Dancing At Midnight

Chapter 7

John lowered his cup very, very slowly. "Belle," he said finally, "you must know that I cannot." Nonsense. Everyone can dance. You have only to try."

"Belle, if this is some kind of joke-"

"Of course it isn't a joke," she cut in quickly. "I know that your leg is injured, but it doesn't seem to slow you overmuch."

"I may have taught myself to move with a reasonable degree of speed, but I do so with a complete lack of grace." His hand strayed unconsciously to his leg. Nightmarish visions of himself tumbling clumsily to the floor played out in his mind. "I'm sure we can entertain ourselves without my playing the fool trying to dance. Besides, we haven't any music."

"Hmrnm, that is a problem." Belle glanced around the room until her eyes rested on the piano in the corner. "It appears that we have two choices. The first option is that I could ask Emma to come in and play for us, but I'm afraid she has never been accused of possessing musical talent. I wouldn't wish her noise on my worst enemy." She smiled sunnily. "Much less one of my good friends."

The force of her smile hit John squarely in the heart. "Belle," he said softly. "I don't think this is going to work."

"You won't know unless you try." She stood up and smoothed down her dress. "I think it's agreed that Emma at the piano is not an option, so I suppose I'll just have to sing."

"Can you?"

"Sing?"

John nodded.

"Probably about as well as you can dance."

"In that case, my lady, I think we may be in dire straits, indeed."

"I'm only teasing. I'm no diva, but I can carry a tune."

How much could it hurt to pretend-if only for an afternoon-that she could be his, that she was his, that he could possibly deserve her? He stood, determined to taste just a bit of heaven. "I hope you will have the courtesy not to wince out loud when I trod on your feet."

"Oh, don't worry, my lord, I shall wince very softly, indeed." On impulse, she leaned up and quickly kissed John's cheek, whispering, "My feet are very sturdy."

"For your sake, I should hope so."

"Now, which dances do you know?"

"None."

"None? What did you do in London?"

"I never bothered with the social whirl."

"Oh." Belle nibbled on her lower lip. "This is going to be more of a challenge than I anticipated. But have no fear, I am sure you are up to the task."

"I believe the more appropriate question is whether or not you are up to the task."

"Oh, I am," Belle said with a jaunty grin. "Believe me, I am. Now, I think we should start with a waltz. Some of the other dances might be a bit too taxing for your leg. Although perhaps not. You yourself said that you are able to move with reasonable speed."

John bit back a smile. "A waltz would be lovely. Just tell me what to do."

"Put your hand here like this." Belle picked up his hand and placed it on her slender waist. "And then I put my hand on your shoulder, see? Hmmm, you're quite tall."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Of course it is. Although I wouldn't like you any less if you were shorter."

"That is certainly gratifying to know."

"Are you poking fun at me?"

"Just a bit."

Belle shot him a teasing glance. "Well, just a bit is all right, I suppose, but no more than that. I'm terribly sensitive."

"I shall try to refrain."

"Thank you."

"Although you sometimes make it very difficult."

Belle poked him in the chest and resumed their waltzing lessons. "Hush. Now, take my other hand like this. Wonderful. We're all set."

"We are?" John cast a dubious eye over their position. "You're rather far away."

"This is the correct position. I've done this a thousand times."

"We could fit another person between us."

"I cannot imagine why we would want to."

John slowly tightened his grip around Belle's waist and pulled her to him until she could feel the heat from his body. "Isn't this better?" he murmured.

Belle's breath caught in her throat. John was barely an inch away, and his nearness was making her pulse race. "We would never be allowed in any respectable ballroom," she said huskily.

"I prefer dancing in private." John leaned down and let his lips brush gently against hers.

Belle swallowed nervously. She enjoyed his kisses, but she couldn't help but feel that she was getting herself into a situation she could not handle. So with more than a few regrets she stepped back, loosening John's grip on her until there was a respectable distance between their bodies again. "I can't very well teach you to waltz if we aren't in the proper position," she explained. "Now then, the key to waltzes is that they are in three-four time. Most other dances are in common time."

"Common time?"

"Four-four. Waltzes go 'one-two-three, one-two three, one-two-three.' Common time goes 'one-two-three-four.' "

"I think I see the difference."

