Dancing At Midnight

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 into 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 wait.

He was well into the second act when Belle knocked on the door.

"Come in!"

She poked her head in. "Am I disturbing you?"

"On my first day as a married man? I think not."

She walked in, shut the door behind her and headed over to the chair next to John's.

"Hmm-mmm," he said, catching her by the hand. "Over here." One deft tug, and she toppled onto his lap.

Belle laughed all the way down and planted two-kisses along the line of his jaw, marveling at how comfortable she'd grown with this man. "What are you reading?" she asked, peeking at his book. "The Passionate Pilgrim? Whatever are you reading that for?"

"You read it."

"And?"

He tweaked her nose. "And I remembered how adorable you looked when we were talking about it the day I met you."

Belle's reply was another kiss.

"I've figured out what was wrong with our wedding," John mused.

"Oh?"

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth. "Most couples," he murmured, punctuating his words with little flicks of his tongue, "get to spend an entire week in bed after they get married. We didn't even sleep late."

Belle fluttered her lashes. "We could go back," she suggested.

His hand stole up her midriff and rested on her breast. "An interesting idea."

"Do you think so?" she asked in a breathy voice.

John squeezed her ever so gently, reveling in her response. "Mmm-hmm." He smiled lazily as he watched her arch her back. He could feel her nipple hardening into a tight little bud, and his body hardened in response.

"Will we always feel this way?" she whispered.

"Christ, I hope so." He leaned forward and captured her mouth in a hard, demanding kiss. His lips and tongue were ruthless, demanding everything of her, relentless in their mission to claim her very soul.

Belle's reaction was fast and furious. His brutal kiss inflamed her desire, and she returned his passion in equal measure, raking her hands along his back. His hot mouth moved down her neck, burning a trail of fire along her skin. "Did you lock the door?" he asked raggedly, his lips never leaving her throat.

"What?" Belle was so lost on a sea of passion she could barely hear his words.

"Did you lock the door?"

She shook her head.

"Damn." Reluctantly John tore his mouth from her tender skin and slid out from under her. Belle landed in a soft heap on the chair as he crossed the room to the door, her breath coming in uneven gasps.

John gave the key a decisive twist and turned back to his bride, his eyes gleaming with desire. Unfortunately, he had only taken two steps toward her when he heard a loud knock. He swore under his breath and shot a quick look to Belle to make sure that she was presentable before turning around. Taking his irritation out on the hapless doorknob, he viciously yanked the door open.

"What?" he snapped.

"My lord," came the quavering voice of the footman. "A letter for you, my lord."

John nodded curtly and picked up the paper resting on the footman's silver tray.

"There is usually a letter opener on that desk over there," Belle said, flicking her head toward the desk.

John followed her advice and slit the seal. The letter was written on expensive white paper.

My dear Lord Blackwood,

Do you think I'm stupid?

If you should like to meet I would be more than willing to arrange a time and place on a more neutral ground. I have always had a partiality for the docks.

George Spencer

"Who is it from?" Belle asked.

John crumpled the paper in his hands. "George Spencer," he said in a distracted voice.

"What?" she shrieked. "Why is he writing to you?

"Well, he is trying to kill me," John said mildly, his passion sadly diffused by the interruption. "And aside from that, I sent him a letter earlier today."

"What? Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

He sighed. "You're beginning to sound like a nagging wife."

"Well, you took care of the wife part yesterday, and as for the nagging-I think it's my prerogative given our intolerable situation. Now will you answer my question?"

"Which one?"

"All of them," she ground out.

"I wrote him a letter because I thought I might have a better chance of protecting myself if I could meet with him face-to-face and discern the level and nature of his hatred for me. I didn't tell you because you were sleeping. And then you were, er, otherwise occupied."

"I'm sorry for snapping at you," Belle said, somewhat appeased. "But I don't see what you can expect to accomplish by meeting him. You're just giving him an opportunity to kill you."

"I don't plan to take any unnecessary chances, love. I asked him to meet me here. He'd have to be very desperate to try anything in my home, or your home, as the case may be."

As soon as the words left his mouth, John knew they were the wrong ones, for Belle cried out, "But you don't know how desperate he is! If he really, really hates you, he might not care about the consequences of killing you in front of witnesses. Darling, I can't allow you to take such chances." Her voice broke. "Not when I love you so much."

"Belle, don't say-"

"I'll say whatever I damn well please! You take chances with your life, you don't say you love me, you won't even let me tell you that I love you." She made an inarticulate sound and jammed her fist into her mouth for a moment to still an oncoming sob. "Don't you even care?"

