hair streaming into her eyes. She tripped,

fell, and righted herself. She was breathing hard, disoriented. She

certainly didn't see the low-hanging tree branch in front of her.

It slammed into her forehead.

She went down.

"Oh, my good Lord," Mary cried out. She knelt down and shook Belle.

"Wake up, my lady, wake up!"

Belle's head lolled from side to side.

"Oh no, oh no," Mary chanted. She tried to drag Belle along the path,

but the rain had soaked through her thick garments,

making her far too heavy for the maid.

With a cry of frustration, Mary propped Belle up against a tree trunk.

Either she stayed with her or went back for help. She

didn't like the thought of leaving her lady alone, but the alternative

... She looked around. They were surrounded by trees. No

one would ever see them.

Her decision made, Mary straightened, picked up her skirts, and began to

run.

*  *  *

John was sitting in the library, nursing a glass of whiskey. He had

reached that unique state of anguish which even alcohol

cannot obliterate, and so the glass had remained in his hand, untouched.

He sat in excruciating stillness, watching as the sun dipped below the

horizon and disappeared, listening as the tiny raindrops

which pattered against the windowpane grew into fat rivulets.

He should go to her. He should apologize. He should let her tell him she

loved him. /He /knew he didn't deserve it, but if it upset

her to hear the truth ... There was nothing that gripped his heart like

a tear in Belle's eye.

He sighed. There were a lot of things he should do. But he was a bastard

and a coward, and he was terrified that if he tried to take her into his

arms she'd only push him away.

He finally set the glass down. With a fatalistic sigh, he stood. He'd go

to her. And if she pushed him away ... He shook his head.

It was too painful to contemplate.

John made his way up to their bedchamber, but there was no sign that

Belle had been in the room since their argument. Puzzled, he made his

way back downstairs, crossing paths with the butler on the landing.

"Pardon me," John said. "But have you seen Lady Blackwood?"

"No, I'm sorry, my lord," Thornton replied. "I thought she was with you."

"No," John murmured. "Is Lady Worth about?" Surely Caroline would know

Belle's whereabouts.

"Lady and Lord Worth are dining this evening with their graces, the Duke

and Duchess of Ashbourne. They left over an hour ago."

John blinked. "Very well. Thank you. I'm sure I'll find my wife somewhere."

He descended the last few steps and was about to search Lady Worth's

favorite salon when the front door burst open.

Mary was gasping for breath, her brown hair plastered to her face, her

entire body heaving with exertion. Her eyes widened

when she saw him. "Oh, my lord!"

Icy fear squeezed around John's heart. "Mary?" he whispered. "Where is

Belle?"

"She fell," Mary gasped. "Fell. She hit her head. I tried to drag her. I

did. I swear it."

John already had his coat on. "Where is she?"

"Hyde Park. She— I—"

He grabbed her shoulders and shook. "Where, Mary?"

"In the wood. She—" Mary clutched her stomach and coughed violently.

"You'll never find her. I'll go with you."

John nodded curtly, grabbed her hand, and pulled her out into the night.

Minutes later he was atop his stallion. Mary and a groom followed on

Amber, Belle's mare. John sped through the streets, the wind tearing

ferociously at his clothes. The rain was coming down hard now, hard and

cold, and the thought of Belle out alone

in such a vicious storm left him numb.

They were soon at the edge of Hyde Park. He motioned for the groom to

bring Amber close. "Which way?" he yelled.

He could barely hear Mary's words over the howling wind. She pointed

west, toward a wooded area. John immediately kicked Thor into a canter.

The moon was obscured by the heavy rain-clouds, so he had to rely on his

lantern, which was flickering nervously in the wind.

He slowed Thor down to a trot as he searched the woods, painfully aware

of how difficult it would be to spot her in the dark forest.

"Belle!" he screamed, hoping his voice could be heard above the storm.

There was no response.

*  *  *

Belle had lain unconscious for nearly an hour. When she awoke it was

dark, and she was shivering uncontrollably, her once-fashionable riding

habit sodden. She started to sit up but was overcome by dizziness.

"Dear Lord," she moaned, clasping her forehead as if she could squeeze

away the blinding pain in her temple. She glanced

about. Mary was nowhere to be seen, and Belle was completely

disoriented. Which way to Mayfair?

"Hell and damnation." she cursed, and this time she didn't feel a single

pang of guilt over her foul language. Clutching onto a

nearby tree trunk for support, she struggled to her feet, but vertigo

quickly claimed her, and she tumbled back to the ground.

Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks and

mixing with the relentless rain. Aware that she had no other option,

Belle began to crawl. And then, silently begging forgiveness for all of

those times she'd finagled her way out of

going to church, she began to pray.

"Oh, please God, please God, just let me get home. Just let me get home

before I freeze. Before I pass out again, because my head hurts me so.

Oh, please, I promise I'll start paying attention to the sermons. I

won't stare at the stained glass windows.

I won't curse, and I'll mind my parents, and I'll even try to forgive

John, although I think You know how hard that will be for me."

Belle's impassioned litany continued as she inched her way through the

trees, guided now by instinct, for the sun had completely set. The rain

had grown icy cold, and her clothing stuck mercilessly to her, wrapping

her in a freezing embrace. Her shivering grew more pronounced, and her