Dancing at Midnight Page 5

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. But I suppose I’ll have to go back next year.”

  “Why go if you find it so dull?”

  She grimaced. “One’s got to get a husband, after all.”

  “Ah,” was all John said.

  “It isn’t as easy as you might think.”

  “I cannot imagine finding a husband would be especially difficult for you, Lady Arabella. You must know that you are extremely beautiful.”

  Belle flushed with pleasure at his compliment. “I had some offers, but none were suitable.”

  “Not enough money?”

  This time when Belle flushed, it was with consternation. “I take offense at that, Lord Blackwood.”

  “I’m sorry, I thought it was the way of things.”

  Belle had to admit that for many women, it was the way of things, and she accepted his apology with a brief nod. “A few of the gentlemen informed me that they would be able to overlook my appalling bluestocking tendencies on account of my looks and fortune.”

  “I find your bluestocking tendencies quite appealing.”

  Belle sighed happily. “How nice it is to hear someone—a man—say that.”

  John shrugged. “It always seemed silly to me to desire a woman who cannot converse any better than a sheep.”

  Belle leaned forward, her eyes glittering mischievously. “Really? I would have thought you’d prefer such a woman, considering your difficulty with polite conversation.”

  “Touché, my lady. I cede this round to you.”

  Belle felt absurdly pleased and was suddenly very, very glad that she’d ventured out that morning. “I’ll take that as high praise, indeed.”

  “It was meant as such.” John waved his hand toward the diminishing number of scones. “Don’t you want one? I’m liable to eat the whole plateful if you don’t intervene soon.”

  “Well, I already had breakfast but...” Belle eyed the mouth-watering scones. “I suppose one wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Good, I haven’t the patience for ladies who try to eat like rabbits.”

  “No, you prefer sheep, I understand.”

  “Touché again, my lady.” John glanced out the window. “Are those your horses out there?”

  Belle followed his gaze and then got up and walked to the window. “Yes, the one on the left is my mare Amber. I didn’t see the stables, so I just tied her to the tree. She seems content.”

  John had stood when Belle had gotten up, and now he walked over to join her at the window. “The stables are in the back.”

  Belle was intensely aware of his nearness, of the spicy masculine scent of him. The breath seemed to leave her body, and for the first time that morning, she felt robbed of all speech. While he was watching her mare, she stole a quick glance at his profile. He had a straight, patrician nose, and a strong chin. His lips were simply beautiful, full and sensual. She swallowed uncomfortably and forced herself to move her gaze to his eyes. They looked bleak. Belle found herself desperately wishing that she could erase the pain and loneliness she saw there.

  Abruptly, John turned and caught Belle watching him. His eyes locked with hers, and for a moment he left his expression unshuttered, allowing her to look into his very soul. Then he quirked a smile, breaking the spell, and turned away.

  “She’s a lovely mare,” he said.

  It took a few moments before Belle could catch her breath. “Yes, I’ve had her for several years.”

  “I cannot imagine she gets much exercise in London.”

  “No.” And why were they speaking so flatly now, Belle wanted to know. Why had he pulled away from her? She didn’t think she could bear being with him for one more moment if they were only going to speak inanities and, God forbid, make polite conversation. “I’d better go,” she said abruptly. “It’s getting late.”

  John chuckled at that. It was barely ten in the morning.

  In her haste to compose herself and leave, Belle didn’t hear his mirth. “You can keep the basket,” she said. “It’s a gift, after all, along with all the food.”

  “I shall treasure it always.” He pulled the bell-cord to summon Belle’s maid from the kitchens.

  Belle smiled, and then to her horror and surprise, she felt a tear welling up in her eye. “Thank you for your company. I had a lovely morning.”

  “As did I.” John escorted her to the front hall. She smiled before turning away from him, rocking him to his very soul and sending a fresh wave of desire through his body. “Lady Arabella,” he said hoarsely.

  She turned around, concern clouding her features. “Is something wrong?”

  “It isn’t wise for you to keep company with me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t come here again.”

  “But you just said—”

  “I said don’t come again. At least not alone.”

  She blinked. “Don’t be silly. You sound like the hero in a gothic novel.”

  “I’m not a hero,” he said darkly. “You’d do well to remember that.”

  “Stop funning me.” Her voice lacked conviction.

  “I’m not, my lady.” He closed his eyes, and for a split second an expression of pure agony washed over his features. “There are many dangers in this world about which you don’t know. About which you should never know,” he added harshly.

  The maid arrived in the hall.

  “I’d better go,” Belle said quickly, completely unnerved.

  “Yes.”

  She turned and fled down the steps to her horse. She mounted quickly and set off down the drive to the main road, intensely aware of John’s eyes on her back the entire way.

  What had happened to him? If Belle had been intrigued by her new neighbor before, now she was ravenously curious. His moods shifted like the wind. She didn’t understand how he could tease her so sweetly one moment and be so dark and forbidding the next.

  And she couldn’t shake the idea that he somehow needed her. He needed someone, that much was clear. Someone who could wipe away the pain that surfaced in his eyes when he thought no one was looking.

