Dancing at Midnight

by Julia Quinn

  Alex tilted his head.

  “George Spencer is trying to kill me.”

  There was the soft whoosh of indrawn breath before Alex replied, “Are you certain?”

  “I am certain that someone is trying to kill me,” John replied. “And I cannot accept that his presence outside this house is a coincidence.”

  Alex raked his hand through his hair. He remembered Spencer’s rage when John had forced him to desert. “No. It’s not a coincidence. We’re going to have to do something about him.”

  John was surprised by how reassured he felt by Alex’s use of the word “we.”

  “Where are you staying tonight?”

  It wasn’t an unintelligent question. John had, after all, gotten married less than an hour before. Under normal circumstances, he and Belle would have left for a honeymoon or headed back to Bletchford Manor for some time alone. But he didn’t feel that they would be safe in the country; there were too many windows and doors at his home that Spencer might be able to sneak into. London would probably be safer, if only because there were so many people around who might witness Spencer’s attacks. “I don’t know,” John finally said. “I’ve been busy. I hadn’t even thought about it. I don’t particularly want to take Belle back to my brother’s.”

  “Stay here,” Alex suggested. “I’ll take Persephone back to my house for the night. Belle certainly doesn’t need a chaperone any longer.” He offered John a sideways smile. “You took care of that in rather short order.”

  John couldn’t help but grin.

  “I’ll send over a few extra servants,” Alex added. “This place is already crawling with them, but it can’t hurt to have a few more. The more people here, the safer you’ll be.”

  “Thank you,” John said. “I was also considering hiring a bodyguard for the next few weeks.”

  “A good idea. I’ll see to it.”

  “That’ s really not necessary.”

  “For God’s sake, man, you just got married. Let me worry about the damn bodyguards.”

  John nodded in assent, thinking that he could get used to the idea of having a family who cared.

  “Emma and I will remain in town until we have this sorted out,” Alex continued. “Contact me in the morning, and we’ll decide what to do about Spencer.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “And in the meantime, have yourself a splendid wedding night.”

  John grinned. “I’ll certainly do that.”

  A knock sounded at the door, and Belle poked her head in. “Are you through with him, Alex?” she asked. “Because it’s my wedding night, you know, and I think I’ve a right to my groom.”

  “Actually we were just discussing that very topic,” Alex said with a rakish smile. “And as a result I think I want to go find my wife and go home.”

  Belle shook her head as he left the room. “What on earth were you talking about?” she asked her husband.

  He put his arm around her shoulders as they followed Alex out. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”

  The handful of guests left soon thereafter. As Emma departed, however, she took Belle’s hand in hers and pulled her aside.

  “Do you, er, need to have a talk with me?” she whispered.

  “I don’t think so,” Belle whispered back.

  “Are you certain?”

  “About what?”

  “That you don’t need to have a talk with me?”

  “Emma, what are you talking about?”

  “Married love, corkbrain. Do you need to have a talk with me?”

  “Oh, er, no. No, I don’t.”

  Emma drew back, a light smile touching her features. “I had a feeling you didn’t.” She let go of her hand and took a few steps away before turning back to say, “Well then, have a good night.”

  Belle smiled. “Oh, I shall. I shall.”

  “What was that all about?” John asked, leaning down to kiss his wife’s neck now that all of their guests had departed.

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

  “Fine. I have other things on my mind tonight.” He steered her up the stairs.

  “So have I.” She followed with alacrity.

  “What are you thinking?” John asked when they reached the landing. “Right...now.”

  “I was thinking that I’m glad that we’re staying here tonight.”

  “Mmmm, me too. It would have taken far too long to make it home.”

  “To your brother’s?”

  “No, goose. To Bletchford Manor.”

  Belle smiled. “It seems so long since I’ve been there. It hadn’t even occurred to me that I have a new home.”

  “ It’s not very grand,” John said quietly.

  “It’s grand enough for me.”

  “It has a terrible name.”

  “That can be fixed.”

  “Not very many servants.”

  “I don’t need many. And stop trying to put down Bletchford Manor. It has several excellent attributes.”

  “Really?” They were at the top of the stairs.

  “Oh yes.” Belle smiled flirtatiously. “The rose bushes are quite beautiful.”

  “Is that all?”

  “There is a stunning Aubusson carpet in the drawing room.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Well,” Belle said with a smile as they turned into her bedroom. “There is the master.”

  “The master?” John’s eyes lit with delight.

  “He’s very attractive.”

  “Do you think so?” He kicked the door shut.

