Dancing at Midnight

She swallowed convulsively. Lord, she hated it when she couldn't understand him. Still, she nodded. "For now," she said, her voice low. "Not for long. Certainly not forever."

He took her face in his hands and leaned down to kiss her, but she broke away. "I suppose we have to deal with this monster first. It is difficult to build a marriage when I fear for your life."

John tried to ignore the hollowness that had settled in his heart when she pulled away. "I promise you, darling, that I am taking the safest course of action. I have no wish of dying, but I cannot spend my life hiding away from Spencer. Eventually, he'll find me."

"I know. I know. What did the note say?"

John stood and crossed the room to the window. "He won't meet me here," he said, looking out at the busy street. "I imagine he thinks it's some sort of a trap."

"Is it?"

"A trap? No, although now that I think about it, the idea does have its merits."

"What else did he say?"

"He wants to meet me at the docks."

"I hope you don't plan to meet with him there ." Belle shuddered. She'd never actually been to the docks, but every Londoner knew that it was a dreadful part of town.

"I'm not stupid," John replied, unconsciously echoing Spencer's written words. "I'll see if he'll meet me in some other public place. A crowded place," he added, mostly just to reassure her.

"Just so long as you don't go alone. I'm sure Alex and Dunford would be happy to accompany you. And Ned, too, if he's not already back at university."

"I doubt that Spencer will be willing to say what he wants to say to me in the company of others, Belle. But don't worry, I don't plan to meet him without friends nearby. He won't have an opportunity to try anything funny."

"But why would he meet with you other than to try to kill you?"

John scratched his head. "I don't know. He probably wants to tell me how he wants to kill me. Or how much."

"This isn't funny, John."

"I wasn't trying to make a joke."

Belle buried her face in her hands. "Oh, John," she moaned. "I'm so scared of losing you. It's almost funny. Part of the reason I fell in love with-" She held up her hand. "No, please don't interrupt. Part of the reason I fell in love with you is because I thought you needed me. I've got hordes of people who like me or love me, but no one has ever needed me like you do. But now I realize…" She broke off, choking on a sob.

"What, darling?" he whispered. "What do you realize?"

"Oh, John, I need you, too. If something should happen…"

"Nothing will happen to me," he said fiercely. For the first time in years he had something to live for. He wasn't going to let a raping bastard take it all away.

Belle looked up at him through teary eyelashes. "What are we going to do?"

"We aren't going to do anything," he replied, walking over to her and tousling her hair. Then, for good measure, he crouched down, pried her hands from her face, and kissed her brow. "I, however, am going to write Spencer a note."

He walked over to the table where he'd left the quill and paper he'd used earlier in the day. "What do you suggest I say?" he asked in a mild voice, trying to divert her mind away from her dread and anxiety.

"I think you should call him an idiotic son of a-"

"I don't think that will work," John cut in smoothly, wondering where on earth she'd come up with such a colorful vocabulary. "We don't want to insult him."

" We may not, but I certainly do."

"Belle," he sighed, hiding his smile. "You are a priceless gem. Whatever did I do to deserve you?"

"I don't know," she replied, standing up. "But if you want to keep me, I have one important piece of advice: don't die." With that, she took a deep breath and left the room, quite unable to be anywhere near a piece of paper that might eventually cause John's death.

John shook his head as he watched her leave. She wasn't taking this very well. But then, how could he blame her? If someone were trying to kill her, he'd be scouring London like a madman, desperately trying to get to him first.

Pushing such a distasteful thought from his mind, John turned back to the quill and paper before him. How strange to conduct a correspondence with one's assassin.

Spencer,

Do you think I'm stupid?

I suggest we meet somewhere slightly more palatable, perhaps Hardiman's Tea and Pastry Shoppe. You may name the time.

Blackwood

He had taken Belle to Hardiman's several times during their hasty courtship. They could get a private table there, but more importantly, the establishment was frequented by enough society matrons and debutantes that Spencer would not dare try anything foolish. Furthermore, it would be easy for Alex to sit nonchalantly a few tables away.

John once again dispatched the messenger to Spencer's lodgings. He expected a quick answer; Spencer would surely be waiting at home for a reply to his invitation.

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. He should go talk to Belle. It tore him apart to see her so distraught, but he didn't know what to say to her. He didn't know any words that would make her feel better. He'd been married to her less than twenty-four hours and already she was miserable. He'd failed his bride, and he felt helpless to alleviate her suffering.

His bride.

John's lips quirked into a faint smile. He liked the sound of that. He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the hardwood floor.

He strode out into the hall as quickly as his injured leg would let him. "Belle!" he called out, heading up the stairs. "Belle! Where are you?"