Dancing At Midnight

Chapter 21

From his position next to the bed, John looked down at Belle, worry clouding his expression. It had been several hours since she'd awakened and tried to crawl to the fire. She was still shivering, and her fever had steadily worsened.

She was in a bad way.

There was a perfunctory knock, and then the door to the room opened. Caroline entered, lines of worry etched clearly on her face. "What happened?" she asked in a urgent whisper. "We just arrived home, and Thornton told us Belle is ill."

John reluctantly let go of Belle's hand and escorted Caroline out into the hall. "Belle went for a walk and was caught in the rain. She hit her head." He recounted the rest of the details briefly, leaving out the argument that had prompted her to run outside in the first place. He'd only met his in-laws a day earlier. If Belle wanted to tell her parents of their troubles that was fine. He, a virtual stranger, was not going to do so.

Caroline's hand strayed nervously to her throat. "You look terribly tired. Why don't you sleep? I'll sit with her now."

"No."

"But John-"

"You may remain with me, but I'll not leave her." He turned on his heel and strode back to Belle's bedside. She was breathing evenly. It was a good sign. He put his hand on her forehead. Damn. It was even hotter than before. He doubted she'd be breathing so evenly in an hour's time.

Caroline followed him and stood by his side. "Has she been like this all evening?" she whispered.

John nodded. He reached down, picked up a cloth which had been soaking in cool water, and wrung it out. "There you go, sweetheart," he crooned, laying it on her hot forehead. She mumbled something in her sleep and fitfully shifted positions. She tossed about again and then suddenly opened her eyes wide. Her expression was filled with panic.

"Shhh, I'm here," he said softly, stroking her cheek. Belle seemed to take some comfort in that and slowly let her eyelids flutter shut. John had the impression that she'd never really seen him.

Caroline swallowed nervously. "I think we should send for a doctor."

"At this time of night?"

She nodded. "I'll see to it."

As John sat by Belle's side, carefully and worriedly watching over her, his mind refused to stop replaying the devastating comment she had made several hours earlier.

Doesn't matter if you love me back.

Was it possible that she loved him unconditionally? Even with his past?

Always love you.

And then it suddenly occurred to him-no one had ever said those words to him before.

John lifted the cloth from Belle's forehead and cooled it off in the basin of water. He didn't have time to sit around feeling sorry for himself over an unhappy childhood. It wasn't as if he'd gone hungry or been abused. He just hadn't been loved, and he suspected that thousands of children across Britain had shared similar fates.

Over in the bed, Belle had grown fitful. John immediately turned his full attention to her.

"Stop," she moaned.

"Stop what, love?"

"Stop!"

He leaned over and gently shook her by the shoulders. "You're having a nightmare." Dear God, it tore him up to see her this way. Her face was flushed and feverish, and her entire body was covered by a thin sheen of perspiration. He tried to push her hair out of her eyes, but she batted his hand away. He wished he knew how to use one of those blasted hair things she always had lying around. She'd be more comfortable if he could secure her heavy tresses away from her face.

"Fire," Belle moaned.

"There's no fire here save the one in the fireplace."

"Too hot."

John quickly wrung out the wet cloth.

"No, no, stop…" Belle suddenly sat up and screamed.

"No, love, lie back down." John started wiping the sweat from her body, hoping the motion would cool her down. Belle's eyes were open and she was looking at him, but John didn't see even a flicker of recognition in her gaze.

"Stop, stop!" she shrieked, slapping his hands away. "Don't touch me! It's too hot."

"I'm only trying to-"

"What the devil is going on?" Caroline burst into the room.

"She's delirious," John said, trying to cover Belle up with the sheet.

"But there was so much screaming."

"I said she's gone delirious," John snapped, attempting to hold the sheet over Belle's writhing form. "See if we've any laudanum. We need to calm her down." He sighed, remembering that he was talking to his mother-in-law. "I'm sorry, Lady Worth. It's just-"

She held up a hand. "I understand. I'll go look for the laudanum."

Belle started fighting him in earnest, her strength fueled considerably by her fever. She was no match for John, however, whose firmly muscled body had been honed by years in the military. "Wake up, damn you," he said fiercely. "If you wake up the fire will go away. I promise you."

Belle's only response was to struggle harder.

John didn't budge an inch. "Belle," he pleaded. His throat worked violently. "Please."

"Get off of me!" Belle screamed.

Caroline chose that rather inopportune moment to reenter the room with a bottle of laudanum. "What are you doing to her?"

John replied with a question. "Where is the laudanum?"

Caroline poured some into a glass and handed it to him.

"Here you go, Belle," he said softly, trying to pull her into a sitting position and keep her still at the same time. He held the glass to her lips. "Just a little now."

Belle's eyes focused on something behind him and she screamed again. Her hands shot up to her head, knocking the glass from John's hands. It rolled onto the floor, spilling the drug.

