herself for doing it.
'I don't mind,' John said simply.
'Oh. Well, that's good, I suppose, because I have no wish to be forcibly thrown off your property.' That sounded really stupid. Belle shut her mouth again.
'Would it really require force to get you off my property? I had no idea you liked it so much.'
Belle smiled impishly. 'You're teasing me.'
John gave her another one of those small smiles, the kind that would have said so much if the rest of his face weren't so inscrutable.
'You don't talk much, do you?' she blurted out.
'I didn't think there was a need. You seem to be holding up both our ends of the conversation admirably.'
Belle frowned. 'That was a horrid thing to say.' She looked up. His velvety brown eyes, usually so unreadable, were filled with amusement. She sighed. 'But true. I don't usually talk this much, you know.'
'Really?'
'Really. I think it's because you're so silent that I feel the need to talk more.'
'Ah. So we have shifted the blame to my shoulders?'
Belle glanced flirtatiously at his shoulders, which were a little broader than she'd remembered. 'They do seem a bit more capable of bearing such a heavy load.'
John grinned at her, really grinned, which was something he didn't do very often. He suddenly felt glad that he'd worn one of his better coats; he frequently threw on old ones for his early morning walks. Then he was annoyed with himself for caring.
'Is this a new fashion?' he asked, motioning to the boot in her hand.
'Blister,' Belle said, lifting her dress up a few inches. It was risque, she knew, but she shrugged it off. The two of them had such bizarre conversations, normal rules of etiquette just didn't seem to apply.
Much to her surprise, however, he got down on one knee and took her foot into his hands. 'Mind if I take a look?' he asked.
Belle tugged her foot back nervously. 'I don't think that will be necessary,' she said quickly. Seeing her foot was one thing. Actually touching it was something else altogether.
John held fast. 'Don't be a prude, Belle. It could become infected, and then you'll really be miserable.'
She blinked a few times, more than a little surprised at his bold use of her first name. 'How did you know that I'm called Belle?' she finally asked.
'Ashbourne told me,' John replied, examining her pale toes. 'Where is this damned thing, anyway?'
'On my heel,' Belle answered, dutifully turning around.
John let out a low whistle. 'You've got a nasty one there. You ought to get a more comfortable pair of shoes if you intend to hike around the countryside.'
'I wasn't hiking, I was walking. And I do have better shoes. I just hadn't intended to take a walk this morning until after I was dressed, and I didn't feel like changing my attire.' Belle let out a frustrated sigh. Why did she feel the need to explain herself to him?
John stood up, pulled out a crisp, white handkerchief, and took Belle's arm. 'There is a pond not too far away from here. I can get some water to clean the sore.'
Belle let go of her skirt. '
John warmed at her rather pointed use of his given name and was glad that he'd gone ahead and used hers without asking first. He decided he liked this Lady Arabella, even if she was a little too well-connected for his tastes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled so much. She was smart and fun-a little too beautiful for his comfort, but he was certain that with a little effort, he could control his attraction to her.
She did, however, have a rather appalling disregard for her own well-being, as evidenced by her lack of spectacles, her soon-to-be festering blister, and her penchant for unchaperoned excursions. She obviously needed someone to lecture a little sense into her. Since he didn't see anyone else nearby, he decided he might as well be the one to do it, and he started walking toward the pond, practically dragging her along behind him.
'Jo-ohn!' she protested.
'Be-elle!' he countered, imitating her complaining tone perfectly.
'I'm fully able to take care of myself,' Belle said, quickening her stride to keep up. For a man with such a pronounced limp, he could move fast.
'Obviously not, or you'd have spectacles perched on your nose.'
Belle halted in her tracks with such force that John actually stumbled. 'I only need them when I read,' she ground out.
'It warms my heart to hear you admit it.'
'I thought I was beginning to like you, but now I'm certain that I don't.'
'You still like me,' he said, grinning as he started pulling her again toward the pond.
Belle's mouth fell open. 'No, I don't.'
'Yes, you do.'
'No, I-all right, maybe a little,' she allowed. 'But I do think you're acting rather high-handed.'
'And I think that you have a hideous little blister on your heel. So stop complaining.'
'I wasn't-'
'Yes, you were.'
Belle shut her mouth, aware that she'd been blabbering away far too much. With a sigh, she finally gave in and let him lead her to the pond. When they reached it, she sat down on a grassy patch near the shore while John walked over to the water and dipped his handkerchief into it.
'Is that clean?' she called out.
'My handkerchief or the water?'
'Both!'
John walked back to her side and held up the snowy white cloth. 'Sparkling.'
She sighed at his determination to treat her blister and poked her bare foot out from under her skirt.
'This isn't going to work,' he said.
'Why not?'
'You're going to have to roll over onto your stomach.'
'I don't think so,' Belle replied, her tone firm.
John tilted his head to one side. 'The way I see it,' he said thoughtfully, 'we have two options.'
He didn't say anything more, so Belle was forced to ask, 'We do?'
'Yes. Either you roll over onto your stomach so that I can take care of your blister, or I can slide on my back and wiggle under your leg so that I can see your heel. Of course that would probably require my sticking my head under your skirts, and while the thought is intriguing-'
'Enough,' Belle muttered. She rolled over onto her stomach.
John took the handkerchief and gently dabbed it against the sore, cleaning away the small amount of dried blood which had crusted around it. It stung a little when he touched the raw flesh, but Belle could tell that he was being extraordinarily gentle, so she didn't say anything. When he pulled a knife out of his pocket, however, she changed her mind.
'Aaaack!' Unfortunately, the first word to fly out of her mouth was not terribly coherent.
John looked startled. 'Is something wrong?'
'What are you planning to do with that knife?'
He smiled patiently. 'I was just going to make a small incision in your blister so I can drain it. That will allow the dead skin to dry out.'
It sounded like he knew what he was doing, but Belle thought she ought to ask a few questions anyway since she was, after all, letting this relatively strange man take a knife to her person. 'Why do you want to dry it out?'
'It will heal better that way. The dead skin will fall off, and the skin underneath will toughen up.' He narrowed his eyes. 'You've never had a blister before, have you?'
'Not like this,' Belle admitted. 'I don't usually walk so much. I usually ride.'
'What
