Dancing at Midnight

by Julia Quinn

  He merely looked at her, every emotion he had ever felt for her clearly written on his face. Love, guilt, hope, longing, fear...They were all there.

  “You can’t do that,” she said, each word a hoarse little stab of pain. “You’re not allowed. You can’t say that and not let me do the same. It isn’t fair.”

  He reached for her. “Belle, I—”

  “No!” She jumped back. “Don’t touch me. I— Don’t touch me.”

  “Belle, I don’t know what to say.” He looked down.

  “I can’t talk to you,” she said wildly. “Not now. I can’t talk to you. I...I...I...” Her words jumbled in her throat. Her entire body was so overtaken with emotion that she could no longer speak. She swallowed convulsively, pulled open the door, and flew from the room.

  “Belle!” John called out. She didn’t hear him. He sank into a chair. “I love you.”

  But the words sounded pathetic, even to him.

  Chapter 20

  Belle had no idea where she was going when she left the room, but when she bumped into Mary, her maid, in the corridor, she knew what she needed to do.

  “Put on your cloak, Mary,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically sharp. “I need to go out.”

  Mary glanced out the window. “It’s quite overcast, my lady. Are you certain your errand cannot wait until tomorrow?”

  “I don’t have an errand. I just want to go outside.”

  Mary heard the choking sound in her lady’s voice and nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

  Belle clutched her own cloak to her body. She’d never even had a chance to take it off after she and John had stormed home from Hardiman’s Tea Shoppe.

  After a moment Mary came scurrying down the stairs. Belle didn’t even wait for her to reach the bottom before pulling open the front door. She needed fresh air. She needed to be outside.

  They strode along Upper Brook Street to Park Lane. Mary immediately made to turn south. “Don’t you want to go to Rotten Row?” she asked when Belle kept heading west without her.

  Belle shook her head furiously. “I want to get away from the crowds.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that, my lady.” Mary looked about. All of fashionable London was scrambling to leave the park. The heavens looked as if they might open at any moment. “I really think you should consider going home. I’m sure it will rain soon. And it’s growing dark. Your mother will have my head. Or your husband.”

  Belle whirled around. “Do mention him.”

  Mary took a step back. “All right, my lady.”

  Belle immediately let out a contrite sigh. “I’m sorry, Mary. I don’t mean to be so short with you.”

  Her maid placed a consoling hand on her arm. They had been together for several years now, and Mary knew her employer well. “It’s all right, my lady. He loves you very much.”

  “That’s just the problem,” Belle muttered. She took a deep breath and forged further into the park. How far they walked she wasn’t sure. Probably not very far, but the wind and the cold tired her. Finally, she turned around. “Let’s go home, Mary.”

  The maid breathed an audible sigh of relief. They trudged for a few moments until Belle suddenly slammed her arm out in front of Mary. “Hold,” she whispered loudly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Belle squinted her eyes at the blond man she saw thirty or so yards up the path. Was that Spencer? With her eyesight it was impossible to tell. Damn, why had she been so foolish? She never would have come to the park with only a maid for an escort if she’d been thinking clearly. A fat raindrop landed on her nose, jolting her out of her frozen stance.

  “Back up,” she whispered to Mary. “Very slowly. I don’t want to attract attention.”

  They tiptoed back toward a wooded area. Belle didn’t think the blond man saw them, but her nerves were still on alert. It probably wasn’t Spencer, she tried to tell herself. If it were, it would certainly be too much of a coincidence to think that he was also out taking a walk in Hyde Park on a cold, windy day, for no other reason than to take in some fresh air. The only reason he’d be out would be to follow her, and the blond man up ahead did not appear to be following her.

  Still, she had to be careful. She moved more deeply into the trees.

  The air suddenly pounded with thunder, and the rain began in earnest, fast and furious. Within seconds, both Belle and Mary were drenched to the bone. “We must get back,” Mary yelled over the din.

  “Not until the blond man—”

  “He’s gone!” Mary tugged on her arm and began to drag her out to the clearing.

