"Know how what is?"
"Oh, love at first sight and all that."
"Yes," John said darkly.
"Actually," Emma said, leaning forward.
"What?"
I'm brilliant, Emma thought. Absolutely brilliant. "Actually," she repeated. "She said he reminded her a little of you."
Fury, jealousy, outrage, and a hundred other nasty emotions raced through John in exceedingly unhealthy proportions. "How nice for her," he bit out icily.
"I knew you'd be pleased," Emma said in a breezy tone. "After all, you two were such good friends."
"Yes, we were."
"I'll make sure that you get an invitation to the wedding. I'm certain that it will mean a lot to Belle to have you there."
"I'll be busy then."
"But you don't know when the wedding will be. She hasn't set a date."
"I'll be busy," John repeated, his voice hard.
"I see."
"Yes, I'm sure you do." John wondered if Alex's wife was uncommonly cruel or just exceedingly naive. "It has been very kind of you to stop by with news of Belle, but I'm afraid I have business I must attend to immediately."
"Yes, of course," Emma said, standing up with a sunny smile. "I shall convey your best wishes to Belle." When he made no comment, she offered him an innocent look and asked, "You do wish her the best, don't you?"
John only growled.
Emma stepped back and smothered a laugh. "I shall tell her you said hello, then. And please do come and call soon. Alex would love to see you, I'm sure." As she walked down the steps to her carriage, it occurred to her that she'd better send Belle a note saying that John would be arriving in London very, very soon.
John watched Emma disappear down the drive from his front steps. As soon as she was gone from view, he swore viciously, kicked the side of his house for good measure, and strode back to his study where he poured himself a tall glass of whiskey.
"Goddamn, good for nothing, fickle female," he muttered, taking a healthy swig. The liquor burned a trail down his throat, but John could barely feel it.
"Getting married?" he said loudly. "Married? Ha! I hope she's miserable." He drained the rest of the glass and poured a new one. Unfortunately the whiskey did not dull the pain that was squeezing at his heart. When he had told Belle that she'd be better off without him, he'd never dreamed that it would be this excruciatingly painful to think of her in another man's arms. Oh, he'd figured that she would get married someday, but the image had been hazy and unfocused. Now he couldn't get the picture of her and this faceless earl or whoever he was out of his mind. He kept seeing her smile in that impish way of hers and then lean up to kiss him. And then once they were married, oh God, it was awful. He could see Belle, nude in the candlelight, holding her arms out to this stranger. And then her husband would cover her body with his and…
John drained his second glass of whiskey. At least he didn't know what this man looked like. He certainly didn't need to picture the scene in any more vivid detail.
"Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn," he muttered, punctuating each "damn" with a kick to the side of his desk. The desk won the battle handily, being made of solid oak, and John's foot would no doubt show bruises the next day.
Was it going to be like this for the rest of his life? He had gone into the village the other day, and every woman had reminded him of Belle.
He'd bumped into one who had eyes that were almost as blue. Another had been just about her height. Would his heart lurch every time he saw a blond woman across a crowd?
He sank down to the floor, leaning against the side of his desk. "I'm an ass," he moaned. "An ass."
And that litany sounded in his mind until he finally fell asleep.
He was walking through a house. It was lush, opulent. Intrigued, John walked further.
What was that strange thumping sound?
It was coming from a room at the end of the hall. He walked closer, terrified by what he thought he might find there.
Closer. Closer. It wasn't thumping, after all. John felt the fear begin to drain from his body. It was… dancing. Someone was dancing. He could hear the music now.
He pushed open the door. It was a ballroom. Hundreds of couples whirled around in effortless waltzes. And at the center…
His heart stopped. It was Belle.
She looked so beautiful. She threw back her head and laughed. Had he ever seen her so happy?
John moved closer. He tried to get a good look at her dance partner, but the man's features were always blurred.
One by one, the other couples dropped from view until there were only three people left in the room. John, Belle, and Him.
He had to get away. He couldn't bear to watch Belle with her lover. He tried to move, but his feet were glued to the spot. He tried to look away, but his neck refused to twist.
The music grew faster. The dancing couple whirled out of control until… they weren't dancing.
John narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look. What was happening?
The couple was arguing. Belle looked as if she were trying to explain something to the man. And then he hit her. The back of his hand slammed across her cheek, his rings leaving red welts across her pale skin.
John yelled out her name, but the couple didn't seem to hear him. He tried to go to her, but the feet that had just refused to carry him from the room wouldn't take him in the opposite direction, either.
The man hit her again, and she fell to the floor, her arms rising up to shield her head. John reached out, but his arms weren't nearly long enough. He called her name, over and over, and then, blessedly, the couple faded from view.