He gripped her upper arms with stunning force. "I care, Belle," he all but growled. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"No one is trying to. Only you." A deep and ragged breath racked his body. "Can it be enough to know that I care, Belle? That you've reached depths of my heart I didn't even know existed? Can that be enough for now?"

She swallowed convulsively. Lord, she hated it when she couldn't understand him. Still, she nodded. "For now," she said, her voice low. "Not for long. Certainly not forever."

He took her face in his hands and leaned down to kiss her, but she broke away. "I suppose we have to deal with this monster first. It is difficult to build a marriage when I fear for your life."

John tried to ignore the hollowness that had settled in his heart when she pulled away. "I promise you, darling, that I am taking the safest course of action. I have no wish of dying, but I cannot spend my life hiding away from Spencer. Eventually, he'll find me."

"I know. I know. What did the note say?"

John stood and crossed the room to the window. "He won't meet me here," he said, looking out at the busy street. "I imagine he thinks it's some sort of a trap."

"Is it?"

"A trap? No, although now that I think about it, the idea does have its merits."

"What else did he say?"

"He wants to meet me at the docks."

"I hope you don't plan to meet with him there." Belle shuddered. She'd never actually been to the docks, but every Londoner knew that it was a dreadful part of town.

"I'm not stupid," John replied, unconsciously echoing Spencer's written words. "I'll see if he'll meet me in some other public place. A crowded place," he added, mostly just to reassure her.

"Just so long as you don't go alone. I'm sure Alex and Dunford would be happy to accompany you. And Ned, too, if he's not already back at university."

"I doubt that Spencer will be willing to say what he wants to say to me in the company of others, Belle. But don't worry, I don't plan to meet him without friends nearby. He won't have an opportunity to try anything funny."

"But why would he meet with you other than to try to kill you?"

John scratched his head. "I don't know. He probably wants to tell me how he wants to kill me. Or how much."

"This isn't funny, John."

"I wasn't trying to make a joke."

Belle buried her face in her hands. "Oh, John," she moaned. "I'm so scared of losing you. It's almost funny. Part of the reason I fell in love with-" She held up her hand. "No, please don't interrupt. Part of the reason I fell in love with you is because I thought you needed me. I've got hordes of people who like me or love me, but no one has ever needed me like you do. But now I realize…" She broke off, choking on a sob.

"What, darling?" he whispered. "What do you realize?"

"Oh, John, I need you, too. If something should happen…"

"Nothing will happen to me," he said fiercely. For the first time in years he had something to live for. He wasn't going to let a raping bastard take it all away.

Belle looked up at him through teary eyelashes. "What are we going to do?"

"We aren't going to do anything," he replied, walking over to her and tousling her hair. Then, for good measure, he crouched down, pried her hands from her face, and kissed her brow. "I, however, am going to write Spencer a note."

He walked over to the table where he'd left the quill and paper he'd used earlier in the day. "What do you suggest I say?" he asked in a mild voice, trying to divert her mind away from her dread and anxiety.

"I think you should call him an idiotic son of a-"

"I don't think that will work," John cut in smoothly, wondering where on earth she'd come up with such a colorful vocabulary. "We don't want to insult him."

"We may not, but I certainly do."

"Belle," he sighed, hiding his smile. "You are a priceless gem. Whatever did I do to deserve you?"

"I don't know," she replied, standing up. "But if you want to keep me, I have one important piece of advice: don't die." With that, she took a deep breath and left the room, quite unable to be anywhere near a piece of paper that might eventually cause John's death.

John shook his head as he watched her leave. She wasn't taking this very well. But then, how could he blame her? If someone were trying to kill her, he'd be scouring London like a madman, desperately trying to get to him first.

Pushing such a distasteful thought from his mind, John turned back to the quill and paper before him. How strange to conduct a correspondence with one's assassin.

Spencer,

Do you think I'm stupid?

I suggest we meet somewhere slightly more palatable, perhaps Hardiman's Tea and Pastry Shoppe. You may name the time.

Blackwood

He had taken Belle to Hardiman's several times during their hasty courtship. They could get a private table there, but more importantly, the establishment was frequented by enough society matrons and debutantes that Spencer would not dare try anything foolish. Furthermore, it would be easy for Alex to sit nonchalantly a few tables away.

John once again dispatched the messenger to Spencer's lodgings. He expected a quick answer; Spencer would surely be waiting at home for a reply to his invitation.