  “Oh yes, very.”

  John’s hands stole around to the cloth-covered buttons which marched down the center of her back. “I have a secret for you.”

  “You do?” Belle could feel her heart quickening at the touch of his warm hands on her skin.

  “Mmm. This master you’re speaking of...”

  “Yes?”

  “He likes you, too.”

  “Does he?”

  John undid the last of her buttons and let the dress slide down her body, leaving her clad only in a silky little thing which drove his every sense wild. “He’d like to begin mastering you tonight.”

  “Mastering me?” Belle questioned, with just a hint of playful scolding in her voice for his choice of verbs.

  “Well, he’s done it once before, and he liked it quite a bit.”

  “Did he now?” Belle could barely get the words out, for John’s hands were now moving up her legs, pushing her chemise over her thighs.

  “Very, very much.”

  “Enough to spend a lifetime doing it?” she asked.

  “Mmm-hmm. Enough to let you master him.”

  She cocked her head and smiled. “Really?”

  “Oh, yes.” His lips found the hollow where her neck met her shoulder.

  Belle felt herself moving backwards until she felt the bed behind her. John’s mouth had moved down to cover one of her breasts, and she was finding it very difficult to stand. They sank down onto the bed together.

  The heat of his body seared her into the mattress for only a moment before he lifted himself up and tore his shirt off. “God, Belle,” he said raggedly. “If you only knew...”

  “If I only knew what?” she asked quietly, her eyes sliding over his bare chest with feminine appreciation.

  His hands, which had been undoing the buttons on his trousers, stilled. “How much...What you...” He gave his head a little shake, as if to dislodge the words from his throat. “My life was...” He swallowed. “I don’t know how to say it.”

  Belle reached out and took his hand. “Then show me.”

  He flattened her palm against his stomach and slid it up to his heart. “It beats for you,” he whispered. “Only you.”

  He moved toward her slowly, as if pulled by some invisible thread connecting them. The rest of his clothing fell to the floor, and then he was with her, the heat of their bodies separated only by the thin silk of her chemise.

  Belle coul
d feel the urgency bursting within him. His hands roamed her skin with an energy that was almost frantic. Desire curled through her body, whipped up into white hot heat by his hands and lips and the incoherent whisperings of his mouth.

  She tore at her chemise, trying to move it up her body, but he pushed her hands back down. “Leave it,” he said. “I like it.”

  “But I want to feel you,” she gasped.

  “You can.” He splayed his hand over her midriff. “I can feel you. And I feel silk, and heat, and desire.”

  Belle felt something quickening in her abdomen. Her breath was coming in short little pants. His hips were pressing against hers, the evidence of his desire nestled between her legs. “John, I—”

  “What, love?”

  “I want to feel you.”

  A shudder went through his body, and Belle could feel the tension in his muscles as he fought to control his desire.

  “You don’t have to go slowly,” she whispered. “I want it, too.”

  His eyes flew to hers. “Belle, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t. You could never hurt me.”

  His hands moved to her legs, and he slowly separated them, pushing up her silky chemise in the process. The tip of his manhood found her, and he began to move forward.

  Belle caught her breath as she felt him entering her. It was the most intimate of kisses, and she arched her hips to bring him even closer. His movements grew faster, more furious.

  It was building within her. A force. A tension. It was growing, filling her.

  John’s breathing grew ragged. He sank his fingers into her hair, gasping her name as he pushed forward and back, his body lost in primal rhythm.

  Belle was spiraling toward ecstasy. She clawed at his back, trying to reach something that was so close...and then she was there. Pleasure gripped her, and she screamed out his name.

  But John didn’t hear her. Her shouts were drowned out by his own as he surged forward one last time and exploded within her. He collapsed on top of her, his entire body heaving with exertion.

  Many minutes later he rolled onto his side, pulling her along with him. Their bodies were now separated, but John held her close. “I want to fall asleep with you in my arms,” he whispered. “I want to feel you, and to smell you. I want to know you’re here.”

  Belle snuggled closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  John sighed, a smile forming on his lips. He nuzzled his face against her hair, dropping a kiss on top of her head. “My wife,” he said, unable to keep a touch of wonder from his voice. “My wife.”

  Chapter 18

  I t wasn’t until the next morning that Belle remembered to ask John about his conversation with Alex. He briefly considered hiding the truth from her, but one look into her inquisitive blue eyes reminded him that he respected her far too much to resort to subterfuge.

  “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.

&n
bsp; 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?”

  “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.