Dancing at Midnight

by Julia Quinn

  Mrs. Crane bustled into the room, carrying two more buckets of steaming water. “My lord?” she questioned. “Are you sure you should? That is, perhaps a woman...”

  He turned to her and said in extremely clipped tones, “She is my wife. I will care for her.”

  Mrs. Crane nodded stiffly and exited the room.

  John turned his attention back to Belle’s buttons. When he was finished, he pulled back the sides of the jacket and worked her arms out of the sleeves. Murmuring a quiet apology, he tore her camisole cleanly down the front. The way it was sticking to her body, it would have taken too long to peel it off. Besides, this way she could remain lying down. Mutely, he laid a hand down against her ribs. Her skin was pale and clammy. His fear renewed, John redoubled his efforts and pulled her out of her sodden skirts.

  When she was naked in his arms, he carried her over to the steaming tub which was now nearly full. He knelt down and dipped his finger in the water. He frowned. It was a little too hot, but he wasn’t sure he had the time to wait for it to cool off. Praying for the best, he lowered Belle into the tub. “There you are, love. I promised you I’d get you warm.”

  She didn’t respond to the heat. “Wake up, Belle,” he shouted at her, shaking her slim shoulders. “You cannot sleep until you’re warm.”

  Belle mumbled something unintelligible and swatted him away with her hand.

  John took her feistiness as a good sign but nonetheless thought that he ought to get her woken up. He shook her again, and then when that didn’t work, he did the only thing he could think of. He dunked her head under the water.

  Belle came up spluttering, and for a few moments there was a look of absolute clarity in her eyes. “What on earth?!” she yelled.

  “Just warming you up, love,” John said with a smile.

  “Well, you’re not doing a very good job of it. I’m freezing!”

  “I’m working as fast as I can.”

  “The water hurts me.”

  “There’s nothing I can do about that, I’m afraid. It’ll sting a bit as it warms you up.”

  “It’s too hot.”

  “No, love, you’re too cold.”

  Belle grumbled tiredly like a child. Then she looked down, saw John’s large hands rubbing gently against her bare skin, and fainted.

  “Christ Almighty,” John swore. She was a dead weight again, and if he left her for even one moment, she was sure to drown. “Thornton!” he yelled.

  Thornton, who’d been hovering solicitously outside the closed door, appeared instantly. He caught one glance of the naked young noblewoman in the tub, gulped nervously, and turned his back. “Yes, sir?”

  “Get someone to start a fire in here. It’s as cold as a damned morgue.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll see to it myself, sir.” Thornton went to work at the fireplace, scrupulously keeping his back to the tub.

  After a few more minutes John was satisfied that the chill had been removed from Belle’s skin, but he didn’t doubt for a moment that she still felt icy from the inside out. He lifted her from the water, tenderly dried her skin with a towel, and laid her in his bed. He pulled the covers up over her, tucking her in as he would a child. After a few moments, however, she began to shiver again. John placed his hand on her forehead. It was warm, but if he wasn’t mistaken, it would be burning within the hour.

  He sighed and sank into a chair. It was going to be a terrifyingly long night.

  She was so, so cold. Why couldn’t she get warm? Belle tossed and turned in the large bed, her body instinctively rubbing against the sheets to create heat.

  This was awful. The pain had returned, and every muscle and joint in her body ached with it. And what was that strange clattering sound? Surely that couldn’t be her teeth? And why was she so damned cold?

  Gritting her teeth against the exertion, Belle forced herself to open her eyes. A fire was burning steadily in a fireplace. A fire. A fire would be warm. She pushed aside her covers and crawled down to the foot of the bed. Still too far away. With agonizing slowness, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She looked down at herself in confusion. Why wasn’t she wearing any clothes? No matter, Belle decided, tossing the thought aside. She just had to concentrate on that fire.

  She let her feet touch down on the floor, and immediately her legs wobbled beneath her. She tumbled down, landing on the carpet with a painful thud.

