Dancing at Midnight (30 page)

tell you all about it tomorrow."

The handful of guests left soon thereafter. As Emma departed, however,

she took Belle's hand in hers and pulled her aside.

"Do you, er, need to have a talk with me?" she whispered.

"I don't think so," Belle whispered back.

"Are you certain?"

"About what?"

"That you don't need to have a talk with me?"

"Emma, what are you talking about?"

"Married love, corkbrain. Do you need to have a talk with me?"

"Oh, er, no. No, I don't."

Emma drew back, a light smile touching her features. "I had a feeling

you didn't." She let go of her hand and took a few steps away before

turning back to say, "Well then, have a good night."

Belle smiled. "Oh, I shall. I shall."

"What was that all about?" John asked, leaning down to kiss his wife's

neck now that all of their guests had departed.

"I'll tell you tomorrow."

"Fine. I have other things on my mind tonight." He steered her up the

stairs.

"So have I." She followed with alacrity.

"What are you thinking?" John asked when they reached the landing.

"Right... now."

"I was thinking that I'm glad that we're staying here tonight."

"Mmmm, me too. It would have taken far too long to make it home."

"To your brother's?"

"No, goose. To Bletchford Manor."

Belle smiled. "It seems so long since I've been there. It hadn't even

occurred to me that I have a new home."

"It's not very grand," John said quietly.

"It's grand enough for me."

"It has a terrible name."

"That can be fixed."

"Not very many servants."

"I don't need many. And stop trying to put down Bletchford Manor. It has

several excellent attributes."

"Really?" They were at the top of the stairs.

"Oh yes." Belle smiled flirtatiously. "The rose bushes are quite beautiful."

"Is that all?"

"There is a stunning Aubusson carpet in the drawing room."

"Is that all?"

"Well," Belle said with a smile as they turned into her bedroom. "There

is the master."

"The master?" John's eyes lit with delight.

"He's very attractive."

"Do you think so?" He kicked the door shut.

"Oh yes, very."

John's hands stole around to the cloth-covered buttons which marched

down the center of her back. "I have a secret for you."

"You do?" Belle could feel her heart quickening at the touch of his warm

hands on her skin.

"Mmm. This master you're speaking of..."

"Yes?"

"He likes you, too."

"Does he?"

John undid the last of her buttons and let the dress slide down her

body, leaving her clad only in a silky little thing which drove

his every sense wild. "He'd like to begin mastering you tonight."

"Mastering me?" Belle questioned, with just a hint of playful scolding

in her voice for his choice of verbs.

"Well, he's done it once before, and he liked it quite a bit."

"Did he now?" Belle could barely get the words out, for John's hands

were now moving up her legs, pushing her chemise

over her thighs.

"Very, very much."

"Enough to spend a lifetime doing it?" she asked.

"Mmm-hmm. Enough to let you master him."

She cocked her head and smiled. "Really?"

"Oh, yes." His lips found the hollow where her neck met her shoulder.

Belle felt herself moving backwards until she felt the bed behind her.

John's mouth had moved down to cover one of her

breasts, and she was finding it very difficult to stand. They sank down

onto trie bed together.

The heat of his body seared her into the mattress for only a moment

before he lifted himself up and tore his shirt off.

"God, Belle," he said raggedly. "If you only knew ..."

"If I only knew what?" she asked quietly, her eyes sliding over his bare

chest with feminine appreciation.

His hands, which had been undoing the buttons on his trousers, stilled.

"How much... What you ..." He gave his head a little

shake, as if to dislodge the words from his throat. "My life was..." He

swallowed. "I don't know how to say it."

Belle reached out and took his hand. "Then show me."

He flattened her palm against his stomach and slid it up to his heart.

"It beats for you," he whispered. "Only you."

He moved toward her slowly, as if pulled by some invisible thread

connecting them. The rest of his clothing fell to the floor,

and then he was with her, the heat of their bodies separated only by the

thin silk of her chemise.

Belle could feel the urgency bursting within him. His hands roamed her

skin with an energy that was almost frantic. Desire

curled through her body, whipped up into white hot heat by his hands and

lips and the incoherent whisperings of his mouth.

She tore at her chemise, trying to move it up her body, but he pushed

her hands back down. "Leave it," he said. "I like it."

"But I want to feel you," she gasped.

"You can." He splayed his hand over her midriff. "I can feel you. And I

feel silk, and heat, and desire."

Belle felt something quickening in her abdomen. Her breath was coming in

short little pants. His hips were pressing against

hers, the evidence of his desire nestled between her legs. "John, I—"

"What, love?"

"I want to feel you."

A shudder went through his body, and Belle could feel the tension in his

muscles as he fought to control his desire.

"You don't have to go slowly," she whispered. "I want it, too."

His eyes flew to hers. "Belle, I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. You could never hurt me."

His hands moved to her legs, and he slowly separated them, pushing up

her silky chemise in the process. The tip of his

manhood found her, and he began to move forward.

Belle caught her breath as she felt him entering her. It was the most

intimate of kisses, and she arched her hips to bring him

even closer. His movements grew faster, more furious.

It was building within her. A force. A tension. It was growing, filling her.

John's breathing grew ragged. He sank his fingers into her hair, gasping

her name as he pushed forward and back, his body

lost in primal rhythm.

Belle was spiraling toward ecstasy. She clawed at his back, trying to

reach something that was so close ... and men she was there. Pleasure

gripped her, and she screamed out his name.

