Dancing at Midnight (6 page)

of her backside, and then his even more traitorous body reacted

violently to the thought. What on earth was this chit thinking? You only

pushed a man so far. Still, he couldn't deny

that her words had a ring of truth. He did rather like her. So, trying

to steer the conversation out of dangerous waters, he said deliberately,

"You are correct. I am not very good at making polite conversation."

Belle took the hint. She smiled prettily and said, "I wouldn't worry

overmuch. I still have hope for you."

"Imagine my relief."

"That hope is dwindling by the second," she said between clenched teeth.

John looked over at her as he chewed a bite of scone. Somehow she

managed to look sweet and desirable at the same time.

God help him, she was already breaking through the protective wall he

had erected around himself years ago. She certainly

didn't deserve the kind of treatment he'd been dishing out. He swallowed

his food, slowly and deliberately wiped his mouth

with a napkin, stood up, and took her hand.

"Will you allow me to start over this morning?" he said elegantly,

raising her hand to his lips. "I fear I arose on the wrong

side of the bed."

Belle's heart did a little flip at the feel of his lips brushing along

her knuckles. "It is I who should apologize. I'm afraid that

any side of the bed would have been the wrong one at this hour."

John smiled at that and sat back down, reaching for another scone.

"These are delicious," he commented.

"Our cook's mother was from Scotland."

"Our cook?" John questioned her choice of words. "Have you become a

permanent part of the household, then?"

"No, I shall be heading back to London when my parents return from

Italy. But I must admit that Westonbirt is starting

to feel like home."

John nodded and then held up his half-eaten scone. "Ever been to Scotland?"

"No. Have you?"

"No."

There was a moment of silence and then John said, "How am I doing?"

"How are you doing at what?" Belle asked with a perplexed expression.

"Making polite conversation. I've been trying very, very hard for the

last few minutes." He flashed her a boyish smile.

Belle couldn't keep down the gurgling laugh which welled up in her

throat. "Oh, you're making /great /strides!"

"I shall be ready for a London season in no time." He popped the last

bit of scone in his mouth.

Belle leaned forward excitedly. "Are you planning to come to town for

the season, then?" The thought thrilled her. She was starting to get

bored with the social whirl, and John would certainly liven things up.

Besides, she found the idea of dancing in

his arms strangely erotic. An electric tingle traveled up her spine just

at the thought of being so close to him, and she blushed.

John noticed the color in her cheeks and was wildly curious as to what

scandalous thought could make her blush after she'd brazenly come to his

home at nine in the morning. He had no desire to embarrass her by

asking, however, and so he merely

said, "No. I haven't the blunt."

Belle sat back, surprised at his forthrightness. "Well, that's no

matter," she tried to joke. "Half the /ton /hasn't the blunt. Most

simply manage to get invited to parties every evening and thus never

have to pay for their own food."

"I've never been one for parties every evening."

"No, I didn't think you were. Neither am I, as it happens."

"Really? I would have thought you'd be the belle of the ball, if you

pardon the pun."

Belle smiled wryly. "I won't be falsely modest and say that I haven't

enjoyed a measure of social success—"

John chuckled at her careful choice of words.

"But I must admit, I'm growing weary of the season."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. But I suppose I'll have to go back next year."

"Why go if you find it so dull?"

She grimaced. "One's got to get a husband, after all."

"Ah," was all John said.

"It isn't as easy as you might think."

"I cannot imagine finding a husband would be especially difficult for

/you, /Lady Arabella. You must know that you are

extremely beautiful."

Belle flushed with pleasure at his compliment. "I had some offers, but

none were suitable."

"Not enough money?"

This time when Belle flushed, it was with consternation. "I take offense

at that, Lord Blackwood."

"I'm sorry, I thought it was the way of things."

Belle had to admit that for many women, it /was /the way of things, and

she accepted his apology with a brief nod. "A few of

the gentlemen informed me that they would be able to overlook my

appalling bluestocking tendencies on account of my looks

and fortune."

"I find your bluestocking tendencies quite appealing."

Belle sighed happily. "How nice it is to hear someone—a man—say that."

John shrugged. "It always seemed silly to me to desire a woman who

cannot converse any better than a sheep."

Belle leaned forward, her eyes glittering mischievously. "Really? I

would have thought you'd /prefer /such a woman,

considering your difficulty with polite conversation."

"Touche, my lady. I cede this round to you."

Belle felt absurdly pleased and was suddenly very, very glad that she'd

ventured out that morning. "I'll take that as high

praise, indeed."

"It was meant as such." John waved his hand toward the diminishing

number of scones. "Don't you want one? I'm liable to

eat the whole plateful if you don't intervene soon."

"Well, I already had breakfast but..." Belle eyed the mouth-watering

scones. "I suppose one wouldn't hurt."

"Good, I haven't the patience for ladies who try to eat like rabbits."

"No, you prefer sheep, I understand."

"Touche again, my lady." John glanced out the window. "Are those your

horses out there?"

Belle followed his gaze and then got up and walked to the window. "Yes,

the one on the left is my mare Amber. I didn't see

the stables, so I just tied her to the tree. She seems content."

John had stood when Belle had gotten up, and now he walked over to join

her at the window. "The stables are in the back."

