Dancing at Midnight (10 page)

Alex stood when they entered the dining room. "We thought you'd gotten

lost along the way."

"I'm afraid my leg has been paining me a bit today," John replied.

"Belle was kind enough to accommodate my slow gait."

Belle nodded, wondering how on earth she was able to keep her lips from

twitching. She and John joined Emma and Alex

around the small table of the informal dining room. They were served

asparagus in mustard sauce, and Emma, recognizing

that her neighbor and cousin seemed to be better acquainted than time

would warrant, immediately began her interrogation.

"I am so glad you were able to come for dinner this evening, John. But

you must tell us more about yourself. What part of

England are you from?"

"I grew up in Shropshire."

"Really? I've never been there, but I hear it's quite lovely."

"Yes, it is quite."

"And does your family still live there?"

"I believe that they do."

"Oh." Emma seemed slightly flustered by his odd choice of words but

continued the conversation nonetheless.

"And do you see them very often?"

"I rarely see them at all."

"Emma, darling," Alex said gently. "Pray give our guest time between

questions to eat."

Emma smiled sheepishly and speared a stalk of asparagus with her fork.

Before she put it in her mouth, however,

she blurted out, "Belle is marvellously well-read, you know."

Belle choked on her food, not having expected the conversation to turn

her way.

"Speaking of reading," John cut in smoothly, "did you finish /The

Winter's Tale? /I noticed you were nearly done the other day."

Belle took a sip of wine. "Yes, I did. And it marked the end of my Grand

Shakespearean Quest."

"Really? I'm almost afraid to ask what that was."

"All the plays."

"How impressive," John murmured.

"In alphabetical order."

"And organized, too. The lady is a wonder."

Belle blushed. "Don't tease me, you wretch."

Alex's and Emma's eyes widened over the playful banter that was sailing

across the table. "If I remember correctly," Alex injected, "didn't this

quest also involve some poetry?"

"I've abandoned the poetry for now, I think. Poetry is so, well, poetic,

don't you think? Nobody actually talks that way."

John quirked a brow. "You think not?" He turned to Belle, and when he

spoke again, there was a certain fire in his brown

eyes that she had never before seen there.

"What though the radiance which was once so bright

Be now for ever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;

We will grieve not, rather find

Strength in what remains behind."

There was silence at the table until John spoke again, his eyes never

leaving Belle's. "I wish I always spoke with such eloquence."

Belle found herself oddly moved by John's short recitation and the warm

tones of his voice. Something about his speech held

her spellbound, and she completely forgot the presence of her cousins.

"That was lovely," she said quietly.

"Wordsworth. It's one of my favorites."

"Does that poem have particular meaning for you? Do you live by its

sentiment?"

There was a very long pause. "No," John said bluntly. "I try to, on

occasion, but usually fail."

Belle swallowed, uncomfortable with the pain she saw in his eyes, and

searched for another topic. "Do you also enjoy

writing poetry?"

John laughed, finally breaking his gaze away from Belle and facing the

table at large. "I might enjoy writing poetry if I

ever wrote some that was even halfway decent."

"But you recited the Wordsworth with such passion." Belle protested.

"You obviously have a deep love of poetry."

"Enjoying poetry and being able to write it are two very different

endeavors. I imagine that is why so many would-be poets

spend so much of their time with a bottle of brandy in each hand."

"I am certain you have the soul of a poet." she persisted.

John merely smiled. "I am afraid that your confidence is misplaced, but

I shall take that as a compliment."

"As well you should. I shan't be satisfied until I add a volume of your

poetry to my library." Belle said archly.

"Then I had better get to work. I certainly wouldn't want to disappoint

you."

"No," she murmured quietly. "I'm sure you wouldn't."

*

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*Chapter 6*

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The next day Belle decided that perhaps she had been too hasty in her

dismissal of poetry.

After lunch, she changed into a dark blue riding habit and headed to the

stables. Inspired by John's recitation the night before,

she took with her a slim volume of Wordsworth's poetry. Her plan was to

find a grassy hillside and settle down to read, but she had a feeling

that she wasn't going to be able to stop herself from steering her mare

toward Blemwood Park, no, Brinstead Manor—drat, why couldn't she

remember the name of that place? Whatever it was called, it was where

John lived, and Belle wanted to go there.

She urged her mare into a trot, breathing in the fresh autumn air as she

headed east toward John's property. She had absolutely

no idea what she'd say if she ran into him. Probably something stupid;

she seemed to ramble on more than usual with him.

"Good day, Lord Blackwood," she tested. No, too formal.

"I just happened to be riding east..." Too obvious. And hadn't she used

something like that the other day?

She sighed and decided to go with simplicity. "Hello, John."

"Hello yourself."

Belle gasped. She'd been so busy rehearsing what she wanted to say to

him that she hadn't even noticed that he was right there

in front of her.

John raised his eyebrows at her shocked expression. "Surely you can't be

too terribly surprised to see me. You did say 'hello'

after all."

"So I did," Belle said with a nervous smile. Had he heard her talking to

herself about him? She looked up at him, gulped, and

said the first thing that came to mind. "That's a lovely horse."

John permitted himself a small smile at her skit-tishness. "Thank you.

Although I imagine that Thor might take exception to

being called lovely."

Belle blinked and looked closer. John was indeed atop a stallion, and a

rather powerful one, to boot.

"A very /handsome /horse, then," she amended.

He patted his stallion's neck. "Thor feels much better, I'm sure."

"What brings you this way?" Belle asked, not certain if she was still on

Alex's property or had already crossed over to John's.