  Belle yanked her arm back. “No! I can’t! Not if he’s—” She looked up ahead. No sign of him. Not that she could see much of anything. It had already been growing dark, and the rain had completed the job.

  A sudden crack pounded in her ears. Belle gasped, jumping back. Was that thunder? Or a bullet?

  She began to run.

  “My lady, nooo!” Mary tore after her.

  Panic-stricken, Belle ran through the wood, her dress snagging on branches, her hair streaming into her eyes. She tripped, fell, and righted herself. She was breathing hard, disoriented. She certainly didn’t see the low-hanging tree branch in front of her.

  It slammed into her forehead.

  She went down.

  “Oh, my good Lord,” Mary cried out. She knelt down and shook Belle. “Wake up, my lady, wake up!”

  Belle’s head lolled from side to side.

  “Oh no, oh no,” Mary chanted. She tried to drag Belle along the path, but the rain had soaked through her thick garments, making her far too heavy for the maid.

  With a cry of frustration, Mary propped Belle up against a tree trunk. Either she stayed with her or went back for help. She didn’t like the thought of leaving her lady alone, but the alternative...She looked around. They were surrounded by trees. No one would ever see them.

  Her decision made, Mary straightened, picked up her skirts, and began to run.

  John was sitting in the library, nursing a glass of whiskey. He had reached that unique state of anguish which even alcohol cannot obliterate, and so the glass had remained in his hand, untouched.

  He sat in excruciating stillness, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon and disappeared, listening as the tiny raindrops which pattered against the windowpane grew into fat rivulets.

  He should go to her. He should apologize. He should let her tell him she loved him. He knew he didn’t deserve it, but if it upset her to hear the truth...There was nothing that gripped his heart like a tear in Belle’s eye.

  He sighed. There were a lot of things he should do. But he was a bastard and a coward, and he was terrified that if he tried to take her into his arms she’d only push him away.

  He finally set the glass down. With a fatalistic sigh, he stood. He’d go to her. And if she pushed him away...He shook his head. It was too painful to contemplate.

  John made his way up to their bedchamber, but there was no sign that Belle had been in the room since their argument. Puzzled, he made his way back downstairs, crossing paths with the butler on the landing.

  “Pardon me,” John said. “But have you seen Lady Blackwood?”

  “No, I’m sorry, my lord,” Thornton replied. “I thought she was with you.”

  “No,” John murmured. “Is Lady Worth about?” Surely Caroline would know Belle’s whereabouts.

  “Lady and Lord Worth are dining this evening with their graces, the Duke and Duchess of Ash-bourne. They left over an hour ago.”

  John blinked. “Very well. Thank you. I’m sure I’ll find my wife somewhere.”

  He descended the last few steps and was about to search Lady Worth’s favorite salon when the front door burst open.

  Mary was gasping for breath, her brown hair plastered to her face, her entire body heaving with exertion. Her eyes widened when she saw him. “Oh, my lord!”

  Icy fear squeezed around John’s heart. “Mary?” he whispered. “Where is B
elle?”

  “She fell,” Mary gasped. “Fell. She hit her head. I tried to drag her. I did. I swear it.”

  John already had his coat on. “Where is she?”

  “Hyde Park. She— I—”

  He grabbed her shoulders and shook. “Where, Mary?”

  “In the wood. She—” Mary clutched her stomach and coughed violently. “You’ll never find her. I’ll go with you.”

  John nodded curtly, grabbed her hand, and pulled her out into the night.

  Minutes later he was atop his stallion. Mary and a groom followed on Amber, Belle’s mare. John sped through the streets, the wind tearing ferociously at his clothes. The rain was coming down hard now, hard and cold, and the thought of Belle out alone in such a vicious storm left him numb.

  They were soon at the edge of Hyde Park. He motioned for the groom to bring Amber close. “Which way?” he yelled.

  He could barely hear Mary’s words over the howling wind. She pointed west, toward a wooded area. John immediately kicked Thor into a canter.