"I'll feed it to her this time," Caroline said. "You hold her down." She held the glass to her daughter's lips and forced her to take a gulp.

After a few "moments Belle calmed down, and both mother and husband breathed a weary sigh.

"Shhh," John crooned. "You can sleep now. The nightmare is gone. Rest, my love."

Caroline pushed some of Belle's heavy locks from her face. "There must be some way we can make her more comfortable."

John walked over to the bureau and picked something up. "Here is one of her hair contraptions. Perhaps you could pin her hair back from her face?"

Caroline smiled. "It's called a barrette, John." She lifted Belle's hair and secured it into a sloppy bun. "Are you certain you don't want to sleep for a few hours?"

"I can't," he said hoarsely.

Caroline nodded sympathetically. "I will sleep then. You'll be weary in the morning. You'll need help." She moved to the door.

"Thank you," he said abruptly.

"She is my daughter."

He swallowed, remembering when he had been sick as a child. His mother had never come to visit him. His mouth opened and closed, and then he nodded.

"It is I who should thank you," Caroline continued.

John looked up sharply, his expression clearly asking the question, "Why?"

"For loving her. I couldn't ask for more. I couldn't hope for more." She left the room.

Belle soon fell into a deep sleep. John scooted her over to the other side of the bed, where the sheets weren't so sweaty. He leaned down and kissed her temple. "You can fight this," he whispered. "You can do anything."

He walked back over to his chair and slumped into it. He must have dozed off, because when he next opened his eyes, it was past dawn, although one could barely tell for sure through the driving rain. The weather was intensely bleak, and the rain didn't show any sign of letting up. John's eyes searched the scene, trying to find one small piece of the cityscape which might give cause for optimism. And then he did something he hadn't done in many years.

He began to pray.

Neither Belle's condition nor the weather improved for several days. John remained ever vigilant at his patient's bedside, forcing her to drink water and broth whenever possible, and giving her laudanum when she grew hysterical. By the end of the third day, John knew that she would be in serious trouble if the fever did not break soon. She hadn't eaten any solid food, and she was getting thin, much too thin. The last time John had bathed her with the damp cloth he'd noticed that her ribs had become painfully prominent.

The doctor had come every day, but he hadn't been especially helpful. They could do nothing other than wait and pray, he had told the family.

John swallowed down his worry and reached out to touch Belle's forehead. She seemed completely unaware of his presence. Indeed, she seemed unaware of anything other than the nightmares which plagued her fever-ridden mind. John had been calm arid purposeful when he began to care for her, but now his even temper was beginning to deteriorate. He'd barely slept in three days, and he hadn't eaten much more than Belle had. His eyes were bloodshot, his face was gaunt, and a look in the mirror told him that he looked almost as bad as his patient did.

He was getting desperate. If Belle didn't pull through soon, he didn't know what he would do. Several times during his vigil he let his head fall limply into his hands, not even bothering to try to stem the tears that ran down his face. He didn't know how he would be able to make it from day to day if she died.

His face bleak, he crossed over to her bedside and perched on the mattress next to her. She was lying there quite peacefully, but John detected a slight change in her condition. She seemed still, unnaturally still, and her breathing had grown shallow. Panic gripped John like a hand around his heart, and he leaned down and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Are you giving up on me?" he demanded harshly. "Are you?"

Belle's head lolled to the side, and she whimpered.

"Damn you! You can't give up!" John shook her even harder.

Belle heard his voice as if it were coming to her through a long, long tunnel. It sounded like John, but she couldn't imagine why he would be with her in her bedroom. He sounded angry. Was he angry at her? Belle sighed. She was tired. Too tired to deal with an angry man.

"Do you hear me, Belle?" she heard him say. "I will never forgive you if you give up on me."

Belle winced as she felt his large hands squeezing her upper arms. She wanted to moan at the pain but she just didn't have the energy. Why wouldn't he leave her alone? All she wanted to do was sleep. She'd never felt this tired. She'd just like to cuddle up and sleep forever. Summoning up all of her strength, she managed to say, "Go away."

"Aha!" John shouted triumphantly. "You're still here with me. Hang on now, Belle. Can you hear me?"

Of course she could hear him, Belle thought irritably. "Go away," she said with a little more force. She shifted restlessly, burrowing back under the covers. Maybe he wouldn't keep on bothering her if she hid underneath the quilts. If she could just keep on sleeping, she'd feel so much better.

John could see the will slipping out of her even though she'd managed to speak. He'd seen that look before, on the faces of men he knew during the war. Not the lucky ones who died in battle, but the poor souls who had fought fever and infection for weeks afterward. Watching Belle slowly letting go of life was more than he could take, and something inside of him snapped. Fury rose within him, and he forgot all of his vows to be tender and considerate while nursing her through her illness.

