Dancing at Midnight

"A present, my lady." He leaned over and kissed her hand.

Belle felt the warmth of his kiss travel up her arm straight to her soul. "I shall treasure it always."

The romance of the moment was overpowering. "Are you hungry?" John asked suddenly, desperate to turn the conversation over to more mundane matters.

"Famished."

John led her over to the food stalls where they bought spinach pies and strawberry tarts. Plates in hand, they wended their way to a quiet spot on the outskirts of the fair. John laid his coat down on the ground, and they sat on it and ravenously attacked their food.

"You owe me a poem," Belle reminded him between bites of her pie.

John sighed. "So I do."

"You haven't even tried, have you?" Belle accused.

"Of course I have. I just haven't finished what I started."

"Then tell me what you have now."

"I don't know," he hedged. "A true poet wouldn't release his work until he was certain it was finished."

"Pleeeeeeease!" she begged, her face contorting into an expression that would have been more at home on a five-year-old.

John couldn't hold out against such unrestrained begging. "Oh, all right. How about this?

'She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all thaf s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes.' "

"Oh, John," Belle sighed deliriously. "That was lovely. It made me feel so beautiful."

"You are beautiful."

"Thank you," Belle said automatically. "But looking beautiful isn't, I think, as important as feeling beautiful, and that's why your poem touched me so deeply. It was so romantic. It was-wait a minute." She sat upright, her brow furrowed in thought.

John suddenly focused all of his attention on the spinach pie in his hands.

"I've heard that before," Belle continued. "I think I've read it. Quite recently."

"Can't imagine how," John murmured, all the while knowing he was well and truly sunk.

"Lord Byron wrote that! I cannot believe you tried to pass off Lord Byron's poetry as your own!"

"You did back me into a bit of a corner."

"I know, but that's no excuse for outright plagiarism. And here I was, thinking you'd written such beautiful words just for me. Imagine my disappointment."

"Imagine my disappointment," John muttered. "I was certain you wouldn't have read it yet. It was only published last year."

"I had to get my brother to buy it for me. They don't sell Lord Byron's work in the ladies' bookshop. Too racy, they say."

"You are too inventive by half," John grumbled, leaning back and resting on his elbows. "If you had stayed in your ladies' bookshop where you belong, I wouldn't be in this mess."

"I don't regret one whit of it," Belle said archly. "It seemed quite silly to me that I wasn't allowed to read what all of society was whispering about, and only because I'm an unmarried female."

"Get yourself married," he suggested jokingly, "and then you can do whatever you want."

Belle leaned forward, excitement glittering in her eyes. "Lord Blackwood, that wouldn't be a proposal now, would it?"

John paled. "Now you've really backed me into a corner."

Belle sat back, trying to hide her disappointment. She didn't know what had possessed her to speak so outrageously, and she certainly had no idea how she had expected him to react. Still, accusing her of backing him into a corner was definitely not what she'd been hoping for. "I still think you should write a poem," she finally said, hoping her jaunty tone covered the sadness she wasn't able to keep out of her eyes.

John pretended to give the matter great thought. "How about this one?" he asked with an impish smile.

"There is nothing more dear to my heart

Than a woman who's covered with strawberry tart."

Belle made a face. "That was dreadful."

"Did you think so? I thought it most romantic, indeed, considering that you've got strawberry tart on your face."

"I do not."

"Yes, you do. Right here." John extended his finger and lightly touched the corner of her mouth. He lingered for a moment, wanting to trace the outline of her lips, but he pulled away quite suddenly, almost as if burned. He was getting too close to temptation. She had only to sit across from him at a makeshift picnic, and his entire body came alive.

Belle's hand flew up to her face, instinctively touching the spot where he had just touched her. Funny how her skin still tingled. Stranger still how the sensation was slowly spreading through the rest of her body. She looked over at John, who was gazing at her hungrily, his dark eyes smoldering with unfulfilled desire. "There-there are so many people about, my lord," she finally stammered.

John could tell she was nervous. She never would have reverted to her automatic use of the title "my lord" otherwise. He drew back, shuttering his gaze, aware that it was his unconcealed hunger which was making her so ill-at-ease. He took several deep breaths, willing himself to cease this insane desire. His body refused, unwilling to ignore the ravishingly beautiful woman seated not three feet away from him.

John cursed under his breath. This was crazy. Utter madness. He was romancing a woman with whom he couldn't hope for a future. He heard his older brother Damien's voice pounding in his head. "You are not a titled gentleman: You are not a titled gentleman." John bit back a wry smile. Funny how life turned out. He'd won himself a title, but his soul was black as sin.