  The moon was obscured by the heavy rain-clouds, so he had to rely on his lantern, which was flickering nervously in the wind. He slowed Thor down to a trot as he searched the woods, painfully aware of how difficult it would be to spot her in the dark forest.

  “Belle!” he screamed, hoping his voice could be heard above the storm.

  There was no response.

  Belle had lain unconscious for nearly an hour. When she awoke it was dark, and she was shivering uncontrollably, her once-fashionable riding habit sodden. She started to sit up but was overcome by dizziness.

  “Dear Lord,” she moaned, clasping her forehead as if she could squeeze away the blinding pain in her temple. She glanced about. Mary was nowhere to be seen, and Belle was completely disoriented. Which way to Mayfair?

  “Hell and damnation,” she cursed, and this time she didn’t feel a single pang of guilt over her foul language. Clutching onto a nearby tree trunk for support, she struggled to her feet, but vertigo quickly claimed her, and she tumbled back to the ground. Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks and mixing with the relentless rain. Aware that she had no other option, Belle began to crawl. And then, silently begging forgiveness for all of those times she’d finagled her way out of going to church, she began to pray.

  “Oh, please God, please God, just let me get home. Just let me get home before I freeze. Before I pass out again, because my head hurts me so. Oh, please, I promise I’ll start paying attention to the sermons. I won’t stare at the stained glass windows. I won’t curse, and I’ll mind my parents, and I’ll even try to forgive John, although I think You know how hard that will be for me.”

  Belle’s impassioned litany continued as she inched her way through the trees, guided now by instinct, for the sun had completely set. The rain had grown icy cold, and her clothing stuck mercilessly to her, wrapping her in a freezing embrace. Her shivering grew more pronounced, and her teeth began to clatter loudly. Her prayers intensified, and she stopped asking God to get her home and started asking Him just to let her live.

  Her hands grew shriveled and prune-like from the wet mud of the path. Then she heard a sharp tear. Her dress had gotten caught on a thorny bush which had spilled out onto the path. She struggled to free herself, but her strength was nearly gone. Wincing against the pounding pain in her head, she summoned what little power she had left and tore her dress from the thorns.

  She had just barely resumed her slow crawl when a bolt of lightning lit up the sky. Terror consumed her, and she wildly wondered how close the bolt had struck. A clap of thunder quickly followed, and Belle jumped in fright, landing on her rear.

  She sat in the middle of the muddy path for a few seconds, trying to regain control of her shivering body. With a shaky motion, she pushed away a few locks of hair which were plastered to her face and tried to tuck them behind her ears. But the rain and the wind were merciless, and her hair was soon back in her eyes. She was so God-awful tired. So cold, so weak. Lightning tore through the dark sky again, but this time it lit up the figure of a horse and rider coming up on the path behind her.

  Could it be?

  Belle caught her breath and forgot all of her anger toward the man riding toward her. “John!” she screamed, praying he could hear her over the shrieking winds because if he couldn’t, she’d soon be trampled under Thor’s hooves.

  John’s heart stopped beating when he heard her cry out, and when it resumed, his pulse raced double-time. He could just barely make out her form in the path about ten yards ahead of him. Her hair was so fair it captured what little moonlight hung in the darkness and glowed like a halo. He quickly crossed the distance between them and slid off his horse.

  “John?” Belle quavered, barely able to believe that he was right there in front of her.

  “Shhh, my love, I’m here now.” He knelt down in the mud and cradled her face in his hands. “Where does it hurt?”

  “I’m so cold.”

  “I know, love. I’m going to get you home.” John’s relief at finding her quickly turned to fear when he lifted her into his arms and felt her violent shivers. Dear God, she had been out in this freezing rain for at least an hour, and her heavy riding habit was now soaked.

  “I was—I was trying to cr-crawl home,” Belle managed to get out. “I’m so cold.”