  Belle squared her shoulders. She’d never been one to back down from a challenge.

  Chapter 4

  Belle was plagued by thoughts of John for the rest of the day. She went to bed early, hoping that a good night’s sleep would give her new perspective. But sleep eluded her for hours, and once she fell into slumber, John haunted her dreams with startling persistence.

  The next morning she slept a little later than usual, but when she went down to breakfast, she found that Alex and Emma had stayed abed again. She didn’t feel like searching out something with which to amuse herself, so she finished her breakfast quickly and decided to go for a walk.

  She glanced down at her booted feet, decided that her shoes were sturdy enough for a bit of a hike, and slipped out the front door, leaving a note for her cousins with Norwood. The autumn air was crisp but not cold, and Belle was glad that she hadn’t bothered to put on a cloak. Taking quick strides, she found herself heading east. East toward John Blackwood’s property.

  Belle groaned. She should have known this was going to happen. She stopped, trying to force herself to turn around and head west. Or north or south or north by northwest or anything but east. But her feet refused to obey, and she trudged onward, trying to excuse her behavior by telling herself that she only knew how to get to Blondwood Manor by way of the main road, and here she was going through woods, so she probably wouldn’t ever get there anyway.

  She frowned. It wasn’t called Blondwood Manor. But for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what it was called. Belle shook her head and kept on walking.

  An hour went by, and Belle started to regret her decision not to bring her mare. It was a couple of miles to the edge of Alex’s property, and from what John had told her the previous day, she knew it was another couple of miles to his house. Her boots weren’t turning out to be as comfortable as she had hoped, and she had a sneakin
g suspicion that a blister was forming on her right heel.

  She tried to keep a stiff upper lip, but the pain soon reached new heights of irritation. With an audible groan, Belle finally gave up and conceded defeat to her blister. She squatted down and patted the grass with her hand, checking to see if it was damp. The early morning dew had already evaporated, so she plopped down onto the ground, unlaced her boot, and pulled it off. She was about to get up and start walking again when she realized that she was wearing her favorite stockings. With a sigh, she reached up under her skirt and slowly rolled one off.

  From his position ten yards away, John could not believe his eyes. Belle had wandered onto his property again, and he was just about to make his presence known to her when she started muttering to herself and then sat down on the ground in a most undignified manner.

  Intrigued, John darted behind a tree. What followed was a scene far more seductive than he would have ever dreamed possible. After pulling off her shoe, Belle had lifted her skirts well above her knees, giving him a tantalizing view of her shapely legs. John almost groaned. In a society that considered ankles promiscuous, this was racy, indeed.

  John knew he shouldn’t look. But as he stood there, watching Belle roll off her stocking, he could come up with no better alternative. If he called out to her, he’d only embarrass her. Better she didn’t know that he was there. A true gentleman, he supposed, would have the fortitude to turn his back, but then again, John found that most men who took the time to call themselves gentlemen were fools.

  He just couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Her innocence only made her more seductive—more so than the most professional of performers. Her unintended striptease was all the more sensual because Belle was lowering her stocking with agonizing slowness not because she had an audience but because she seemed to love the feel of the silk sliding along her soft skin.

  And then, much too soon for John’s tastes, she was done and muttering to herself again. He smiled. He’d never met anyone who talked to herself quite so often—especially not in such amusing tones.

  She stood and looked herself up and down a few times until her gaze fell on a bow which adorned her dress. She tied her stocking around the frippery, firmly securing it to her attire, and then reached down and picked up her boot. John almost laughed when she started to mutter again, glaring at her shoe as if it were some small, offensive creature as she realized that she could have just stuffed her stocking into the boot for safekeeping.

  He heard her sigh, so she must have done so loudly, and then she shrugged her shoulders and trudged away from him. John quirked a brow at her movements because she wasn’t walking home, she was heading toward his house. Alone. One would have thought that the chit would have had the sense to heed his warning. He thought he’d frightened her the day before. Lord knew he frightened himself.

  He couldn’t contain a smile, however, because with one of her boots off, she was limping almost as much as he did.

  John quickly turned and headed back into the woods. After his accident, he had exercised his bad leg religiously, and as a result, he could walk quite swiftly—almost as fast as an uninjured man. The only problem was that overexertion meant that his leg would later ache as if he’d walked—no hopped—to hell and back.

  But he wasn’t thinking about these consequences as he sped through the woods. Foremost on his mind was how to cut through the forest and intercept Belle closer to Bletchford Manor without her realizing that he had been spying on her.

  He knew that the path curved to the right up ahead, so he cut diagonally through the woods, cursing every tree stump he no longer had the agility to leap over. When he finally emerged onto the path about a half mile closer to his house, his knee was throbbing, and he was panting from the exertion. He put his hands on his thighs and leaned down for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Pain shot up and down his leg, and it was pure agony just to straighten it. Wincing, he rubbed his knee until the stabbing sensation receded into a dull ache.

  He stood up, and just in time. Belle had just limped around the corner. John quickly took a step in her direction, wanting to appear as if he had been strolling down the path all morning.

