Dancing at Midnight (20 page)

quieter in the last few moments. Dear Lord, didn't anyone have anything

better to do than listen to Lady Forthright's inane babblings? And where

had Damien gone? Shouldn't he defend his brother?

"A few years," John replied quietly. "I was honored for military service."

"I see." Lady Forthright drew herself up and squared her shoulders,

preening for her audience. "Well, I'm sure you're very

brave, but I cannot approve of this reckless handing out of titles. It

wouldn't do for the peerage to get too—shall we say—undiscriminating."

"Lord Blackwood is the son of an earl," Belle said quietly.

"Oh, I do not fault his bloodlines," their hostess replied. "But we

mustn't get like those Russians who give out titles to just about

everybody. Did you know that if one is a Russian duke, all of one's sons

get to be dukes as well? Before long the entire country

is going to be overrun with dukes. It will be anarchy. Mark my

words—that country is going to collapse, and it will be because

of all those dukes."

"An interesting supposition," Belle said, her tone frosty.

Lady Forthright didn't seem to notice Belle's irritation. "I find all

these new titles somewhat gauche, don't you?"

Belle heard indrawn breaths all around her as all her eavesdroppers

waited for her reply. Damien wandered back to her side,

and she gave him a tight smile. "I'm sorry, Lady Forthright," she said

sweetly. "I am afraid I do not follow your meaning. Your husband is the

/fifth /Viscount Forthright?"

"The sixth," she replied sharply. "And my father was the eighth Earl of

Windemere."

"I see," Belle said slowly. "So then neither of them did anything to

earn their titles other than simply being born?"

"I am certain that I misunderstand your implications, Lady Arabella. And

may I remind you that your family's earldom goes

back for several centuries?"

"Oh no, I assure you that I am well aware of that fact, Lady Forthright.

And we regard the earldom as an important family honor. But my father is

a good man precisely because he is a good man, not because he possesses

an ancient title. And as for Lord Blackwood, I find his title all the

more appealing because it represents the nobility of the man standing

before you, not of some long-dead ancestor."

"A pretty speech, Lady Arabella, especially for one who obviously enjoys

all the perks of her position. But not entirely

appropriate for a gently-reared lady. You have become something of a

bluestocking."

"At last! A compliment. I never thought to hear one from your lips. Now

if you will excuse me, I am growing weary of this party." Belle

purposefully turned her back on her hostess, well aware of the scandal

such bad manners would create. "John, it was lovely seeing you again. I

hope you call on me soon, but I must find Dunford and have him escort me

back home. Good evening."

And while John was still reeling from her passionate defense, she

honored him with her most radiant smile and swept past him.

He was left facing a furious Lady Forthright who simply "harumphed" at

him and bustled away.

John couldn't help himself. He started to laugh.

*  *  *

Later that evening, while the Blackwood brothers were on their way home,

Damien brought up the subject of Belle's now

obvious friendship with John. "I did not realize that you and Lady

Arabella knew each other so well," he said with a frown.

One side of John's mouth twisted up in a wry smile. "She said we were

well acquainted, didn't she?"

"Her passionate defense of your position would indicate that you are

/quite /well acquainted."

"Well, we are quite."

Damien let the matter drop for a few minutes, but eventually his

curiosity got the better of him. "Do you intend to court her?"

"I have already said as much to the lady in question."

"I see."

John sighed. He was behaving rather sharply with his brother, and Damien

really didn't deserve it. "I apologize if this puts a

crimp in your plans. I assure you I did not know that you had tender

feelings for Belle before I arrived. If you must know, she

was the reason I came to town in the first place."

Damien pondered that slowly. "I wouldn't say I have /tender /feelings

for her. I merely thought she would make me a good wife."

John looked at him oddly. He wondered if his brother's emotions ever

ventured beyond appreciation or mild dislike.

"It is obvious, however," Damien continued, "that we would not suit at

all. She is a great beauty, to be sure, but I cannot have

a wife who spouts out such radical notions in public."

John's lips twitched. "Surely you, too, don't begrudge me my title."

"Of course not." Damien appeared affronted by the accusation. "You

earned that title. And our father was, of course, an earl.

But you must admit, too many cits are making their way into the

aristocracy, whether by purchase or marriage. Lord only

knows what's to become of us."

"Belle likes to read," John blurted out, just to make absolutely sure

that his brother's interest in her would not resurface.

"She's read the complete works of Shakespeare."

Damien shook his head. "I cannot imagine what I was thinking.

Bluestockings can be such a nuisance, no matter how beautiful. They're

so demanding."

John smiled.

"She wouldn't do, at all," Damien continued. "But you should try for her

if you want. She'd be a great catch for a man of your position. Although

I must warn you, her parents probably wouldn't approve of the match. I

should think she could get a duke

if she wanted."

"I imagine she could," John murmured. "If, of course, that was what she

wanted."

The carriage came to a halt in front of Damien's town house. When they

entered the main hall, Lightbody greeted them with

a note which he said had been left expressly for Lord Blackwood.

Curious, John unfolded the paper.

I /am in London./

John frowned as he remembered the two similar messages he'd received a

few weeks earlier. He'd thought that they had

been meant for Bletchford Manor's previous owners, but now he realized

that he was mistaken.

"Someone you know?" Damien inquired.

"I'm not sure," John replied slowly. "I'm not sure at all."

*

*

*Chapter 12

*

John arrived at Belle's house the next morning, arms laden with

chocolates and flowers. It amazed him how easy this was—to simply allow

her to lighten his heart. He'd been smiling all morning.