  “I know, I know,” he crooned. Hell, why had she been crawling? But John didn’t have time to ponder these questions. Belle’s lips were turning a dangerous shade of blue, and he knew that he had to get her warmed up immediately. “Can you sit in the saddle, love?” he asked, seating her atop the horse.

  “I don’t know. I’m so cold.”

  Belle started to slide out of the saddle as John was mounting and he had to push her back up. “Just hang on to Thor’s neck until I’m up there with you. I promise I’ll hold you steady the whole way home.”

  Teeth clattering, Belle nodded, holding on to the stallion with all her might. In no time, John was seated behind her, his strong arm wrapped fiercely around her waist. Belle sagged into him and dosed her eyes. “I c-can’t st-stop shivering,” she said weakly, feeling like a child who had to explain herself. “I’m so cold.”

  “I know you are, love.”

  Mary and the groom rode into sight. “Follow me back,” John yelled. He didn’t have time to fill them in on the details of Belle’s condition. He kicked Thor into a full gallop, and they crashed through the trees.

  Nestled firmly against John’s torso, Belle slowly let go of the fierce will which had been propelling her before. She felt her mind slipping away from her body, and truth be told, she was so damned tired and cold and sore that she was glad to let it go. She went numb, strangely content now that her aches and pains were receding. “I’m not so cold anymore,” she murmured in an eerie voice.

  “Oh, Christ,” John swore, hoping that he’d misheard her. He gave her a hard jostle. “Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep. Do you hear me, Belle? Don’t fall asleep!” When she didn’t respond immediately, he gave her another shove.

  Belle didn’t even open her eyes. “But I’m so tired.”

  “I don’t care,” John said sternly. “You will remain awake. Do you understand me?”

  It took Belle a few seconds to process his demand. “If you say so,” she said finally.

  For the rest of the ride, John alternated between spurring Thor on to keep him riding at top speed and shaking Belle to prevent her from falling asleep. He had to get her home and warmed up. He was terrified that if she went to sleep she wouldn’t have the energy to awaken.

  After what seemed like hours, they emerged from the trees and picked up speed as they raced across the lawns of Hyde Park and then the streets of London. They came to a halt at the front steps of Blydon House. John quickly slid off the horse, taking Belle along with him. The groom who had been riding with Mary took hold of the reins and led Thor back to the mews. After barking out a quick thanks, John strode into
the hall, cradling Belle in his arms.

  “Thornton!” he yelled.

  Within seconds the butler materialized before him.

  “Have a warm bath prepared immediately. Set it in my room.”

  “Yes, my lord, right away my lord.” Thornton turned to Mrs. Crane, the housekeeper who had followed him into the hall. Before he could say a word, she had nodded and hurried up the stairs.

  John took the stairs as fast as he could, his good leg taking two stairs with each step. He raced down the hallway, cradling Belle gently against his chest. “We’re almost there, love,” he murmured. “I promise we’ll get you warm.”

  Belle’s head moved slightly. John hoped that she had heard him and was nodding, but he had the sinking feeling that her movement was merely due to his haste going up the stairs. When they reached his room, two maids were hurriedly filling up a tub. “We’re heating the water as fast as we can, my lord,” one said, hastily bobbing a curtsy.

  John nodded curtly and laid Belle down on a towel which had been set atop his bed. Her hair fell back from her face, revealing an ugly purple bruise that stained her forehead. John felt the breath leave his body, and an unspeakable rage poured through him. Rage at what, he wasn’t sure—most probably himself.

  “John?” she asked weakly, her eyelids fluttering.

  “I’m here, love. I’m here.”

  “I feel strange, very strange. I’m cold but I’m not. I think I’m—I think I’m—” Belle had been about to say the word “dying,” but her last rational thought before she drifted into unconsciousness was that she didn’t want to worry him.

  John swore under his breath, noticing instantly when she slipped away from him. His numb but steady fingers quickly went to work on the frozen buttons of her riding habit. “Don’t you leave me, Belle!” he shouted. “Do you hear me? You can’t leave me now!”