"Damn it, Belle," he shouted angrily. "I'm not going to sit here and watch you die. It isn't fair! You can't leave me now. I won't allow it!"

Belle made no response. John tried wheedling.

"Do you know how furious I'll be with you if you die? I'll hate you forever for leaving me. Do you want that?" He desperately searched Belle's features, hoping for some sign that she was rallying, but he found none. All his grief and anger and worry converged inside of him, and he finally grabbed her brutally and lifted her in his arms, cradling her as he spoke.

"Belle," he said hoarsely. "There's no hope for me without you." He paused while a tremor shook his body. "I want to see you smiling, Belle. Smiling happily, your blue eyes full of sunshine and goodness. Reading a book, laughing at its contents. I want so much for you to be happy. I'm sorry I wouldn't accept your love. I will. I promise. If you, in your infinite goodness and wisdom, have found something in me worthy of love, well then… well, then, I suppose I'm not quite as bad as I thought.

"Oh, God, Belle," he said with a ragged cry. "Please, please hold on. If you cannot do it for me then do it for your family. They love you so much. You wouldn't want to hurt them, would you? And think about all the books you haven't read yet. I promise I'll sneak Byron's next one to you if they won't sell it in your bookstore. There's still so much for you to do, my love. You can't leave now."

Throughout John's passionate soliloquy Belle remained limp, her breathing shallow. Finally, in utter desperation, he broke down and bared his soul. "Belle, please," he begged. "Please, please don't leave me. Belle, I love you. I love you, and I couldn't bear it if you died. God help me, I love you so much." His voice broke off, and like a man who has suddenly realized the fruitlessness of his situation, he sighed raggedly and laid her gently back down on the bed.

Unable to hold back the lone tear that rolled down his cheek, John tenderly pulled up the blankets and tucked Belle in. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward. God, it was torture to be so close to her. He lightly brushed his lips against her ear, whispering, "I love you, Belle. Remember that always."

Then he left the room, praying that "always" would last longer than the next hour.

Belle was lying in bed a few hours later when she felt a comforting warmth suffuse her body. Funny how her toes had been cold for so long, even when the rest of her had been going up in flames. But now they felt warm, even-pink. Belle wondered if toes could feel pink, and then decided that they must, because that was precisely the word to describe the way her toes were feeling.

In fact, her entire body felt kind of pink. Pink, and cozy, and a little fuzzy, but mostly she just felt good. For the first time in-she frowned, realizing that she had no idea how long she'd been ill.

Gingerly, she hoisted herself into a sitting position, surprised at how weak her muscles were. Blinking her eyes a few times, she took in her surroundings. She was back home in the room she and John had shared on their wedding night. How had she returned? All she remembered was the rain and the wind. Oh, and the fight. Her awful fight with John.

She sighed, bone tired. She didn't care any longer if he didn't want her to say that she loved him. She would take him any way she could have him. All she wanted to do was end this vexing problem with George Spencer and go back to the country, back to Bunford Manor.

Bunford Manor? No, that wasn't right.

Drat. She'd never remember the name of that place. She tilted her head to the side. Sore. She flexed her fingers. Sore. She pointed her toes and groaned. Her entire body ached.

As she sat there testing out various body parts, the doorknob quietly turned and John entered the room. He had finally forced himself to take a fifteen minute break so that he could splash some water on his face and shove some food down his throat. Now he was terrified that he'd find Belle had lost her tenuous hold on life while he was gone.

To his great surprise, when he reached the side of the bed, he saw that the object of his desperate worry was sitting up, shrugging her shoulders. Up, down, up, down.

"Hello, John," she said weakly. "What's the name of your house in Oxfordshire?"

John was so stunned, so completely thrown off balance by her bizarre question, it took him several moments to reply. "Bletchford Manor," he finally said.,

"That's an awfulname," Belle replied, making a face. Then she yawned, for the sentence had taken a lot of energy to get out.

"I've-I've been meaning to change it."

"Yes, well, you should do so soon. It doesn't suit you. Nor me, for that matter." Belle yawned again and snuggled down into the bed. "If you'll excuse me, I seem to be extremely tired. I think I'd like to get some sleep."

John thought wildly of the countless times he had begged her to wake from her nightmares and found himself nodding. "Yes," he said softly. "Yes, you should get some sleep." Dumbstruck, he sank down into the chair that had been his home throughout his prayerful vigil at her bedside.

The fever had broken. Strangely, joyously, amazingly, the fever had broken. She was going to be all right. He was stunned by the force of emotion which thundered through him. For once, his prayers had been answered.

And then a strange thing happened. An odd, warm feeling began somewhere in the vicinity of his heart and began to spread.

He had saved her life.

He could feel a weight being lifted from him. It was a physical sensation.

