John took a ragged breath before he faced her. 'Do you really want the truth?'
She nodded.
He opened his mouth, but it was several seconds before his lips formed words. 'I'm not the man you think I am. I've seen things…' He closed his mouth, a muscle working violently in his throat as he fought to control the emotions playing across his face. 'I've done things. These hands…' He looked down at his hands as if they were foreign objects. His voice dropped down to a low whisper. 'I'm a greedy bastard, Belle, just for kissing you this morning. I'm not fit even to touch you.'
Belle stared at him, horrified by the pain etched on his face. How could he not see what was so clear to her? There was something within him. Something so good… It seemed to glow from his very soul. And he thought that he was worthless. She didn't know what had happened to make him so, but his pain devastated her. She took a step forward. 'You're wrong.'
'Belle,' he whispered, 'you're a fool.'
Wordlessly, she shook her head.
John looked deeply into her eyes, and heaven help him but he couldn't stop the slow descent of his lips down onto hers.
For the second time that day, Belle felt that unfamiliar rush of desire as her body swayed closer to his. His mouth brushed gently against hers, and Belle daringly ran her tongue along the soft skin of his inner lip, just as he had done to her that morning. John's reaction was instantaneous, and he pulled her roughly toward him, needing to feel the heat of her body pressed up against his.
The intimate contact set off an alarm in Belle's mind, and she gently pulled herself away from him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and there were considerably more wisps of hair framing her face than there had been just a few moments earlier. 'Alex and Emma are expecting us in the dining room,' she reminded him breathlessly. 'We're going to be quite late.'
John closed his eyes and exhaled, mentally willing his body to cool down. After a moment he offered her his arm, quirking his mouth into a lopsided smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. 'We shall blame our tardiness on my leg.'
Belle felt an immediate rush of sympathy for him. He was a proud man and wouldn't like to admit that his injury slowed him down. 'Oh, no, that's not necessary. Emma is forever complaining that I walk too slowly. I shall simply tell them that I was showing you one of the paintings in the gallery. Alex has a marvelous Rembrandt.'
John placed his forefinger against her lips. 'Shush, we'll blame it on my leg. It's about time I got some benefit from this damned thing.'
They exited the parlor, and Belle noticed that he moved quite quickly through the long halls to the dining room. 'Tell me when we're almost there,' he whispered in her ear.
'It's just around the corner.'
John slowed down so much that Belle thought they'd stopped. When she glanced down at his legs, she noticed that he was limping far more noticeably than usual. 'You're terrible,' she scolded. 'I know you can bend your leg more than that.'
'I'm having a bad day.' His expression was positively angelic.
Alex stood when they entered the dining room. 'We thought you'd gotten lost along the way.'
'I'm afraid my leg has been paining me a bit today,' John replied. 'Belle was kind enough to accommodate my slow gait.'
Belle nodded, wondering how on earth she was able to keep her lips from twitching. She and John joined Emma and Alex around the small table of the informal dining room. They were served asparagus in mustard sauce, and Emma, recognizing that her neighbor and cousin seemed to be better acquainted than time would warrant, immediately began her interrogation.
'I am so glad you were able to come for dinner this evening, John. But you must tell us more about yourself. What part of England are you from?'
'I grew up in Shropshire.'
'Really? I've never been there, but I hear it's quite lovely.'
'Yes, it is quite.'
'And does your family still live there?'
'I believe that they do.'
'Oh.' Emma seemed slightly flustered by his odd choice of words but continued the conversation nonetheless. 'And do you see them very often?'
'I rarely see them at all.'
'Emma, darling,' Alex said gently. 'Pray give our guest time between questions to eat.'
Emma smiled sheepishly and speared a stalk of asparagus with her fork. Before she put it in her mouth, however, she blurted out, 'Belle is marvelously well-read, you know.'
Belle choked on her food, not having expected the conversation to turn her way.
'Speaking of reading,' John cut in smoothly, 'did you finish
Belle took a sip of wine. 'Yes, I did. And it marked the end of my Grand Shakespearean Quest.'
'Really? I'm almost afraid to ask what that was.'
'All the plays.'
'How impressive,' John murmured.
'In alphabetical order.'
'And organized, too. The lady is a wonder.'
Belle blushed. 'Don't tease me, you wretch.'
Alex's and Emma's eyes widened over the playful banter that was sailing across the table. 'If I remember correctly,' Alex injected, 'didn't this quest also involve some poetry?'
'I've abandoned the poetry for now, I think. Poetry is so, well, poetic, don't you think? Nobody actually talks that way.'
John quirked a brow. 'You think not?' He turned to Belle, and when he spoke again, there was a certain fire in his brown eyes that she had never before seen there.
'What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind.'
There was silence at the table until John spoke again, his eyes never leaving Belle's. 'I wish I always spoke with such eloquence.'
Belle found herself oddly moved by John's short recitation and the warm tones of his voice. Something about his speech held her spellbound, and she completely forgot the presence of her cousins. 'That was lovely,' she said quietly.
'Wordsworth. It's one of my favorites.'
'Does that poem have particular meaning for you? Do you live by its sentiment?'
There was a very long pause. 'No,' John said bluntly. 'I try to, on occasion, but usually fail.'
Belle swallowed, uncomfortable with the pain she saw in his eyes, and searched for another topic. 'Do you also enjoy writing poetry?'
John laughed, finally breaking his gaze away from Belle and facing the table at large. 'I might enjoy writing poetry if I ever wrote some that was even halfway decent.'
'But you recited the Wordsworth with such passion,' Belle protested. 'You obviously have a deep love of poetry.'
'Enjoying poetry and being able to write it are two very different endeavors. I imagine that is why so many would-be poets spend so much of their time with a bottle of brandy in each hand.'
'I am certain you have the soul of a poet,' she persisted.
John merely smiled. 'I am afraid that your confidence is misplaced, but I shall take that as a compliment.'
'As well you should. I shan't be satisfied until I add a volume of your poetry to my library,' Belle said archly.
