"I hadn't noticed any decline in the frequency of your attempts."

John shot her a look which said he did not entirely appreciate her humor. "All I'm saying is that I'm damned sick and tired of sharing you."

"Oh." Belle thought that was just about the sweetest thing she had ever heard.

"I just climbed up a tree, shimmied along an unsteady branch, and then vaulted through a window at an extremely unsafe height. All, might I add, with a bum leg," John said, pulling off his gloves and brushing himself off. "Just to be alone with you."

Belle swallowed as she stared at him, dimly registering the fact that he had actually referred to his injury without bitterness or despair.

"You wanted a romantic proposal," he continued. "Believe me, I'm never going to get more romantic than this." Out of his pocket he pulled a crumpled, red rose.

"Will you marry me?"

Overcome with emotion, Belle blinked away the tears pooling in her eyes. She opened her mouth but no words came out.

John stepped forward and took both of her hands in his. "Please," he said, and that single word held such promise that Belle started nodding furiously.

"Yes, oh yes!" She threw herself in his arms and buried her face in his chest.

John held her tightly for several minutes, savoring the feel of her warm body next to his. "I should have asked you so long ago," he murmured into her hair. "Back at Westonbirt. I tried so hard to push you away."

"But why?"

His throat tightened.

"John, are you ill? You look as if you've eaten something that's gone off."

"No, Belle, I-" He fought for words. He wouldn't deceive her. He wouldn't enter into a marriage based upon lies. "When I told you that I wasn't the man you thought I was-"

"I remember," she interrupted. "And I still don't understand what you mean. I-"

"Hush." He placed his finger on her lips. "There is something in my past I must tell you about. It was during the war."

Wordlessly, she took his hand and led him to her bed. She sat and motioned him to do likewise, but he was far too restless.

He turned abruptly and strode over to the window, bracing himself against the sill. "A girl was raped," he blurted out, thankful that he couldn't see her expression. "It was my fault."

Belle paled. "Wh-what do you mean?"

John recounted the details, finishing with, "That's how it happened. At least that's how I remember it. I was drunk." He let out a short, hollow laugh.

"John, it wasn't your fault." Her words were soft, but they were filled with love and faith.

He didn't turn around. "You weren't there."

"I know you. You wouldn't have let something like this happen if you could have prevented it."

He whirled to face her. "Weren't you listening to me? I was drunk. If I'd had my wits about me I would have been able to fulfil my promise to Ana's mother."

"He would have found a way to get to her. You couldn't have guarded the girl every minute of the day."

"I could have- I-" He broke off. "I don't want to talk about it."

Belle stood and crossed the room, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Perhaps you should."

"No," he said quickly. "I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. I-" He choked on his words. "Will you still have me?"

"How can you even ask?" she whispered. "I lo-" She stopped, too scared of upsetting the precious balance they'd achieved to voice her true feelings. "I care for you so much. I know what a good and honorable man you are, even if you don't."

He reached for her, pulling her roughly into his arms. He clung to her, covering her face with kisses. "Oh, Belle, I need you so much. I don't know how I survived without you."

"And I you."

"You are such a treasure, Belle. Such a gift to me." He suddenly whirled her around, spinning her in a dazzling waltz. They twirled about, turning circle after circle until they both collapsed on the bed, laughing and out of breath.

"Look at me," John gasped. "I cannot remember the last time I allowed myself to be so happy. I smile all day long without knowing why. I climbed a bloody tree, vaulted through your window, and here I am-laughing." He jumped to his feet, pulling her along with him. "It's the middle of the night, and yet here I am with you. Dancing at midnight, holding perfection in my arms."

"Oh, John," she sighed, unable to think of any words to express her feelings.

He touched her chin with his fingers and drew her closer, ever closer.

Belle's breath caught in her throat as his lips swooped down to claim her own. The kiss was different than any other they had shared. There was a fierceness to it that hadn't been there before, a sense of ownership. And Belle had to admit that this possessiveness was not one-sided. The way she kissed him with all her passion, clutched at the sinewy muscles of his back-all this was meant to show him that he belonged to no one but her.

John's hands roamed down her back, spreading warmth through the thin material of her nightgown. He strayed down to her bottom and cupped it, pulling her tightly to him so that she could feel the hard, physical evidence of his desire. "Do you realize how much I want you?" he rasped. "Do you?"

Belle couldn't speak, for his lips had covered her own. She couldn't nod because one of his hands had stolen back up to her thick hair and was holding her head immobile. She responded in the only way she could, which was to reach around to his buttocks and pull him even closer to her. A harsh moan was his answer, and Belle felt a feminine thrill at her power over him.




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