Belle was intensely aware of his nearness, of the spicy masculine scent

of him. The breath seemed to leave her body, and

for the first time that morning, she felt robbed of all speech. While he

was watching her mare, she stole a quick glance at his

profile. He had a straight, patrician nose, and a strong chin. His lips

were simply beautiful, full and sensual. She swallowed uncomfortably and

forced herself to move her gaze to his eyes. They looked bleak. Belle

found herself desperately wishing

that she could erase the pain and loneliness she saw there.

Abruptly, John turned and caught Belle watching him. His eyes locked

with hers, and for a moment he left his expression unshuttered, allowing

her to look into his very soul. Then he quirked a smile, breaking the

spell, and turned away.

"She's a lovely mare," he said.

It took a few moments before Belle could catch her breath. "Yes, I've

had her for several years."

"I cannot imagine she gets much exercise in London."

"No." And why were they speaking so flatly now, Belle wanted to know.

Why had he pulled away from her? She didn't

think she could bear being with him for one more moment if they were

only going to speak inanities and, God forbid, make

polite conversation. "I'd better go," she said abruptly. "It's getting

late."

John chuckled at that. It was barely ten in the morning.

In her haste to compose herself and leave, Belle didn't hear his mirth.

"You can keep the basket," she said. "It's a gift,

after all, along with all the food."

"I shall treasure it always." He pulled the bell-cord to summon Belle's

maid from the kitchens.

Belle smiled, and then to her horror and surprise, she felt a tear

welling up in her eye. "Thank you for your company.

I had a lovely morning."

"As did I." John escorted her to the front hall. She smiled before

turning away from him, rocking him to his very soul and

sending a fresh wave of desire through his body. "Lady Arabella," he

said hoarsely.

She turned around, concern clouding her features. "Is something wrong?"

"It isn't wise for you to keep company with me."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't come here again."

"But you just said—"

"I said don't come again. At least not alone."

She blinked. "Don't be silly. You sound like the hero in a gothic novel."

"I'm not a hero," he said darkly. "You'd do well to remember that."

"Stop funning me." Her voice lacked conviction.

"I'm not, my lady." He closed his eyes, and for a split second an

expression of pure agony washed over his features.

"There are many dangers in this world about which you don't know. About

which you should /never /know," he added harshly.

The maid arrived in the hall.

"I'd better go," Belle said quickly, completely unnerved.

"Yes."

She turned and fled down the steps to her horse. She mounted quickly and

set off down the drive to the main road, intensely aware of John's eyes

on her back the entire way.

What had happened to him? If Belle had been intrigued by her new

neighbor before, now she was ravenously curious.

His moods shifted like the wind. She didn't understand how he could

tease her so sweetly one moment and be so dark

and forbidding the next.

And she couldn't shake the idea that he somehow /needed /her. He needed

someone, that much was clear. Someone who

could wipe away

the pain that surfaced in his eyes when he thought no one was looking.

Belle squared her shoulders. She'd never been one to back down from a

challenge.

*

*

*

*

*Chapter 4

*

Belle was plagued by thoughts of John for the rest of the day. She went

to bed early, hoping that a good nighf s sleep would

give her new perspective. But sleep eluded her for hours, and once she

fell into slumber, John haunted her dreams with

startling persistence.

The next morning she slept a little later than usual, but when she went

down to breakfast, she found that Alex and Emma had stayed abed again.

She didn't feel like searching out something with which to amuse

herself, so she finished her breakfast

quickly and decided to go for a walk.

She glanced down at her booted feet, decided that her shoes were sturdy

enough for a bit of a hike, and slipped out the front

door, leaving a note for her cousins with Norwood. The autumn air was

crisp but not cold, and Belle was glad that she hadn't bothered to put

on a cloak. Taking quick strides, she found herself heading east. East

toward John Blackwood's property.

Belle groaned. She should have known this was going to happen. She

stopped, trying to force herself to turn around and head west. Or north

or south or north by northwest or anything but east. But her feet

refused to obey, and she trudged onward,

trying to excuse her behavior by telling herself that she only knew how

to get to Blondwood Manor by way of the main road,

and here she was going through woods, so she probably wouldn't ever get

there anyway.

She frowned. It wasn't called Blondwood Manor. But for the life of her,

she couldn't remember what it /was /called. Belle

shook her head and kept on walking.

An hour went by, and Belle started to regret her decision not to bring

her mare. It was a couple of miles to the edge of Alex's property, and

from what John had told her the previous day, she knew it was another

couple of miles to his house. Her boots weren't turning out to be as

comfortable as she had hoped, and she had a sneaking suspicion that a

blister was forming on her

right heel.

She tried to keep a stiff upper lip, but the pain soon reached new

heights of irritation. With an audible groan, Belle finally gave

up and conceded defeat to her blister. She squatted down and patted the

grass with her hand, checking to see if it was damp.

The early morning dew had already evaporated, so she plopped down onto

the ground, unlaced her boot, and pulled it off. She

was about to get up and start walking again when she realized that she

was wearing her favorite stockings. With a sigh, she reached up under

her skirt and slowly rolled one off.

* * *

From his position ten yards away, John could not believe his eyes. Belle

had wandered onto his property again, and he was

just about to make his presence known to her when she started muttering

to herself and then sat down on the ground in a

most undignified manner.

Intrigued, John darted behind a tree. What followed was a scene far more

seductive than he would have ever dreamed

possible. After pulling off her shoe, Belle had lifted her skirts well

above her knees, giving him a tantalizing view of her

shapely legs. John almost groaned. In a society that considered ankles

promiscuous, this was racy, indeed.