Belle glanced up sharply at him. Tiny lines around his eyes crinkled with humor. Her own lips tugged upward at the corners as she tried to suppress a smile. "Good. Therefore a waltz might sound like this." She started humming a tune which had been very popular in London during the last season.

"I can't hear you." He started to pull her closer.

Belle wriggled back into her original position. "I'll sing, then."

John's hand tightened gently around her waist. "I still can't hear you.",

"Yes, you can. Stop your games, or we'll never get our waltzing lesson underway."

"I'd rather have a kissing lesson."

She blushed a deep red. "We already had one of those today, and anyway, Emma or Alex could come in any minute. We must get back to work. I'll lead first, and once you catch on, you can take over. Are you ready?"

"I've been ready all afternoon."

Belle hadn't thought it possible to blush any harder but soon found that she'd been mistaken. "All right then, one-two-three, one-two-three." She applied slight pressure to John's shoulder and began the slow twirl of the waltz. She promptly tripped over his feet.

John smiled boyishly. "Imagine my delight that you were the first to stumble."

She looked up at him with a peevish expression. "I'm not used to leading.' And it certainly is not very gentlemanly of you to point out my flaws."

"I didn't see it as a flaw. In fact, I rather enjoyed catching you."

"I'll just bet that you did," Belle muttered.

"Want to give it another try?"

She nodded and put her hand back on his shoulder. "Wait just a moment. I think we need to switch positions." She slid her hand down to his waist. "Put your hand on my shoulder. There, now just pretend that I'm the man."

John glanced down at the enticing swell of Belle's breasts. "That," he murmured, "is going to be exceedingly difficult."

Belle missed his desire-filled gaze, which was fortunate because her senses were already quite overwhelmed. "Now then," she said blithely, "if I were the man and you were the woman, I'd just put a little bit of pressure on your waist like this, and then we would move like this." As she softly sang out a waltz, they began to twirl around the parlor, John's bad leg moving with grace he'd never dreamed he could possess. "Wonderful!" Belle cried out triumphantly. "This is perfect."

"I agree," John replied, savoring the feel of her in his arms. "But do you think that I could be the man for a while?"

Belle shifted her hand to his shoulder as her eyes caught his in a sultry caress. She parted her lips to speak, but her throat went dry. Swallowing nervously, she nodded.

"Good. I much prefer it that way." John caught her about the waist and pulled her to him. This time, Belle made no protest, captured by the warmth and excitement of his body heat. "Am I doing this correctly?" he asked softly as he led her in the dance.

"I-I think so."

"You only think so?"

Belle snapped herself back into reality. "No, of course not. I know so. You're a very elegant dancer. Are you certain this is the first time you've ever waltzed?"

"Actually, my sisters used to force me to partner them when they were learning."

"I knew you weren't a novice."

"I was only nine."

Belle pursed her lips in thought, unaware of the kissable temptation she was presenting for John. "I don't think people even waltzed when you were nine."

He shrugged his shoulders. "We had a very advanced household."

As they twirled around the parlor, John wondered if he was fighting a losing battle. He kept telling himself that he had to stay away from Belle, but his resolve had so far proved useless next to her sunny smile. He knew that he couldn't marry her; to do so would only hurt the woman he wanted to protect and cherish.

He felt like a fraud just standing next to her after what he had done in Spain.

John exhaled slowly, his sigh a mixture of contentment and frustration. He had promised himself this afternoon. Just a few hours of happiness without any memories of Ana.

"We're supposed to make conversation," Belle said suddenly.

"Are we?"

"Yes. Otherwise people would think we don't like each other."

"There isn't anyone here to form an opinion one way or another," John pointed out.

"I know, but I am teaching you how to waltz, after all, and most of the time one waltzes during a party, not in a private parlor."

"More's the pity."

Belle ignored his comment. "That is why I think you ought to learn how to talk while you dance."

"Is it usually so difficult?"

"It can be. Some men need to count while they waltz in order to keep time, and it's difficult to have a conversation with someone when all he says is 'one, two,' and 'three.' "

"Well, then, by all means, talk away."

"All right." She smiled. "Have you written any poetry lately?"