  John, who had dozed off in the chair he had positioned at her bedside, came awake instantly. He saw the empty bed and jumped to his feet. “Belle?” He looked around the room frantically. Where could she have possibly gone in her condition? And naked, to boot.

  He heard a pained groan from the other side of the bed and hurried over. Belle was lying on the floor in a tangled heap. He leaned down and picked her up. “What on earth are you doing down there, love?”

  “Fire,” she rasped.

  John looked at her blankly.

  “Fire!” she repeated a bit more urgently, giving him a feeble shove.

  “What about the fire?”

  “I’m cold.”

  “You were trying to warm yourself?”

  Belle sighed and nodded.

  “I think you should stay in the bed. I’ll get you more blankets.”

  “No!” Belle yelled, and John was taken quite aback at her forcefulness. “I want the fire.”

  “I’ll tell you what, why don’t I put you in the bed, and I’ll bring you a candle to have nearby.”

  “Stupid.”

  God help him, he nearly laughed. “Come on, darling. Let’s get you back in bed.” He laid her down and pulled up the covers, swallowing nervously as he tucked her back in. She had been so funny and adorable that for a moment he had been able to forget just how serious her condition was.

  But he couldn’t keep kidding himself. Only a miracle would keep a fever from settling into her weary body, and John was not a great believer in miracles. She was definitely going to get worse before she got any better.

  Belle was still restless. “Water,” she croaked.

  John pressed a glass to her lips, using a towel to wipe away the water that dribbled down her chin. “Is that better?”

  Belle licked her parched lips. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I’m scared, John.”

  “I know you are, but there is nothing to worry about,” he lied. “You’ll see.”

  “I’m not so cold anymore.”

  “That’s good,” he said encouragingly.

  “My skin is still a little cold, but my insides—” She coughed, and her entire body shook with spasms. When she finally settled down, she completed her thought. “My insides are hot.”

  John fought back despair. He had to be strong for her. He had to share this battle with her. He wasn’t sure she’d be able to do it alone. “Shhh, darling,” he said soothingly, rubbing his palm softly against her brow. “Go to sleep now. You need to get some rest.”

  Belle drifted away. “I forgot to tell you,” she mumbled. “I forgot to tell you this afternoon.”

  This afternoon? Lord, John thought, that seemed an eternity ago.

  “I forgot to tell you,” Belle persisted.

  “What is it?” he asked softly.

  “Always love you. Doesn’t matter if you love me back.”

  And for once, he didn’t feel that odd choking feeling.

  Chapter 21

  From his position next to the bed, John looked down at Belle, worry clouding his expression. It had been several hours since she’d awakened and tried to crawl to the fire. She was still shivering, and her fever had steadily worsened.

  She was in a bad way.

  There was a perfunctory knock, and then the door to the room opened. Caroline entered, lines of worry etched clearly on her face. “What happened?” she asked in a urgent whisper. “We just arrived home, and Thornton told us Belle is ill.”

  John reluctantly let go of Belle’s hand and escorted Caroline out into the hall.
“Belle went for a walk and was caught in the rain. She hit her head.” He recounted the rest of the details briefly, leaving out the argument that had prompted her to run outside in the first place. He’d only met his in-laws a day earlier. If Belle wanted to tell her parents of their troubles that was fine. He, a virtual stranger, was not going to do so.

  Caroline’s hand strayed nervously to her throat. “You look terribly tired. Why don’t you sleep? I’ll sit with her now.”

  “No.”

  “But John—”

  “You may remain with me, but I’ll not leave her.” He turned on his heel and strode back to Belle’s bedside. She was breathing evenly. It was a good sign. He put his hand on her forehead. Damn. It was even hotter than before. He doubted she’d be breathing so evenly in an hour’s time.

  Caroline followed him and stood by his side. “Has she been like this all evening?” she whispered.

  John nodded. He reached down, picked up a cloth which had been soaking in cool water, and wrung it out. “There you go, sweetheart,” he crooned, laying it on her hot forehead. She mumbled something in her sleep and fitfully shifted positions. She tossed about again and then suddenly opened her eyes wide. Her expression was filled with panic.