"I was just heading west..."

Belle stifled a laugh. "I see."

"And what brings /you /this way?"

"I was just heading east."

"I see."

"Oh, you must know I was hoping to see you," she blurted out.

"Now that you've seen me," John said, "what do you plan to do with me?"

"I hadn't gotten that far in my plans, actually," Belle admitted. "What

would /you /like to do with /me?"/

It occurred to John that his thoughts in that direction were not

suitable for polite conversation. He remained silent but couldn't

prevent himself from leveling an appreciative gaze at the woman facing him.

Belle interpreted his expression correctly and turned beet red. "Oh, you

wretch," she stammered. "That wasn't what I meant."

"I cannot imagine what you're talking about," John said, his face a

picture of innocence.

"You know very well, and you're not going to make me say it, you—Oh,

never mind, would you like to come to tea?"

John laughed aloud. "How I love the English. Anything can be cured with

a pot of tea."

Belle offered him a waspish smile. "You're English too, John, and just

for the record, anything /can /be cured with a pot of tea."

He smiled wryly. "I wish someone had told that to the doctor who nearly

sawed off my leg."

Belle sobered immediately. What was she supposed to say to that? She

looked up at the sky, which was beginning to cloud

over. She knew that John was terribly sensitive about his leg, and she

should probably avoid talking about it. Still, he had been

the one to mention it, and it seemed that the best way to show him that

she didn't care about his injury was to joke about it.

"Well then, my lord," she said, praying that she wasn't making a

terrible mistake. "I shall contrive to spill some tea on your leg

this afternoon. If that doesn't do the trick, I don't know what will."

He seemed to hesitate a moment before saying, "I suppose you need an

escort back to Westonbirt. I see you're out alone again."

"Someday, John," she said in exasperated tones, "you will make a superb

parent."

A fat raindrop landed on his nose, and he threw up his arms in mock

surrender. "Lead on, my lady."

Belle turned her mare around, and they headed back to Westonbirt. After

a few moments of companionable silence, she

turned to him and asked, "Why /were /you out and about this afternoon?

And don't tell me that you were just heading west."

"Would you believe I was hoping I'd see you?"

Belle turned to him quickly, scanning his face to see if he was toying

with her. His brown eyes were velvety warm, and her

heart skipped a beat at his intent gaze. "I might believe you, if you

are very nice to me this afternoon," she teased.

"I shall be /especially /nice," John said wickedly, "if that means I'll

get an extra cup of tea."

"For you, anything!"

They rode on for several minutes until Amber suddenly stopped cold, her

ears pricking up nervously.

"Is something wrong?" John inquired.

"It's probably a rabbit in the woods. Amber has always been very

sensitive to movement. It's strange, actually. She trots along

a crowded London street as if she hasn't a care in the world, but put

her on a quiet country lane and she's suspicious of every

little noise."

"I didn't hear anything."

"Neither did I." Belle tugged gently on the reins. "Come on, girl. It's

going to rain."

Amber took a few hesitant steps and then stopped again, turning her head

sharply to the right.

"I can't imagine what's wrong with her," Belle said sheepishly.

/Crack!/

Belle heard the explosion of a gunshot from nearby in the woods and then

felt the soft rush of air as a bullet whizzed between

their bodies.

"Was that—" she started to ask, but she never completed her question

because Amber, already skittish, reared up at the loud noise. Belle had

to focus all of her attention simply on keeping her seat. She threw her

arms around the mare's neck, murmuring, "Easy girl. Steady, now." She

was so frightened, however, that she wasn't sure whether her words were

meant to soothe the horse or herself.

Just when she was certain that she wouldn't be able to hold on any

longer, she felt John's steely arms wrap around her waist

and pluck her from the saddle. She landed unceremoniously next to him

atop Thor.

"Are you all right?" he asked roughly.

Belle nodded. "I think so. I need to catch my breath. I was more

startled than anything else."

John pulled her close to him, unable to believe the depth of his fear

when he saw her holding on to Amber's neck for dear life.

The mare was now dancing around in nervous circles, breathing loudly but

otherwise settling down.

When Belle felt she had regained some composure, she pulled far enough

away from John to look into his face. "I heard a gunshot."

John nodded grimly. He couldn't imagine why anyone would want to shoot

at them, but it occurred to him that they shouldn't remain rooted to the

spot like sitting ducks. "If I keep you here with me as we ride back,

will Amber follow?"

She nodded, and they were soon galloping back to Westonbirt.

"I think it was an accident," Belle said once they slowed down.

"The gunshot?"

"Yes. Alex was telling me just the other day that he has been having

trouble with poachers. I'm sure it was a stray bullet that spooked Amber."

"It came a little too close for my comfort."

"I know, but what else could it have been? Why would anyone want to

shoot at us?"

John shrugged his shoulders. He had no enemies.

"I shall have to discuss this with Alex," Belle continued. "I am certain

he will want to see the rules enforced more stringently. Someone could

be hurt. We very nearly were."

John nodded, pulled her closer to him, and urged Thor to go a little

faster. A few minutes later they rode into the Westonbirt stables, and

just in time, for the raindrops were coming down faster and faster.

"There you are, my lady," he said as he set her down. "Will you be able

to make it to the house without injury?"

"Oh, but aren't you coming?" Disappointment was clearly written on her

features.

He swallowed, and a muscle twitched in his throat. "No, I really cannot. I—"

"But you will be drenched if you try to ride home now. Surely you must

come in for some tea, if only to warm you up."