Dancing At Midnight

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 menlive here."

Belle rolled her eyes. "Really, Mary, You needn't speak of them as if they're a separate species. They're just like you and me." She blushed. "Well, almost."

She had just lifted her hand up again to grab the knocker when the butler answered the door. She gave him her calling card and told him that she was there to see Lord Blackwood. Mary was so embarrassed she couldn't lift her gaze above the level of Belle's knees.

The butler ushered the two ladies into a small salon just off the main hallway.

"Persephone's going to throw me into the street," Mary whispered, shaking her head.

"She will not, and you work for me, anyway, so she can't fire you."

"She won't be happy about it, though."

"I don't see any reason she needs to know about it," Belle said resolutely. But inside she was quaking. This was highly irregular, and if there was one thing her mother hadn't raised her to be, it was irregular. Oh, she had called on John alone in the country, but etiquette was looser there.

Just when she thought her nerves had quite reached their limit, the butler returned.

"Lord Blackwood is not receiving, my lady."

Belle gasped at the insult. John had refused to see her. She swept to her feet and strode out of the room, her carriage held erect by the dignity that had been instilled in her since birth. She didn't stop until she was halfway down the street, and then, unable to help herself, she looked back.

John was standing in a third-story window, staring down at her.

As soon as he saw her turn, he stepped away and let the curtains fall back into place.

"Hmmm," Belle said, still looking at the window.

"What?" Mary followed her gaze but didn't find anything of interest.

"That's a nice tree in front of the building."

Mary raised her brows, convinced that her employer had gone daft.

Belle stroked her chin. "It's uncommonly close to the outer wall." She smiled. "Come along, Mary, we've got work to do."

"We do?" But Mary's words went unheard, for Belle was already several steps ahead of her.

When she got home, Belle marched straight up to her room, pulled out some stationery from her desk and penned a note to Emma, who had been much more of a tomboy while growing up than Belle.

Dearest Emma,

How do you climb trees?

Fondly,

Belle

After Belle sent the note off to her cousin, she dealt with her grief and her anger the best way she knew how. She went shopping.

For this outing she took Persephone with her. The older lady never tired of browsing through the elegant London shops. Much more of a selection than anywhere in Yorkshire, she explained. And besides, it was great fun spending Alex's money.

Neither woman really needed new clothing after their last outing, but the holiday season was approaching, so they browsed through trinket shops, looking for gifts. Belle found an odd little telescope for her brother and a lovely music box for her mother, but she couldn't stop her heart from wishing that it were John for whom she was shopping. She sighed. She would just have to believe that all would work out in the end. She couldn't let herself believe anything else. It would simply be too painful.

It was probably because she was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice the two rather unsavory looking characters lurking in an alleyway as she passed by. Before she realized what was happening, one of them had grabbed her arm and started pulling her deeper into the alley.

Belle yelled out and fought with all her might. The thug had pulled her far enough into the alley so that the passersby on the main street did not see her. And London had grown so loud, it was understandable that no one paid her cries any mind. "Let go of me, you cur," she cried out. Her arm felt as if it were being torn from the socket, but she blocked out the pain, intent only on escape.

"She's the one, I tell ya," she heard one of the villains say. "She's the one the fancy cove wanted."

"Shut up and get 'er over here." The other man stepped forward and Belle's terror increased tenfold. There was no way she'd be able to hold out against the strength of both of these men.

But just when it seemed that all was lost, salvation came in the unlikely form of Persephone. She had been distracted by a particularly attractive window display when Belle had disappeared into the alleyway and was quite baffled when she looked back up and her charge was gone. When she called out Belle's name and got no response, she grew worried and began to look about frantically.

"Belle?" she called out again, this time loudly. She scurried forward, her head turning in all directions. Then, as she was passing the alleyway, she saw a blur of movement and Belle's familiar blond hair.

"Good God!" she screamed, loud enough to make most of the people on the sidewalk stop and stare. "Let go of her, you beasts!" She rushed forward, raising her parasol above her head. "Let go, I tell you!" With a furious whack, she slammed her weapon down on the head of one of the assailants.

"Shut up, you old bitch!" he yelled, howling in pain.

Persephone's response was a horizontal swing which clipped him neatly in the middle. The breath knocked out of him, he fell to the ground.

The other thug was caught between utter panic and sheer greed, lusting after the money he'd been promised if he captured the yellow-haired lady. He gave it one last desperate try, barely aware that a number of people had rushed into the alleyway upon hearing Persephone's cries of distress.

"I said let go of her!" Persephone boomed. She changed her attack tactics and started viciously poking him with the end of her parasol. When she stabbed him neatly in the groin, he finally let go of Belle and ran away, painfully hunched over the entire way.

"Persephone, thank you so much," Belle said, tears of terror belatedly forming in her eyes.

But Persephone wasn't listening. All of her attention was focused on the man still lying on the ground. He made a motion as if to get up, but she jabbed him in the belly. "Not so fast, mister," she said.

Belle's eyes widened. Who would have dreamed that dear old Persephone would have such a tough streak?

