Dancing at Midnight (23 page)

my parents return."

John groaned as he picked up his boots and uttered a curse which was

completely unfamiliar to Belle. "When are they getting back?" he asked

in a very low voice.

"I'm not certain."

"Would it be possible for you to offer an estimate?"

"No more than a couple of weeks, I would imagine." Belle forbore to

point out that they would have to wait at least another

month or two after her parents returned before they could actually

marry. Her mother would insist upon a large wedding.

Of that she was certain.

John swore again. "If they're not home within a fortnight Alex can give

you away. Or call your brother down from Oxford.

I don't care which."

"But—"

"No buts. If your parents ask questions, you can simply tell them that

we /had /to get married."

Belle swallowed and nodded. What else could she do? "I lo ... " She lost

her courage, and the rest of the sentence remained

on her tongue.

He turned around. "Yes?"

"I—nothing. Be careful getting down that tree. It's rather tall."

"Three stories, to be precise."

His wry grin was infectious, and Belle felt the corners of her mouth

tugging up as she followed him to the window.

He leaned down and murmured, "A kiss goodbye." His lips touched hers in

one last, passionate caress.

Belle barely had time to kiss him back before he moved away, pulled on

his gloves, and disappeared outside. She rushed to the window and looked

out, watching him with a smile as he made his way down the tree.

"He could have just gone out the door," she muttered to herself.

"Persephone's room is in the opposite direction." Oh well, it was more

fun this way, and certainly more romantic. As long as he didn't break

his fool neck on the way down. Belle leaned out the window a little

further and sighed with relief when she saw his feet touch the ground.

He leaned down to rub his bad knee, and she winced in sympathy.

She watched him until he disappeared from sight, leaning against the

windowsill with a dreamy expression on her face. London could be

beautiful on ocassion, she mused. Like now, with its deserted streets, and—

A movement caught her eye. Was that a man? It was hard to tell. Briefly

she wondered what someone would be doing up and about and on foot this

time of night.

She giggled. Maybe all of London's gentlemen had decided to do some

unconventional courting that evening.

Taking a deep breath, she shut the window and made her way back to bed.

It was only when she was snuggled up under her mountain of covers that

she remembered that he had never found his fulfillment. She smiled

wryly. No wonder he was so cranky.

*  *  *

John made his way back to his brother's house, his hand on his pistol

the entire time. London was getting more and more dangerous these days,

and one really couldn't be too careful. Still, he hadn't wanted to bring

a carriage by Belle's house.

Someone might have seen it, and he didn't want her subject to any

vicious rumors. Besides, it was only a few short blocks to Damien's

home. It seemed that all of the /ton /was squeezed into one tiny section

of London. He doubted that most of them

knew that the city continued past the borders of Grosvenor Square.

He was about halfway home when he heard footsteps.

He turned around. Was someone behind him?

Nothing but shadows. He continued on his way. Surely he'd imagined it.

He was still paranoid from the war, when every sound could mean death.

He turned the last corner when he heard the footsteps again. And then a

bullet whined past his ear. "What the hell?"

Another bullet whizzed by, this one grazing his arm and drawing blood.

He whipped out his pistol and spun around. He saw a shadowy figure

across the street, furiously reloading a gun. John lost no time in

firing, and the villain went down as he took a

bullet in the shoulder.

Damn! His aim was off. Gun still in hand, he started after his would-be

assassin. The man saw him coming, grabbed his

shoulder, and got to his feet. He shot John an apprehensive look, but

his face was covered by a half-mask, so John had no

way of recognizing him. With one last fleeting glance, the villain

rushed off.

As John made his way across the street, he cursed his leg for slowing

him down. Never had he been so furious at the fates for maiming him this

way. There was no way he'd be able to catch up with his attacker.

Accepting defeat, John sighed and turned around. This was trouble.

And he had no right dragging Belle into it.

His hand strayed to his arm as he finally realized that he was bleeding.

He could barely feel the pain, however. His fury

blocked out all other feeling. Someone was after him, and he didn't know

why. Some lunatic was sending him cryptic notes

and wanted him dead.

And whoever it was, he probably wouldn't hesitate to involve Belle if he

realized how much she meant to John. And if he had

been following him at all during the past week, he would know that John

had spent every free minute in her company.

John swore as he mounted the front steps to Damien's house. He would not

put Belle in danger, even if that meant he had to postpone his marriage

plans.

Bloody hell.

*

*

*

*

*Chapter 14*

*

*

"Pardon me, my lady, a message has arrived for you."

Belle looked up as a servant entered the room. She'd been sitting in a

dreamlike haze, replaying the previous night with

John—for about the fiftieth time. She took the letter, carefully opened

it, and read the contents.

Belle,

I apologize for giving you such short notice, but I will be unable to

accompany you and Persephone to the theater this evening.

Sincerely,

John Blackwood

Belle looked down at the note for a minute or so, puzzling over the

formal tone. With a shrug, she just decided that some

people always wrote formally, so she shouldn't be upset that he had

signed the note "sincerely" rather than "love." And it

didn't really matter that he had felt the need to include his surname in

addition to his given name. She tucked the note away,

telling herself not to be so fanciful.

She shrugged. Maybe Dunford would be interested in escorting her and

Persephone.

