Dancing at Midnight

"I know who is trying to kill me," he finally said, his voice low.

Belle sat up in bed, pulling the covers over her breasts. "Who?"

"George Spencer." He cleared his throat. "The one I told you about."

The blood drained from Belle's face. "But I thought he'd left the country."

"I thought so, too. Ashbourne saw him outside the house before the wedding."

"Are you certain that he'd want to kill you?"

John closed his eyes as his memory took him back to Spain. The stench of sex and blood. The agony in Ana's eyes. The fury in Spencer's. "I'm certain."

Belle put her arms around him and pulled herself close to his side. "Now at least we know who he is. Now we can fight him."

He nodded slowly.

"What are we going to do?"

"I'm not sure yet, love. There is much to consider." But he didn't want to think about any of that yet, not when he was still lying in bed with his wife of less than twenty-four hours. Abruptly changing the subject, he kissed her again and asked, "Did you have a good wedding?"

"Of course," Belle replied loyally.

"Are you certain?" John hated to think that his haste might have spoiled one of the most magical days in her life. "You seemed somewhat distraught before the ceremony."

"Oh, that, " Belle said, a light blush creeping across her cheeks. "I was just a touch edgy."

"Not having second thoughts about me, I hope." He hoped ? He prayed.

"No, of course not," Belle said, playfully swatting him on the shoulder. "I never, never even once thought I was making a mistake. I was just a bit at odds with myself because my wedding wasn't exactly how I dreamed it was going to be."

"I'm sorry," John said softly.

"No, no, don't be. Just because it wasn't what I thought I wanted doesn't mean it wasn't absolutely perfect. Oh, dear, am I making any sense at all?"

John nodded solemnly.

"I thought that I needed a church and hundreds of guests and music that actually sounded like music, but I was wrong. What I needed was a drunken priest, irreverent guests, and a companion who learned to play piano from a goat." "Then you got exactly what you needed." "I suppose so. But then again, all I really needed was you." John leaned down to kiss her again, and they remained thus occupied for the next hour.

***
As the day wore on, John realized that he was going to have to take some action about George Spencer. He certainly had no desire to sit around and wait for Spencer to finally lodge a bullet in his chest. He'd go crazy if he had to wait patiently for his enemy to make a move. For the sake of his sanity, then, he would need to come up with a plan. The idea of skulking in shadows was distasteful, and he resolved to face the situation head-on and meet with Spencer in person.

Of course that required knowledge of Spencer's whereabouts. John had no doubt that such information would not be difficult to obtain. News traveled fast in London, even in the off-season, and Spencer was from a good enough family to insure that his arrival would have been noted. One simply had to ask the right people.

John retired to the library and penned a note to Alex right away, requesting his help. A reply arrived not twenty minutes later.

Spencer is staying in rented rooms at 14 Bellamy Lane. He has returned to London under his own name and is enjoying a

lukewarm reception. Apparently he tried to return to England directly after the war and was scorned as a deserter. His situation

has improved since then, although not by much.

He does not receive many invitations, but I do not think that it would be difficult for him to gain acceptance to large parties and balls. He has the right accent and the right clothing. You and Belle will have to be careful. Please keep me informed of your plans.

Ashbourne

Alex had been busy since the night before. John shook his head in admiration. He sat down with a quill and paper. After several drafts, he finally decided on simplicity and sent this letter:

Spencer,

I understand that you are in London. We have much to discuss. Won't you please come by for tea? I am staying at

my in-laws' house in Grosvenor Square.

Blackwood

John sent the note off with a messenger and gave him instructions to wait for a reply.

He wandered out into the hall, looking for Belle. He still didn't really know his way around the mansion, which was quite large for a town house. He felt damned strange staying in someone else's home, especially since the owners were off in Italy and had no idea that he'd just married their only daughter. If the Blydons were in residence, he'd feel more like a proper guest, but as it was, he felt like he was playing the master in another's home. The awkward situation only served to make him more determined than ever to put an end to his problems with Spencer. He'd spent five years saving money to buy a home of his own, and now he couldn't even use it.

If he hadn't just gotten married, he'd have been in a really foul mood.

He finally found Belle asleep on a sofa in her sitting room. He smiled to himself, thinking that she deserved her nap. He'd certainly done his best to keep her up the night before. Not wanting to disturb her, he tiptoed out of the room and headed back to the library where he settled into a chair with a copy of The Passionate Pilgrim. If Belle could read it, he figured, so could he. It irked him that he had to sit around and read while someone was plotting to do him in, but given his current strategy, there didn't seem anything to do other than wait.

He was well into the second act when Belle knocked on the door.

"Come in!"

She poked her head in. "Am I disturbing you?"