The villain saw the growing crowd of people forming around him and closed his eyes, surmising that escape was impossible. Much to Belle's relief, a constable quickly arrived on the scene, and she relayed her story to him. He started to question her attacker, but the man remained closemouthed. That is, until the constable reminded him of the possible punishments for attacking a lady of Belle's position.

The man sang like a canary.

He'd been hired to grab her. Yes, just her. No, not any pretty blond lady, this one in particular. The gentleman who had hired him spoke with uppity accents-definitely highborn. No, he didn't know his name, and he hadn't seen him before, but he had straight blond hair and blue eyes, if that helped any, and his arm was in a sling.

After finishing the interrogation, the constable hauled him away and told Belle to be extra careful. Maybe she ought to hire one of those Bow Street Runners for added protection.

Belle shivered with fear. She had an enemy. One who probably wanted her dead.

As the crowd began to disperse, Persephone turned to her and asked solicitously, "Are you all right, dear?"

"Yes, yes," Belle replied. "I'm fine." Her eyes strayed down to her arm where that awful man had grabbed her. There had been a dress and a coat between her skin and his, but still she felt dirty. "I think, however, I'd like a bath."

Persephone nodded. "I couldn't agree with you more."

Late the next morning a footman brought Belle a reply from Emma.

Dearest Belle,

I cannot imagine why you suddenly want to learn how to climb trees since you never professed

any love for it when we were small. The first step is to find a tree with some reasonably low

branches. If you cannot reach the first branch, you'll never get anywhere…

The letter continued for two pages. Emma was nothing if not detailed. She was also a little suspicious, as the end of the letter showed.

I hope you find this helpful, although I must say I wonder where you are going to climb trees in London. I profess that I think this has something to do with John Blackwood. Love does strange things to women, as I well know. Be careful, whatever you do, and I can only breathe a sigh of relief that I am no longer your chaperone. God save Persephone.

Fondly,

Emma

Belle scoffed. If Emma were still her chaperone, she'd probably insist upon going along with her. Emma had never been known for prudent behavior.

Belle reread the letter, carefully going over the part about how to climb trees. Was she really going to do this? When she'd stopped outside of Damien's house and assessed that tree, she hadn't really thought that she would do anything about it. She wasn't the sort of daring female who would climb a tree and break into an earl's house through a third-story window. For one thing, she had no head for heights.

But, as Emma so wisely pointed out, love did strange things to a woman. That, and danger. Her nasty experience with those two thugs in the alleyway had convinced her that it was time to act decisively.

Or perhaps rashly was a better word for it.

Belle shook her head. No matter. She'd made up her mind. She was scared, and she needed John.

But those thugs did complicate her plans a bit. She couldn't very well go over to Damien's house in the middle of the night by herself when someone was out to kidnap her. And Mary, of course, would not be sufficient protection. Persephone and her perilous parasol were another story, but Belle doubted that Persephone would agree to go with her. She might be rather lenient as far as chaper-ones went, but she would certainly put her foot down at Belle breaking into a man's room.

What to do, what to do?

Belle smiled mischievously.

She picked up a quill and wrote a note to Dunford.

"Absolutely not!"

"Don't be stodgy, Dunford," Belle said. "I need your help."

"You don't need help, you need a harness. And I'm not being stodgy, I'm being a sensible. A word of which you appear to have forgotten the mean-ing.

Belle stubbornly crossed her arms and sank back into her chair. Dunford was up and pacing, his arms flying as he spoke. She'd never seen him so out of sorts.

"This is a damn fool thing you're thinking of, Belle. If you don't break your neck-and that's a pretty big If, considering that all of your tree-climbing experience can be located in a letter from your cousin-you'll probably be arrested for trespassing."

"I won't be arrested."

"Oh, really? And how do you know that you'll just happen to tumble into the correct room? With your luck you'll end up in the earl's bedroom. And I've been watching him watching you. I think he'd appreciate his good fortune."

"He would not. He knows I'm interested in his brother. And I'm not going to 'tumble into his bedroom' as you so delicately put it. I know which room is John's."

"I'm not even going to ask how you know that."

It was on the tip of Belle's tongue to defend her reputation, but she kept silent instead. If Dunford thought that she'd already been in John's bedroom he might be less reluctant to help her get there again.

"Look, Belle, my answer is still no. Absolutely not! With three exclamation points," he added.

"If you were my friend…" Belle muttered.

"Exactly. I am your friend for not letting you do this. An amazingly good friend. There is nothing you could say that will make me help you."

Belle rose. "Well, thank you, then, Dunford. I had hoped for your assistance, but I see that I'm just going to have to go about this alone."

Dunford groaned. "Except that. Belle, you really wouldn't go over there by yourself."

"I don't have any choice. My need to see him is most urgent, and he won't receive me. I suppose I'll hire a hack to take me the short distance from here to there so I won't have to walk alone so late at night, but-"

"All right, all right," Dunford conceded with an exasperated expression. "I'll help you, but I want you to know that I completely disapprove."

"Don't worry, you've made that quite clear."

Dunford sank into a chair and his eyes closed in mental agony. "God help us," he groaned. "God help us all."

Belle smiled. "Oh, I think He will."