Dunford did want to go to the theater, and he had a fine time escorting

Belle and Persephone. However, Belle's thoughts frequently drifted off

toward the man who had sneaked into her bedroom the night before. She

wondered what had kept him

from joining her that evening, but supposed that he'd explain everything

to her the next day.

Except he didn't come by the next day. Or the one after that.

Belle was more than puzzled. She was damned irritated. She'd been warned

about men who used women for their own

pleasure and then discarded them, but she just couldn't bring herself to

place John in that category. First of all, she refused to believe that

she could have fallen in love with a man who was so fundamentally

dishonest, and second of all, it had been she

who moaned with pleasure the other night, not him.

After two days of waiting and hoping for a glimpse of him, Belle finally

decided to take matters into her own hands and sent

him a note of her own, asking him to stop by.

There was no reply.

Belle grumbled in irritation. He knew very well that she could not call

on him. He was staying with his brother, and both were bachelors. It was

entirely unsuitable for an unmarried lady to call on such a household.

Especially here in London. Her mother would have her head if she found

out about it, which she very well might, considering that she was due

back any day now.

She sent him another message, this one more carefully worded, asking him

if she had done anything to displease him, and would

he please be kind enough to reply. Belle smiled wryly to herself as she

wrote the words. She wasn't very good at keeping the twinge of sarcasm

from her tone.

*  *  *

A few streets away, John groaned as he read her note. She was getting

annoyed, that was clear. And how could he blame her? After a fortnight

of flowers, chocolate, poetry, and then finally passion, she had a right

to expect to see him.

But what else was he to do? He had received another anonymous note the

day after his attack which had simply read,

"Next time I won't miss." John had no doubt that Belle would take it

upon herself to see to his protection if she knew that

someone was trying to kill him. And as he didn't see how Belle possibly

/could /protect him, such an endeavor could only lead

to her getting hurt.

He sighed with despair and let his head fall into his hands. Now that

happiness was finally within his grasp, how could he spend the rest of

his life worrying that a bullet was going to catch him unawares? He

grimaced. The words "rest of his life" suddenly took on new meaning. If

that assassin kept trying, sooner or later he was going to get lucky.

John was going to have to come

up with a plan.

But in the meantime, he had to keep Belle at a distance—and away from

the bullets that were aimed at his back. With an unbearably heavy heart,

he picked up a quill and dipped it into an inkpot.

Dear Belle,

I will not be able to see you for some time. I cannot explain why.

Please be patient with me. I remain

Yours,

John Blackwood

He knew that he ought to have simply broken things off, but he just

couldn't do it. She was the one thing in his life that had

brought him true joy, and he wasn't about to lose her. Carrying the

offending piece of paper as if it might give him a disease,

he made his way downstairs and gave it to a servant. Belle would receive

it within the hour.

He didn't even want to think about it.

Belle's response upon reading his brief letter was to blink. This

couldn't be real.

She blinked again. The words did not disappear.

Something was terribly wrong. He was trying to push her away again. She

didn't know why, and she didn't know why he

thought he might be able to succeed, but she couldn't allow herself to

believe that he really didn't want her.

How could he not, when she wanted him so badly? God couldn't be so cruel.

Belle quickly pushed those depressing thoughts aside. She had to trust

her instincts, and they told her that John did care for

her. Very much. As much as she cared for him. He had said to please be

patient with him. That seemed to indicate that he

was working through whatever problem ailed him. He must be in some kind

of trouble, and he didn't want to involve her.

How like him.

She grumbled. When was he going to learn that love meant sharing one's

burdens? She crumpled the paper into a hard little

ball and flexed her fist around it. He was going to get his first lesson

that afternoon, because she was going to see him,

propriety be damned.

And that was another thing. Her mental cursing had grown by epic

proportions during the past few days. She was beginning

to shock even herself. Belle tossed the note aside and brushed her hands

against each other. She took a small pleasure in

blaming her foul language on him.

Not bothering to change into a fancier dress, Belle grabbed a warm cloak

and stalked off in search of her maid. She found

her in her dressing room, examining her gowns for small rips and tears.

"Oh, hello, my lady," Mary said quickly. "Do you know which gown you

wish to wear this evening? It needs to be pressed."

"Doesn't matter," Belle said briskly. "I don't think I'm going to go out

this evening after all. But I do want to take a short

walk this afternoon, and I'd like you to accompany me."

"Right away, my lady." Mary fetched her coat and followed Belle down the

stairs. "Where are we going?"

"Oh, not very far," Belle said cryptically. Her mouth shut in firm

determination, she opened the front door and strode down

the steps.

Mary scurried to catch up with her. "I've never seen you walk so fast,

my lady."

"I always walk quickly when I'm irritated."

Mary had no reply for that, so she simply sighed and quickened her pace.

After they had walked a few blocks, Belle stopped short. Mary nearly

crashed into her.

"Hmmm," Belle said.

"Hmmm?"

"This is the place."

"What place?"

"The Earl of Westborough's home."

"Earl who?"

"John's brother."

"Oh." Mary had seen John several times during the past few weeks. "Why

are we here?"

Belle took a deep breath and lifted her chin stubbornly. "We've come to

pay a visit." Without waiting for Mary's reply,

she marched up the steps and slammed the knocker down three times.

"What?" Mary nearly screeched. "You can't come calling here."

"I can and I am." Impatient, Belle slammed the knocker down again.

"But—but—only /men /live here."