Dancing at Midnight

"On my first day as a married man? I think not."

She walked in, shut the door behind her and headed over to the chair next to John's.

"Hmm-mmm," he said, catching her by the hand. "Over here." One deft tug, and she toppled onto his lap.

Belle laughed all the way down and planted two-kisses along the line of his jaw, marveling at how comfortable she'd grown with this man. "What are you reading?" she asked, peeking at his book. "The Passionate Pilgrim? Whatever are you reading that for?"

"You read it."

"And?"

He tweaked her nose. "And I remembered how adorable you looked when we were talking about it the day I met you."

Belle's reply was another kiss.

"I've figured out what was wrong with our wedding," John mused.

"Oh?"

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth. "Most couples," he murmured, punctuating his words with little flicks of his tongue, "get to spend an entire week in bed after they get married. We didn't even sleep late."

Belle fluttered her lashes. "We could go back," she suggested.

His hand stole up her midriff and rested on her breast. "An interesting idea."

"Do you think so?" she asked in a breathy voice.

John squeezed her ever so gently, reveling in her response. "Mmm-hmm." He smiled lazily as he watched her arch her back. He could feel her nipple hardening into a tight little bud, and his body hardened in response.

"Will we always feel this way?" she whispered.

"Christ, I hope so." He leaned forward and captured her mouth in a hard, demanding kiss. His lips and tongue were ruthless, demanding everything of her, relentless in their mission to claim her very soul.

Belle's reaction was fast and furious. His brutal kiss inflamed her desire, and she returned his passion in equal measure, raking her hands along his back. His hot mouth moved down her neck, burning a trail of fire along her skin. "Did you lock the door?" he asked raggedly, his lips never leaving her throat.

"What?" Belle was so lost on a sea of passion she could barely hear his words.

"Did you lock the door?"

She shook her head.

"Damn." Reluctantly John tore his mouth from her tender skin and slid out from under her. Belle landed in a soft heap on the chair as he crossed the room to the door, her breath coming in uneven gasps.

John gave the key a decisive twist and turned back to his bride, his eyes gleaming with desire. Unfortunately, he had only taken two steps toward her when he heard a loud knock. He swore under his breath and shot a quick look to Belle to make sure that she was presentable before turning around. Taking his irritation out on the hapless doorknob, he viciously yanked the door open.

"What?" he snapped.

"My lord," came the quavering voice of the footman. "A letter for you, my lord."

John nodded curtly and picked up the paper resting on the footman's silver tray.

"There is usually a letter opener on that desk over there," Belle said, flicking her head toward the desk.

John followed her advice and slit the seal. The letter was written on expensive white paper.

My dear Lord Blackwood,

Do you think I'm stupid?

If you should like to meet I would be more than willing to arrange a time and place on a more neutral ground. I have always had a partiality for the docks.

George Spencer

"Who is it from?" Belle asked.

John crumpled the paper in his hands. "George Spencer," he said in a distracted voice.

"What?" she shrieked. "Why is he writing to you?

"Well, he is trying to kill me," John said mildly, his passion sadly diffused by the interruption. "And aside from that, I sent him a letter earlier today."

"What? Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

He sighed. "You're beginning to sound like a nagging wife."

"Well, you took care of the wife part yesterday, and as for the nagging-I think it's my prerogative given our intolerable situation. Now will you answer my question?"

"Which one?"

"All of them," she ground out.

"I wrote him a letter because I thought I might have a better chance of protecting myself if I could meet with him face-to-face and discern the level and nature of his hatred for me. I didn't tell you because you were sleeping. And then you were, er, otherwise occupied."

"I'm sorry for snapping at you," Belle said, somewhat appeased. "But I don't see what you can expect to accomplish by meeting him. You're just giving him an opportunity to kill you."

"I don't plan to take any unnecessary chances, love. I asked him to meet me here. He'd have to be very desperate to try anything in my home, or your home, as the case may be."

As soon as the words left his mouth, John knew they were the wrong ones, for Belle cried out, "But you don't know how desperate he is! If he really, really hates you, he might not care about the consequences of killing you in front of witnesses. Darling, I can't allow you to take such chances." Her voice broke. "Not when I love you so much."

"Belle, don't say-"

"I'll say whatever I damn well please! You take chances with your life, you don't say you love me, you won't even let me tell you that I love you." She made an inarticulate sound and jammed her fist into her mouth for a moment to still an oncoming sob. "Don't you even care?"

He gripped her upper arms with stunning force. "I care, Belle," he all but growled. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"No one is trying to. Only you." A deep and ragged breath racked his body. "Can it be enough to know that I care, Belle? That you've reached depths of my heart I didn't even know existed? Can that be enough for now?"