But John didn't hear her. Her shouts were drowned out by his own as he

surged forward one last time and exploded within her. He collapsed on

top of her, his entire body heaving with exertion.

Many minutes later he rolled onto his side, pulling her along with him.

Their bodies were now separated, but John held her close.

"I want to fall asleep with you in my arms," he whispered. "I want to

feel you, and to smell you. I want to know you're here."

Belle snuggled closer. "I'm not going anywhere."

John sighed, a smile forming on his lips. He nuzzled his face against

her hair, dropping a kiss on top of her head. "My wife," he said, unable

to keep a touch of wonder from his voice. "My wife."

*

*

*

*

*Chapter 18*

*

*

It wasn't until the next morning that Belle remembered to ask John about

his conversation with Alex. He briefly considered

hiding the truth from her, but one look ituv.» her inquisitive blue eyes

reminded him that he respected her far too much to

resort to subterfuge.

"I know who is trying to kill me." he finally said, his voice low.

Belle sat up in bed, pulling the covers over her breasts. "Who?"

"George Spencer." He cleared his throat. "The one I told you about."

The blood drained from Belle's face. "But I thought he'd left the country."

"I thought so, too. Ashbourne saw him outside the house before the wedding."

"Are you certain that he'd want to kill you?"

John closed his eyes as his memory took him back to Spain. The stench of

sex and blood. The agony in Ana's eyes.

The fury in Spencer's. "I'm certain."

Belle put her arms around him and pulled herself close to his side. "Now

at least we know who he is. Now we can fight him."

He nodded slowly.

"What are we going to do?"

"I'm not sure yet, love. There is much to consider." But he didn't want

to think about any of that yet, not when he was still lying

in bed with his wife of less than twenty-four hours. Abruptly changing

the subject, he kissed her again and asked, "Did you have

a good wedding?"

"Of course," Belle replied loyally.

"Are you certain?" John hated to think that his haste might have spoiled

one of the most magical days in her life. "You seemed somewhat

distraught before the ceremony."

"Oh, /that," /Belle said, a light blush creeping across her cheeks. "I

was just a touch edgy."

"Not having second thoughts about me, I hope." He /hoped? /He prayed.

"No, of course not," Belle said, playfully swatting him on the shoulder.

"I never, never even once thought I was making a

mistake. I was just a bit at odds with myself because my wedding wasn't

exactly how I dreamed it was going to be."

"I'm sorry," John said softly.

"No, no, don't be. Just because it wasn't what I thought I wanted

doesn't mean it wasn't absolutely perfect. Oh, dear, am

I making any sense at all?"

John nodded solemnly.

"I thought that I needed a church and hundreds of guests and music that

actually sounded like music, but I was wrong.

What I needed was a drunken priest, irreverent guests, and a companion

who learned to play piano from a goat."

"Then you got exactly what you needed."

"I suppose so. But then again, all I really needed was you." John leaned

down to kiss her again, and they remained

thus occupied for the next hour.

*  *  *

As the day wore on, John realized that he was going to have to take some

action about George Spencer. He certainly had no desire to sit around

and wait for Spencer to finally lodge a bullet in his chest. He'd go

crazy if he had to wait patiently for his enemy to make a move. For the

sake of his sanity, then, he would need to come up with a plan. The idea

of skulking in

shadows was distasteful, and he resolved to face the situation head-on

and meet with Spencer in person.

Of course that required knowledge of Spencer's whereabouts. John had no

doubt that such information would not be difficult to obtain. News

traveled fast in London, even in the off-season, and Spencer was from a

good enough family to insure that his

arrival would have been noted. One simply had to ask the right people.

John retired to the library and penned a note to Alex right away,

requesting his help. A reply arrived not twenty minutes later.

Spencer is staying in rented rooms at 14 Bellamy Lane. He has returned

to London under his own name and is enjoying

a lukewarm reception. Apparently he tried to return to England directly

after the war and was scorned as a deserter.

His situation has improved since then, although not by much.

He does not receive many invitations, but I do not think that it would

be difficult for him to gain acceptance to large

parties and balls. He has the right accent and the right clothing. You

and Belle will have to be careful. Please keep

me informed of your plans.

Ashbourne

Alex had been busy since the night before. John shook his head in

admiration. He sat down with a quill and paper. After

several drafts, he finally decided on simplicity and sent this letter:

Spencer,

I understand that you are in London. We have much to discuss. Won't you

please come by for tea? I am staying

at my in-laws' house in Grosvenor Square.

Blackwood

John sent the note off with a messenger and gave him instructions to

wait for a reply.

He wandered out into the hall, looking for Belle. He still didn't really

know his way around the mansion, which was quite large

for a town house. He felt damned strange staying in someone else's home,

especially since the owners were off in Italy and had no idea that he'd

just married their only daughter. If the Blydons were in residence, he'd

feel more like a proper guest, but as it was, he felt like he was

playing the master in another's home. The awkward situation only served

to make him more determined than ever to put an end to his problems with

Spencer. He'd spent five years saving money to buy a home of his own,

and now he couldn't even use it.

If he hadn't just gotten married, he'd have been in a really foul mood.

He finally found Belle asleep on a sofa in her sitting room. He smiled

to himself, thinking that she deserved her nap. He'd

certainly done his best to keep her up the night before. Not wanting to

disturb her, he tiptoed out of the room and headed back to the library

where he settled into a chair with a copy of /The Passionate Pilgrim.

/If Belle could read it, he figured, so could he. It irked him that he

had to sit around and read while someone was plotting to do him in, but

given his current strategy, there didn't seem anything to do other than