Belle was unable to keep the delight from her eyes when she came

downstairs to greet him. "To what do I owe the pleasure

of your company?" she asked with a bright smile.

"I said I was going to court you, didn't I?" John responded, thrusting

the flowers into her arms. "Consider yourself courted."

"How romantic," she said, not without a twinge of sarcasm.

"I hope you like chocolates."

Belle suppressed a smile. He was trying very hard. "I love them."

"Excellent." He shot her a jaunty grin. "Mind if I have one?"

"Not at all."

Persephone chose that moment to sail down the stairs. "Good morning,

Belle," she said. "Won't you introduce me to your guest?"

Belle did the honors, and while John was deciding which chocolate to pop

in his mouth, Persephone leaned over and whispered, "He's very handsome."

Belle nodded.

"And he looks quite virile."

Belle's eyes widened. "Persephone," she whispered. "I feel I must inform

you that this is not the normal type of conversation between a chaperone

and her charge."

"Is it not? It ought to be, I think. Ah well, I fear I will never get

this chaperoning business right. Pray do not tell Alex of my shortcomings."

"I like you just the way you are," Belle said honestly.

"Isn't that sweet of you, dear? Well, I'm off. The coachman has promised

to take me on a tour of London, and I want to make sure we get to all

the dangerous parts before dark."

Considering that it wasn't yet noon, Belle could only wonder as to the

length of Persephone's route, but she didn't say a word

as the older lady fluttered out the door.

"Not exactly the sternest of chaperones," John commented.

"No."

"Shall we retire to a parlor? I'm desperate to kiss you, and I'd rather

not do it in the hall."

Belle blushed but led the way to a nearby drawing room.

John kicked the door shut and hauled her into his arms. "Chaperone-less

for the entire day," he murmured between kisses.

"Was ever a man so blessed?"

"Was ever a /woman /so blessed?" Belle countered.

"I think not. Come over here to the sofa so I can ply you with

chocolates and flowers." He took her hand and pulled her along

with him as he crossed the room.

Belle giggled softly as she let him lead her to the sofa. She had never

seen him so lighthearted, so carefree. There was still a

thin veil of sadness and hesitation in his eyes, but it was nothing

compared to the haunted look she'd seen back in Oxfordshire. "The only

person you're plying with those chocolates is yourself. You've already

had three."

John sat and pulled her down next to him. "There is no point in bringing

a lady an edible gift unless you like it, too. Here, have

one. They're quite good." He picked up a sweet and held it in front of

her mouth.

Belle smiled and bit away half of it, licking her lips with deliberate

seductiveness as she chewed. "It's exquisite," she murmured.

"Yes, it is." He wasn't talking about chocolate.

Belle leaned forward for the rest of the candy and took it in her mouth,

daringly licking his fingers as she did so. "A little bit

melted on your skin," she said innocently.

"A little bit melted on /your /skin, too." He moved toward her and

licked the corner of her mouth, sending shivers of desire right

to the tips of her toes. Leaning forward, he ran his tongue along the

soft edge of her upper lip. "I missed a bit here," he murmured. "And

here." He moved to her lower lip, which he teased between his teeth.

Belle had quite forgotten how to breathe. "I think I like being

courted," she whispered.

"Haven't you ever been before?" John took a little nip of her ear.

"Not like this."

"Good." He smiled possessively.

Belle arched her neck as he ran his lips along her tender skin. "I hope

you haven't conducted any other courtships with this particular brand

of, er, persuasion."

"Never," he promised.

"Good." Belle's smile was equally possessive. "But you know," she said,

taking a quick gasp of air as his hand stole around

and cupped her breast. "There is more to courting than flowers and

chocolate."

"Mmm-hmm. There is kissing." He squeezed her breast through her dress,

causing Belle to squeal with wonder.

"Of course," Belle sighed. "I wasn't forgetting that."

"I'll do my best to keep that at the forefront of your mind." John was

busy figuring out the best way to free one of her perfect

little breasts from the confines of her attire.

"That's fine. But you must remember, I won't let you forget that you owe

me a poem."

"You're a stubborn wench, aren't you?" John finally decided that the

best course of action was simply to push the dress down

and thank God that the fashions of the day did not require endless

streams of buttons.

"Not particularly." Belle laughed softly. "But I still want that poem."

John momentarily diverted her attention by carrying out his plans. He

smiled and moaned with pure masculine pleasure as he looked down on her

dusky nipple, puckered with desire. He licked his lips.

"John—you're not going to ... ?"

He nodded and did.

Belle felt all her limbs go weak, and she melted into the sofa, pulling

John along with her. He worshipped her breast for a full minute and then

moved on to the other one. Belle was helpless against his sensual

onslaught and couldn't control the soft cries

of desire escaping through her lips. "Say something," she finally moaned.

"Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?" he quoted. "Thou art—"

"Oh, please, John," Belle said, pulling his head off of her breast so

that she could look into his laughing brown eyes. "If you're

going to plagiarize, at least have the sense not to choose something so

famous."

"If you don't stop talking this instant, Belle, I shall be moved to

drastic action."

"Drastic action? Now that sounds interesting." She pulled his mouth back

down onto hers and kissed him eagerly.

Just then they heard an agonizingly familiar voice coming from the hallway.

"What a ninny I am to forget a warm pair of gloves," Persephone said.

"It's so nippy out."

Belle and John jumped away from each other instantly. When Belle was not

hasty enough in righting her appearance, John took charge of the

situation and yanked her dress back up, practically to her chin. As they

frantically tried to remedy their mussed appearances, they heard the

soft murmur of another voice, probably that of the servant to whom