He had saved a life.

A voice resounded in the room. You are forgiven.

He looked quickly over at Belle. She didn't seem to have heard the voice. How odd. It had seemed prodigiously loud to him. A female voice. Rather like Ana's.

Ana. John closed his eyes and for the the first time in five years, he could not picture her face.

Had he finally atoned for his sins? Or, perhaps, was it that his sin had never been quite as eternally condemning as he thought?

He looked back over at Belle. She had always believed in him. Always.

He was so much stronger with her by his side. And so, perhaps, was she. Together they had faced the fiercest enemy of all and won. She would live, and he would never again have to face the future alone.

John took a deep breath, planted his elbows on his thighs, and let his face fall forward into his hands. A crazy smile cracked his face, and he began to laugh. All the stress and anguish of the past few days worked themselves out in this strange, rocking laughter.

Belle rolled over and opened her eyes at the sound. Although his face was covered, she could tell that he looked haggard. The skin on his arms was stretched tight, and the top few buttons of his shirt were carelessly undone. He slowly lifted his head and looked back at her, his brown eyes filled with an emotion she couldn't name. Undaunted, Belle continued her examination. His eyes looked gaunt, and his chin was covered with several days' growth of beard. And his normally thick and shiny hair looked dull. Belle frowned and reached her arm out, covering his hand with her own.

"You look terrible," she said.

It was several moments before John could find his voice to reply. "Oh, Belle," he said hoarsely. "You look wonderful."

A couple of days later, Belle was feeling much better. She was still a little weak, but her appetite was back, and she was entertained by a steady stream of visitors.

John she hadn't seen for over a day. As soon as he was assured she was no longer in danger he collapsed from exhaustion. Caroline gave Belle periodic reports on his condition, but so far the reports had not varied beyond, "He's still sleeping."

Finally, on the third day after her fever broke, her husband entered her room, a slightly sheepish smile on his face.

"I had despaired of ever seeing you again," she said.

He perched on the side of her bed. "I've been sleeping, I'm afraid."

"Yes, so I've heard." She reached out and touched his jaw. "It's so lovely to see your face."

He smiled. "You washed your hair."

"What?" She looked down and pinched a curl between her fingers. "Oh, yes. It was badly needed, I think. John, I-"

"Belle, I-" His words came out at the same time as hers. "You first."

"No, you go ahead."

"I insist."

"Oh, this is silly," Belle said. "We're married, after all. Yet we're so nervous."

"What are you nervous about?"

"Spencer." The name hung in the air for several seconds before she continued. "We must get him out of our lives. Did you tell my parents of our situation?"

"No. I leave that to your discretion."

"I won't tell them. It will only worry them."

"Whatever you say."

"Have you devised a plan?"

"No. When you were ill-" He swallowed convulsively. Just the memory was enough to terrify him. "When you were ill I couldn't think of anything but you. And then I slept."

"Well, I've been thinking about him." He looked up.

"I think we should confront him at the Tum-bley bash," she said.

"Absolutely not."

"Mother has already insisted that we attend. She wants to use the occasion to present us to society."

"Belle, it will be so crowded. How am I to keep an eye on you when-"

"The crowds are what will protect us. Alex, Emma, and Dunford will be able to stay close to our sides without raising suspicion."

"I forbid-"

"Will you at least think about it? We'll face him together. I think that… together… we can do anything." She wet her lips, aware that she'd stumbled over her words.

"All right," he agreed, partly because he wanted to change the subject, but mostly because the sight of her licking her lips forced all rational thought from his head.

She reached out and placed her hand on his. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Belle," he blurted out. "I love you."

She smiled. "I know. And I love you, too."

He picked up her hand, brought it to his mouth, and kissed it fervently. "I still cannot believe that you do, but"-when he saw that she would interrupt, he placed his hand gently over her mouth-"but it gives me more joy than I ever thought possible. More joy than I thought there was in this world."

"Oh, John."

"You've helped me to forgive myself. It was when I knew you weren't going to die, when I realized I had saved your life." He paused, his expression dazed, as if he still couldn't believe the miracle that had taken place in that very room. "It was then that I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That I'd paid my debt. A life for a life. I couldn't save Ana, but I saved you."

"John," she said softly. "Saving my life hasn't made up for what happened in Spain."

His eyes flew to hers, horrified.

"It doesn't need to make up for it. When will you accept that you weren't responsible? You've been torturing yourself for five years, and all because of another man's actions."

John stared at her. He stared hard into those bright blue eyes, and for the first time, her words began to make sense.

She squeezed his hand.

He finally blinked. "Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in between. Yes, I was supposed to protect her, and I failed in that. But I didn't rape her." He shook his head, and his voice grew stronger. "It wasn't me."

"Your heart is free now."

"No," he whispered. "It's yours."