  She didn’t see him right away because she was looking down at the ground for pebbles so that she could avoid them with her unshod foot. They were only about ten feet away from each other when she heard the sound of his footsteps. She looked up instantly and saw him approaching. He was wearing that enigmatic little smile of his, as if he knew something that she didn’t. Actually, she thought, it was more like he knew something that she never would.

  “Oh, hello, Lord Blackwood,” she said, curving her lips into a smile that she hoped matched the mystery of his. She rather thought she failed; she’d never had a mysterious day in her life, and besides, she sounded too cheerful by half.

  Amidst all of Belle’s turbulent thoughts, John nodded.

  “I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing on your property again.”

  John raised an eyebrow, and Belle had no idea whether his gesture meant: You’re an annoying little trespasser, You’re an amusing piece of baggage, or Your actions aren’t worth the time it would take to think about them. So she plodded on.

  “I did, of course, realize that this was your property, but I headed east from Westonbirt when I left this morning. I don’t know why, but I did, and the eastern border is really much closer to the house than any of the other ones, and so since I like to take fairly long walks, it’s only natural that I’d reach the border, and I didn’t think you’d mind.” Belle clamped her mouth shut. She was babbling. That was unlike her, and she was quite annoyed with herself for doing it.

  “I don’t mind,” John said simply.

  “Oh. Well, that’s good, I suppose, because I have no wish to be forcibly thrown off your property.” That sounded really stupid. Belle shut her mouth again.

  “Would it really require force to get you off my property? I had no idea you liked it so much.”

  Belle smiled impishly. “You’re teasing me.”

  John gave her another one of those small smiles, the kind that would have said so much if the rest of his face weren’t so inscrutable.

  “You don’t talk much, do you?” she blurted out.

  “I didn’t think there was a need. You seem to be holding up both our ends of the conversation admirably.”

  Belle frowned. “That was a horrid thing to say.” She looked up. His velvety brown eyes, usually so unreadable, were filled with amusement. She sighed. “But true. I don’t usually talk this much, you know.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I think it’s because you’re so silent that I feel the need to talk more.”

  “Ah. So we have shifted the blame to my shoulders?”

  Belle glanced flirtatiously at his shoulders, which were a little broader than she’d remembered. “They do seem a bit more capable of bearing such a heavy load.”

  John grinned at her, really grinned, which was something he didn’t do very often. He suddenly felt glad that he’d worn one of his better coats; he frequently threw on old ones for his early morning walks. Then he was annoyed with himself for caring.

  “Is this a new fashion?” he asked, motioning to the boot in her hand.

  “Blister,” Belle said, lifting her dress up a few inches. It was risqué, she knew, but she shrugged it off. The two of them had such bizarre conversations, normal rules of etiquette just didn’t seem to apply.

  Much to her surprise, however, he got down on one knee and took her foot into his hands. “Mind if I take a look?” he asked.

  Belle tugged her foot back nervously. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” she said quickly. Seeing her foot was one thing. Actually touching it was something else altogether.

  John held fast. “Don’t be a prude, Belle. It could become infected, and then you’ll really be miserable.”

  She blinked a few times, more than a little surprised at his bold use of her first name.
“How did you know that I’m called Belle?” she finally asked.

  “Ashbourne told me,” John replied, examining her pale toes. “Where is this damned thing, anyway?”

  “On my heel,” Belle answered, dutifully turning around.

  John let out a low whistle. “You’ve got a nasty one there. You ought to get a more comfortable pair of shoes if you intend to hike around the countryside.”

  “I wasn’t hiking, I was walking. And I do have better shoes. I just hadn’t intended to take a walk this morning until after I was dressed, and I didn’t feel like changing my attire.” Belle let out a frustrated sigh. Why did she feel the need to explain herself to him?

  John stood up, pulled out a crisp, white handkerchief, and took Belle’s arm. “There is a pond not too far away from here. I can get some water to clean the sore.”

  Belle let go of her skirt. “I don’t think that’s necessary, John.”

  John warmed, at her rather pointed use of his given name and was glad that he’d gone ahead and used hers without asking first. He decided he liked this Lady Arabella, even if she was a little too well-connected for his tastes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so much. She was smart and fun—a little too beautiful for his comfort, but he was certain that with a little effort, he could control his attraction to her.

  She did, however, have a rather appalling disregard for her own well-being, as evidenced by her lack of spectacles, her soon-to-be festering blister, and her penchant for unchaperoned excursions. She obviously needed someone to lecture a little sense into her. Since he didn’t see anyone else nearby, he decided he might as well be the one to do it, and he started walking toward the pond, practically dragging her along behind him.

  “Jo-ohn!” she protested.

  “Be-elle!” he countered, imitating her complaining tone perfectly.

  “I’m fully able to take care of myself,” Belle said, quickening her stride to keep up. For a man with such a pronounced limp, he could move fast.

  “Obviously not, or you’d have spectacles perched on your nose.”

  Belle halted in her tracks with such force that John actually stumbled. “I only need them when I read,” she ground out.