"You were just looking for an excuse to ask me that," John accused.

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Belle, I told you I'm not a poet."

"I don't believe you."

John groaned, and in his frustration he missed a step. "I will try to write you a poem," he said finally.

"Splendid!" Belle exclaimed. "I cannot wait."

"I would try not to expect great things, were I you."

"Nonsense." She positively beamed. "I am breathless with anticipation."

"What is this?" a voice suddenly broke in. "A dance in my own home and I wasn't invited?"

John and Belle halted in mid-twirl as they looked around to see Emma entering the room.

"I was teaching John how to waltz," Belle explained.

"Without any music?"

"I thought it best not to ask for your assistance on the piano."

Emma grimaced. "That was probably a wise idea." She looked over at John. "I have yet to meet anyone whose skill at the piano does not exceed my own. Including the residents of our stables."

"So I've been told."

Emma ignored his wry smile. "Did you enjoy your lesson, John?"

"Very much so. Belle is a superb dancer."

"I've always thought so. Of course I've never danced with her myself." Emma moved over to a chair and sat down. "Do you mind if I join you for tea? I took the liberty of asking Norwood for another pot. I'm sure this is hopelessly lukewarm by now."

"By all means," John said graciously. "This is your house, after all."

Emma smiled knowingly as she noticed that John and Belle were still standing in each other's arms.

"Don't let my presence deter you from your dance," she said with an impish grin.

The pair immediately made their embarrassed excuses, disengaged themselves, and Belle sat down on the sofa. John murmured something about having to get back home, to which Emma replied with alacrity, "Oh, but you cannot!"

Belle leveled a suspicious eye at her cousin and immediately realized that Emma had decided that she and John would suit very well, indeed.

"It's pouring," Emma hastily explained. "You must stay until the rain lets up a bit."

John declined to point out the rain actually had let up a bit, and if he waited much longer, it was only going to worsen again. He offered the pair of beautiful women an inscrutable smile and sat down across from them on an elegant yet highly uncomfortable chair.

"You mustn't sit there," Emma said. "It's terribly uncomfortable, and I would get rid of it if Alex's mother didn't assure me it was absolutely priceless. Why don't you move over to the sofa next to Belle?"

John raised a single eyebrow at her.

"I hate when people do that," Emma muttered under her breath. Nonetheless, she continued brightly, "I assure you that you'll have a horrid backache on the morrow if you stay in that chair for more than five minutes."

John rose and sat down comfortably next to Belle. "I am your obedient servant, your grace," he said politely.

Emma flushed, hearing the tinge of humor and mockery in his voice. "Oh dear," she said loudly. "I wonder what is keeping that tea. I'll have to go check on it." With remarkable speed, Emma rose and exited the salon.

John and Belle turned to each other, Belle blushing to the very roots of her golden hair. "Your cousin has not mastered the art of subtlety," John pointed out dryly.

"No."

"I'm not exactly certain what she expects to accomplish. She will probably run into a maid with the tea not two steps from this parlor."

Belle swallowed, sheepishly remembering the time she and Alex's sister Sophie had managed to leave Emma and her future husband alone together for a full five minutes under the pretext of going to inspect a nonexistent harpsichord. "I imagine she'll be able to think of something."

"As much as I would love to take you into my arms again, I have no desire to be interrupted by your cousin returning with tea."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Belle mumbled. "She'll find a way to alert us of her impending presence. She's quite resourceful."

As if on cue, they heard Emma yelp from the other side of the closed door. "What a surprise!"

Belle frowned. "I would have thought she'd have given us a bitmore time."

The door opened. "Look who I bumped into in the hall," Emma said, holding onto Alex's hand. "I wasn't expecting him back until much later this evening."

"Her carefully-laid plans foiled by an attentive husband," John murmured as he stood.

Belle stifled a laugh and said, "How lovely to see you, Alex."

"I was only out inspecting the fields," he replied, a perplexed frown crossing his features.

"Nonetheless, it is brilliant to have you back," Emma said unconvincingly.

"Did you locate that tea?" John asked.

"The tea? Oh, yes, the tea. Well, no, I didn't actually."

"A-hem."