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. He should go talk to Belle. It tore him apart to see her so distraught, but he didn't know what to say to her. He didn't know any words that would make her feel better. He'd been married to her less than twenty-four hours and already she was miserable. He'd failed his bride, and he felt helpless to alleviate her suffering.

His bride.

John's lips quirked into a faint smile. He liked the sound of that. He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor.

He strode out into the hall as quickly as his injured leg would let him. "Belle!" he called out, heading up the stairs. "Belle! Where are you?"

She appeared at the top of the steps, panic evident on her face. "John? Is something wrong? What's going on?"

"I just wanted to see you, that's all." He smiled lightly, trying to relieve her tension. "Do you always ask three questions when one would suffice?"

"For heaven's sake, John, you scared the life out of me. Please don't yell like that again. I'm distraught enough as it is."

He crossed the distance between them and put his arm around her. "Please, darling. You're going to make yourself ill. Let's go back to your room and talk."

"Our room," Belle said with a sniffle.

"What?"

"Our room. I'm married now. I don't want a room of my own any longer."

"I don't want you to have one either. Belle, we will have a normal life soon. I promise you that."

Belle let him lead her to their bedroom. She wanted so much to believe him. "I can't help being scared, John," she said softly.

He pulled her to him and breathed in the light fragrance of her hair. "I know, darling, I know. But let's put off that fear for the moment. There is nothing to be afraid of right here, right now."

Her lips quivered into a tiny smile. "This very second…?"

"All there is is me." He traced the line of her jaw with his lips, moving languorously to her ear. And then it wasn't enough.

His hands curved around her backside, pulling her even more intimately against him. He kissed every spot of exposed skin, moving to her hands and wrists once he was through with her neck. He had just moved back to her left earlobe when they heard a voice at the door.

"Ahem."

John didn't even turn, just waved his hand at the offending servant.

"Ahem!"

The voice was more insistent so John reluctantly tore himself away from Belle and twisted his head toward the door. An extremely well-dressed lady was standing there with an odd expression on her face. John had never seen her before, although she did have the most amazing set of blue eyes-really, really blue, rather like…

An uneasy feeling crept through him as he slowly turned to Belle, who was still rather firmly pinned against his body. She looked ill. Very ill. Almost green.

"Mother?"

John jumped away from Belle with amazing speed.

Caroline, the Countess of Worth, peeled off her gloves with an efficiency that bordered on fury. "I see you've been very busy since I've been gone, Arabella."

Belle gulped. Her mother's use of her full name was not a sign for optimism. "Well, yes," she stammered. "I have."

Caroline turned to John. "I think you had better leave."

"He can't!" Belle said quickly. "He lives here."

Caroline's only outward sign of perturbation was a strained swallowing motion in her throat. "I'm sure I misheard you."

John quickly stepped forward. "Perhaps I had better introduce myself. I am Blackwood."

Caroline didn't offer him her hand. "How nice for you," she said acerbically.

"And this," he continued, motioning toward Belle, "is my wife, Lady Blackwood."

"Excuse me?" Not even a chink in her calm facade.

"We're married, Mother," Belle said with a weak smile. "Just yesterday."

Caroline shot a disbelieving look at her daughter, then at the man she had married, then back at her daughter. "Belle, do you think I could speak to you privately for a moment?" She grabbed her daughter's arm with a force that was at odds with her pleasant words and hauled her across the room. "Are you crazy?" she hissed. "Do you realize what you've done? Where on earth is Emma? And how could she let you do this?"

From across the room, John wondered if this propensity to ask questions in rapid succession without waiting for a reply was a family trait.

Belle opened her mouth to say something, but Caroline held her hand up.."Don't!" she warned. "Don't say a thing to me." With a deft movement, she grabbed Belle's arm and deposited her back at John's side.

"Mother," Belle said. "If you'll just…" Her words trailed off at Caroline's quelling stare.

"If you'll both excuse me," Caroline said smoothly. She walked over to the door and called out, "Henry!" Belle and John heard a muffled answer, to which Caroline replied, "Now, Henry!"

"I don't like being made to feel like an errant child," John hissed in Belle's ear.

"I am an errant child," she whispered back. "At least to them. So please be patient."

Belle's father appeared in the doorway. Henry, the Earl of Worth, was an attractive man with graying hair and an easygoing air about him. His eyes lit up with obvious love when he saw his only daughter. "Belle! Darling! What are you doing in London?"

"Oh, this and that," Belle mumbled.

"She got married," Caroline said flatly.

Henry said nothing.

