Dancing at Midnight

Belle looked up at the deep sound of his voice. "Oh, hello, Lord Blackwood." She glanced lightly at his disheveled hair. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"Not at all," he lied.

"I thought that perhaps we didn't get off to a good start when we met."

He didn't say anything.

She took a breath and continued. "Right. Well, I thought I should greet you to the neighborhood. I brought you something to break your fast. I hope you like scones."

John flashed her a wide smile. "I adore scones. And they're just in time for breakfast."

Belle frowned at his overly amused tone. She had woken him up. "There is some jam to go with them." She sat down, wondering what on earth had possessed her to come over here so early.

John rang for some tea and coffee and then seated himself across from her. He glanced mildly around the room. "I see you have no escort."

"Oh, no, I did bring a maid, but she went off to visit your servants. I would have had Emma accompany me, but she wasn't yet up and about. It's early, you know."

"I know."

Belle swallowed and continued. "It really isn't that important, I don't think. This isn't London, after all, where one's every movement is fair game for the gossips. And it's not as if I'm in any danger."

John's eyes raked appreciatively over her decidedly feminine form. "Aren't you?"

Belle flushed and stiffened in her seat. She looked him straight in the eye and saw honor lurking behind his sardonic facade. "No, I don't think I am," she replied resolutely.

"You shouldn't have come here alone."

"I told you, I didn't come here alone. My maid-"

"Your maid is in the kitchen. You are here in this room. Alone. With me."

Belle's mouth opened and closed several times before she managed to speak. "Well… yes, of course… but…"

John stared at her, thinking that he'd like nothing better than to lean over and kiss those soft lips which were opening and closing with such consternation. He shook his head slightly as if to banish the thought. Get a hold of yourself, John, his inner voice warned. "I apologize," he said abruptly. "I certainly did not mean to make you ill at ease. It is just rather uncommon for a young lady to call upon a bachelor unescorted."

Belle smiled archly, his apology somehow relieving her tension. "I am rather uncommon myself."

John didn't doubt it for an instant. He glanced over at her saucy expression and wondered if she had come calling deliberately to torture him.

"Besides," Belle continued, "I didn't think you would be such a stickler for etiquette."

"I am not," he pointed out. "Most young ladies, however, are."

A servant brought in tea and coffee, and Belle quickly offered to pour. She handed him a cup of coffee and set about fixing herself some tea, chattering all the while.

"Did you grow up in the area?"

"No."

"Well, then, where did you grow up?"

"Shropshire."

"How lovely."

John made a noise that was perilously close to a grunt. Belle raised her eyebrows and continued. "I am from London."

"How lovely."

Belle pursed her lips at his sarcastic comment. "We have a home in Sussex, of course, but I tend to think of London as home."

John picked up a scone and liberally spread some strawberry jam onto it. "How unfortunate for you."

"Don't you like London?"

"Not particularly."

"Oh." And what else was she supposed to say, Belle wondered. A full minute passed, and she was painfully aware of the speculative and amused glances that John was shooting her way. "Well," she said finally. "I see that you were not lying to me yesterday."

That comment caught John's attention and he looked up questioningly.

"You really are dreadful at making polite conversation."

He let out a bark of laughter. "No one could ever accuse you of being less than astute, my lady."

Belle let that comment pass, not entirely certain that it had been meant as a compliment. As she looked over at him she remembered yesterday's conversation. For a moment, at least, they had enjoyed each other's company. They had discussed Shakespeare, and yes, even teased each other a bit.

He'd been different then, almost boyish. That is, until he had put his guard back up. Belle had a feeling that someone had hurt this man very badly in the past. That didn't, however, mean that she would allow him to abuse her in turn.

She sensed something special in him, something fine and shining and very, very good. And perhaps all he needed was someone to remind him of that. She saw no reason not to throw caution to the wind and try to befriend him despite all of the obstacles he was throwing in her path. Crossing her arms, she said, "You can speak in that arrogant tone if you want, but it won't wash."

John raised an eyebrow.

"You might as well accept it," Belle stated plainly. "You like me."

Much to John's dismay, his coffee cup clattered loudly in its saucer. "What did you say?"

"You like me." Belle cocked her head, looking much like a cat who had just lapped up a very large bowl of cream.

"And how did you reach that conclusion, may I ask?"

"I can just tell."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she also realized that he wanted her very badly. Could she tell that? Perhaps. He himself was quite surprised by the force of his reaction to her. Yesterday, she'd looked lovely sitting under his tree, but today, to his still slightly sleepy eyes, she was a goddess.