  “Shhh, I’m here,” he said softly, stroking her cheek. Belle seemed to take some comfort in that and slowly let her eyelids flutter shut. John had the impression that she’d never really seen him.

  Caroline swallowed nervously. “I think we should send for a doctor.”

  “At this time of night?”

  She nodded. “I’ll see to it.”

  As John sat by Belle’s side, carefully and worriedly watching over her, his mind refused to stop replaying the devastating comment she had made several hours earlier.

  Doesn’t matter if you love me back.

  Was it possible that she loved him unconditionally? Even with his past?

  Always love you.

  And then it suddenly occurred to him—no one had ever said those words to him before.

  John lifted the cloth from Belle’s forehead and cooled it off in the basin of water. He didn’t have time to sit around feeling sorry for himself over an unhappy childhood. It wasn’t as if he’d gone hungry or been abused. He just hadn’t been loved, and he suspected that thousands of children across Britain had shared similar fates.

  Over in the bed, Belle had grown fitful. John immediately turned his full attention to her.

  “Stop,” she moaned.

  “Stop what, love?”

  “Stop!”

  He leaned over and gently shook her by the shoulders. “You’re having a nightmare.” Dear God, it tore him up to see her this way. Her face was flushed and feverish, and her entire body was covered by a thin sheen of perspiration. He tried to push her hair out of her eyes, but she batted his hand away. He wished he knew how to use one of those blasted hair things she always had lying around. She’d be more comfortable if he could secure her heavy tresses away from her face.

  “Fire,” Belle moaned.

  “There’s no fire here save the one in the fireplace.”

  “Too hot.”

  John quickly wrung out the wet cloth.

  “No, no, stop...” Belle suddenly sat up and screamed.

  “No, love, lie back down.” John started wiping the sweat from her body, hoping the motion would cool her down. Belle’s eyes were open and she was looking at him, but John didn’t see even a flicker of recognition in her gaze.

  “Stop, stop!” she shrieked, slapping his hands away. “Don’t touch me! It’s too hot.”

  “I’m only trying to—”

  “What the devil is going on?” Caroline burst into the room.

  “She’s delirious,” John said, trying to cover Belle up with the sheet.

  “But there was so much screaming.”

  “I said she’s gone delirious,” John snapped, attempting to hold the sheet over Belle’s writhing form. “See if we’ve any laudanum. We need to calm her down.” He sighed, remembering that he was talking to his mother-in-law. “I’m sorry, Lady Worth. It’s just—”

  She held up a hand. “I understand. I’ll go look for the laudanum.”

  Belle started fighting him in earnest, her strength fueled considerably by her fever. She was no match for John, however, whose firmly muscled body had been honed by years in the military. “Wake up, damn you,” he said fiercely. “If you wake up the fire will go away. I promise you.”

  Belle’s only response was to struggle harder.

  John didn’t budge an inch. “Belle,” he pleaded. His throat worked violently. “Please.”

  “Get off of me!” Belle screamed.

  Caroline chose that rather inopportune moment to reenter the room with a bottle of laudanum. “What are you doing to her?”

  John replied with a question. “Where is the laudanum?”

  Caroline poured some into a glass and handed it to him.

  “Here you go, Belle,” he said softly, trying to pull her into a sitting position and keep her still at the same time. He held the glass to her lips. “Just a little now.”

  Belle’s eyes focused on something behind him and she screamed again. Her hands shot up to her head, knocking tike glass from John’s hands. It rolled onto the floor, spilling the drug.

  “I’ll feed it to her this time,” Caroline said. “You hold her down.” She held the glass to her daughter’s lips and forced her to take a gulp.

  After a few moments Belle calmed down, and both mother and husband breathed a weary sigh.

  “Shhh,” John crooned. “You can sleep now. The nightmare is gone. Rest, my love.”