Emma jumped at the sound of Norwood clearing his throat directly behind her.

"Your tea, your grace?"

"Oh. Thank you, Norwood. Over there on the table, I think."

"Tea actually sounds quite appealing after riding about in that rain all afternoon," Alex said pleasantly. "Although it does seem to be letting up."

Belle wasn't certain, but she thought she heard Emma groan.

Emma fixed a cup for Alex, and after he had taken a healthy gulp, he said, "There's to be a fair tomorrow near the village. I saw people setting it up while I was out."

"Oh really?" Emma responded with delight. "I adore fairs. Shall we go?"

"I'm not sure," Alex said with a frown. "I don't like the idea of your getting jostled about by crowds."

That remark was greeted by a mutinous glare on Emma's part. "Oh, don't be a stodge," she retorted. "You can't keep me locked up forever."

"All right. But you must promise to be careful." Alex turned to John and Belle, who were watching the interchange from the sofa with amused expressions. "Won't the two of you join us?"

A refusal automatically rose to John's lips, but before he could speak an image of Belle in his arms danced through his mind. They were waltzing… Her eyes were glowing with happiness. His heart was filled with tenderness and his body with desire. Maybe he could have a bit of joy in his life. Maybe five years of hell was payment enough for his sins.

He turned to Belle. She cocked her head and smiled, raising her brows in invitation. "Of course," he said, "I'll stop by after lunch, and we'll depart together from here."

"Splendid." Alex took another gulp of tea and glanced out the window where the skies were darkening ominously. "I don't mean to be rude, Blackwood, but if I were you, I'd head home now while the rain is light. It looks like it is going to pour again soon."

"I was just thinking the same thing myself." John stood and bowed to the ladies.

Belle was, of course, sorry to see him leave, but the humorous sight of Emma, slumped dejectedly in her chair after her husband unwittingly ruined all of her careful orchestrations, more than made up for her disappointment.

When John arrived home that afternoon there was another note waiting for him.

I am in Oxfordshire.

John shook his head. He'd have to find some way of contacting the previous owners of Bletchford Manor. They had seemed a trifle batty to him-just the sort to have friends who would write such odd notes.

It never occurred to him that the note might be in any way connected to the gunshot in the woods.

John poured himself a glass of brandy before climbing the stairs to his bedroom that evening. He started to take a sip, but then set it down on his nightstand. He felt warm enough without it.

Was this happiness? The feeling had been absent from his life for so long he wasn't sure how to recognize it.

He crawled into bed, content. He never expected to dream.

He was in Spain. It was a hot day, but his company was in good spirits; no fighting for the last week.

He was sitting at a table in the tavern, an empty plate of food in front of him.

What was that strange thumping sound coming from upstairs?

He poured himself another drink.

Thump.

This place is ripe, I think. John rubbed his eyes. Who had said that?

Another thump. Another cry.

John walked slowly toward the stairs. What was wrong? The noise grew louder as he made his way along the second-floor hallway.

And then he heard it again. This time it was clear. "Noooooooooo!" Ana's voice.

He burst through the door. "Oh, God, no," he cried. He could barely see Ana, her slight form completely beneath Spencer, who was pumping relentlessly into her.

But he could hear her weeping. "Noooo, noooo, please, noooo."

John didn't pause to think. Crazed, he pulled Spencer up off the girl and threw him against the wall.

He looked back down at Ana. Her hair-what had happened? It had turned blond.

It was Belle. Her clothes were torn, her body ravaged and bruised.

"Oh, God, not this!" The cry seemed to well up from John's very soul.

He turned back to the man slumped against the wall, his hand tightening on his gun. "Look at me, Spencer," he demanded.

The man lifted his head, but he was no longer Spencer.]ohn found himself looking into his own face.

"Oh, God, no," he gasped, stumbling back against the bed. "Not me. I couldn't do that. I wouldn't."

The other John laughed. It was a sick, maniacal sound.

"No, I wouldn't. I couldn't. Oh, Belle." He looked down at the bed, but she was gone.

"No! Belle!"

John was awakened by the sound of his screams. Gasping for air, he clutched his arms to his stomach. He rolled back and forth, his body racked by silent sobs.