"Did you hear me?" Caroline burst out, her composed exterior beginning to crumble. "She got married."

Henry sighed wearily and ran his hand through his thinning hair. "Was there some reason you couldn't wait, Belle?"

"I was in a bit of a rush."

Caroline turned pink, not wanting to ponder the implications of that statement.

"Surely you could have waited a few days," Henry continued. "Did you think we wouldn't let you have your choice? You know us better than that. We've let you refuse a dozen eligible men, including young Acton, whose father happens to be my best friend. This fellow looks nice enough. We probably wouldn't have had an objection." He paused. "I presume this is the fellow you've married."

Belle nodded, wondering why a lecture from her father always managed to make her feel about seven years old.

"Does he have a name?"

"Lord Blackwood," Belle said clearly.

John took the initiative and stepped forward, extending his hand. "John Blackwood, my lord. I'm pleased to meet you."

"I should hope so," Henry replied dryly. "Have you the means to support my daughter?"

"I just purchased a new home, so I haven't much to spend freely," John replied frankly. "But I am wise and conservative in my investments. She shall not want for anything."

"Where are you from?"

"I grew up in Shropshire. My father was the Earl of Westborough. My brother succeeded him to the title."

"How'd you come about yours?"

John briefly told him about his time in the army. Henry nodded approvingly and finally asked, "Do you care for my daughter?"

"Very much, my lord."

Henry surveyed the younger man, whose hand was now clutched quite firmly in Belle's grasp. "Well, Caroline, I think we're just going to have to trust our daughter's judgment on this score."

"There is little else to do," Caroline said bitterly.

Henry placed a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder. "I'm sure we will have time enough to sort out all of the particulars. For now, I think we should concentrate on becoming acquainted with our new son-in-law, don't you think, Caroline?"

She nodded, loving Belle too much to do anything else.

Belle ran forward and threw her arms around her mother. "You'll see, Mama," she whispered. "He's perfect."

Caroline smiled at her daughter's unbridled happiness, but whispered back, "Nobody's perfect, Belle."

"He's perfect for me."

Caroline gave Belle one last squeeze before putting her at arm's length so that she could get a good look at her. "I expect you're right," she replied. "Now why don't we let your father get to know your, er, husband while you help me get settled in. It has been an uncommonly long journey."

Belle thought that, all in all, her mother was taking this news surprisingly well. She shot a fleeting smile at John and followed her out of the room.

"I don't suppose you've sent a notice to the Times," Caroline was saying as she ascended the stairs.

"There hasn't been time."

"Hmmm. Well, I'll have your father see to that immediately. Where is this new home John has purchased?" Caroline turned around as she reached the top of the stairs, a worried expression on her face. "He did say his name was John, didn't he?"

"Yes, Mama. And it's right next to Westonbirt. I met him while I was staying with Emma."

"Oh." Caroline made her way to her bedroom, where a maid was unpacking her cases. "I suppose I'll arrange a reception for you next spring, when everyone is in town. But I do think that we ought to do something soon, if only to let everyone know you're married."

Belle privately wondered why it was imperative that "everyone" be immediately appraised of her marital status. "Won't the notice in the Times suffice?"

"Not at all, my dear. We need to let the ton know that you have our approval. No need for everyone to realize that we hadn't even met John until today."

"No, I suppose not."

Caroline suddenly clapped her hands together. "I know! The Tumbleys's winter ball! It's perfect. Everyone always comes in from the country to attend."

Belle gulped nervously. Every year the Earl and Countess of Tumbley held a ball in November. It was one of the few events for which the aristocracy would travel back to London in the winter. Normally, she would have loved to go, but she didn't think it would be safe for her and John to venture out into large crowds at night. "Er, when is it, Mother?"

"Sometime in the next few weeks, I imagine. I'll have to check my correspondence for the exact date. I have such a stack of letters to go through."

"I'm not really sure that we would want to go, Mama. We are newly married, you know, and wanting a bit of privacy."

"If you wanted privacy, you should have hightailed it back to the country the minute after you said, 'I will.' But as long as you're here, you'll go to this ball, and you'll do it with a smile on your face. And then you can go back to wherever it is that you're living now and rusticate. Where are you living now-I mean, what's it called?"

"Bletchford Manor."

"What-ford Manor?"

"Bletchford Manor."

"I heard you the first time. It's a dreadful name, Belle."

"I know."

"No, I mean it's hideous."

"I know. We're planning to change it."

"See that you do. After the Tumbley bash, that is, because you're not stepping a foot out of London before then."