  Caroline pushed some of Belle’s heavy locks from her face. “There must be some way we can make her more comfortable.”

  John walked over to the bureau and picked something up. “Here is one of her hair contraptions. Perhaps you could pin her hair back from her face?”

  Caroline smiled. “It’s called a barrette, John.” She lifted Belle’s hair and secured it into a sloppy bun. “Are you certain you don’t want to sleep for a few hours?”

  “I can’t,” he said hoarsely.

  Caroline nodded sympathetically. “I will sleep then. You’ll be weary in the morning. You’ll need help.” She moved to the door.

  “Thank you,” he said abruptly.

  “She is my daughter.”

  He swallowed, remembering when he had been sick as a child. His mother had never come to visit him. His mouth opened and closed, and then he nodded.

  “It is I who should thank you,” Caroline continued.

  John looked up sharply, his expression clearly asking the question, “Why?”

  “For loving her. I couldn’t ask for more. I couldn’t hope for more.” She left the room.

  Belle soon fell into a deep sleep. John scooted her over to the other side of the bed, where the sheets weren’t so sweaty. He leaned down and kissed her temple. “You can fight this,” he whispered. “You can do anything.”

  He walked back over to his chair and slumped into it. He must have dozed off, because when he next opened his eyes, it was past dawn, although one could barely tell for sure through the driving rain. The weather was intensely bleak, and the rain didn’t show any sign of letting up. John’s eyes searched the scene, trying to find one small piece of the cityscape which might give cause for optimism. And then he did something he hadn’t done in many years.

  He began to pray.

  Neither Belle’s condition nor the weather improved for several days. John remained ever vigilant at his patient’s bedside, forcing her to drink water and broth whenever possible, and giving her laudanum when she grew hysterical. By the end of the third day, John knew that she would be in serious trouble if the fever did not break soon. She hadn’t eaten any solid food, and she was getting thin, much too thin. The last time John had bathed her with the damp cloth he’d noticed that her ribs had become painfully prominent.

  The doctor had come every day, but he had
n’t been especially helpful. They could do nothing other than wait and pray, he had told the family.

  John swallowed down his worry and reached out to touch Belle’s forehead. She seemed completely unaware of his presence. Indeed, she seemed unaware of anything other than the nightmares which plagued her fever-ridden mind. John had been calm and purposeful when he began to care for her, but now his even temper was beginning to deteriorate. He’d barely slept in three days, and he hadn’t eaten much more than Belle had. His eyes were bloodshot, his face was gaunt, and a look in the mirror told him that he looked almost as bad as his patient did.

  He was getting desperate. If Belle didn’t pull through soon, he didn’t know what he would do. Several times during his vigil he let his head fall limply into his hands, not even bothering to try to stem the tears that ran down his face. He didn’t know how he would be able to make it from day to day if she died.

  His face bleak, he crossed over to her bedside and perched on the mattress next to her. She was lying there quite peacefully, but John detected a slight change in her condition. She seemed still, unnaturally still, and her breathing had grown shallow. Panic gripped John like a hand around his heart, and he leaned down and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Are you giving up on me?” he demanded harshly. “Are you?”

  Belle’s head lolled to the side, and she whimpered.

  “Damn you! You can’t give up!” John shook her even harder.

  Belle heard his voice as if it were coming to her through a long, long tunnel. It sounded like John, but she couldn’t imagine why he would be with her in her bedroom. He sounded angry. Was he angry at her? Belle sighed. She was tired. Too tired to deal with an angry man.

  “Do you hear me, Belle?” she heard him say. “I will never forgive you if you give up on me.”

  Belle winced as she felt his large hands squeezing her upper arms. She wanted to moan at the pain but she just didn’t have the energy. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? All she wanted to do was sleep. She’d never felt this tired. She’d just like to cuddle up and sleep forever. Summoning up all of her strength, she managed to say, “Go away.”

  “Aha!” John shouted triumphantly. “You’re still here with me. Hang on now, Belle. Can you hear me?”