Dancing At Midnight

steps from this parlor.'

Belle swallowed, sheepishly remembering the time she and Alex's sister Sophie had managed to leave Emma and her future husband alone together for a full five minutes under the pretext of going to inspect a nonexistent harpsichord. 'I imagine she'll be able to think of something.'

'As much as I would love to take you into my arms again, I have no desire to be interrupted by your cousin returning with tea.'

'Oh, I wouldn't worry about that,' Belle mumbled. 'She'll find a way to alert us of her impending presence. She's quite resourceful.'

As if on cue, they heard Emma yelp from the other side of the closed door. 'What a surprise!'

Belle frowned. 'I would have thought she'd have given us a bitmore time.'

The door opened. 'Look who I bumped into in the hall,' Emma said, holding onto Alex's hand. 'I wasn't expecting him back until much later this evening.'

'Her carefully-laid plans foiled by an attentive husband,' John murmured as he stood.

Belle stifled a laugh and said, 'How lovely to see you, Alex.'

'I was only out inspecting the fields,' he replied, a perplexed frown crossing his features.

'Nonetheless, it is brilliant to have you back,' Emma said unconvincingly.

'Did you locate that tea?' John asked.

'The tea? Oh, yes, the tea. Well, no, I didn't actually.'

'A-hem.'

Emma jumped at the sound of Norwood clearing his throat directly behind her.

'Your tea, your grace?'

'Oh. Thank you, Norwood. Over there on the table, I think.'

'Tea actually sounds quite appealing after riding about in that rain all afternoon,' Alex said pleasantly. 'Although it does seem to be letting up.'

Belle wasn't certain, but she thought she heard Emma groan.

Emma fixed a cup for Alex, and after he had taken a healthy gulp, he said, 'There's to be a fair tomorrow near the village. I saw people setting it up while I was out.'

'Oh really?' Emma responded with delight. 'I adore fairs. Shall we go?'

'I'm not sure,' Alex said with a frown. 'I don't like the idea of your getting jostled about by crowds.'

That remark was greeted by a mutinous glare on Emma's part. 'Oh, don't be a stodge,' she retorted. 'You can't keep me locked up forever.'

'All right. But you must promise to be careful.' Alex turned to John and Belle, who were watching the interchange from the sofa with amused expressions. 'Won't the two of you join us?'

A refusal automatically rose to John's lips, but before he could speak an image of Belle in his arms danced through his mind. They were waltzing… Her eyes were glowing with happiness. His heart was filled with tenderness and his body with desire. Maybe he could have a bit of joy in his life. Maybe five years of hell was payment enough for his sins.

He turned to Belle. She cocked her head and smiled, raising her brows in invitation. 'Of course,' he said, 'I'll stop by after lunch, and we'll depart together from here.'

'Splendid.' Alex took another gulp of tea and glanced out the window where the skies were darkening ominously. 'I don't mean to be rude, Blackwood, but if I were you, I'd head home now while the rain is light. It looks like it is going to pour again soon.'

'I was just thinking the same thing myself.' John stood and bowed to the ladies.

Belle was, of course, sorry to see him leave, but the humorous sight of Emma, slumped dejectedly in her chair after her husband unwittingly ruined all of her careful orchestrations, more than made up for her disappointment.

***

When John arrived home that afternoon there was another note waiting for him.

I am in Oxfordshire.

John shook his head. He'd have to find some way of contacting the previous owners of Bletchford Manor. They had seemed a trifle batty to him-just the sort to have friends who would write such odd notes.

It never occurred to him that the note might be in any way connected to the gunshot in the woods.

***

John poured himself a glass of brandy before climbing the stairs to his bedroom that evening. He started to take a sip, but then set it down on his nightstand. He felt warm enough without it.

Was this happiness? The feeling had been absent from his life for so long he wasn't sure how to recognize it.

He crawled into bed, content. He never expected to dream.

He was in Spain. It was a hot day, but his company was in good spirits; no fighting for the last week.

He was sitting at a table in the tavern, an empty plate of food in front of him.

What was that strange thumping sound coming from upstairs?

He poured himself another drink.

Thump.

This place is ripe, I think. John rubbed his eyes. Who had said that?

Another thump. Another cry.

John walked slowly toward the stairs. What was wrong? The noise grew louder as he made his way along the second-floor hallway.

And then he heard it again. This time it was clear. 'Noooooooooo!' Ana's voice.

He burst through the door. 'Oh, God, no,' he cried. He could barely see Ana, her slight form completely beneath Spencer, who was pumping relentlessly into her.

But he could hear her weeping. 'Noooo, noooo, please, noooo.'

John didn't pause to think. Crazed, he pulled Spencer up off the girl and threw him against the wall.

He looked back down at Ana. Her hair-what had happened? It had turned blond.

It was Belle. Her clothes were torn, her body ravaged and bruised.

'Oh, God, not this!' The cry seemed to well up from John's very soul.

He turned back to the man slumped against the wall, his hand tightening on his gun. 'Look at me, Spencer,' he demanded.

The man lifted his head, but he was no longer Spencer.]ohn found himself looking into his own face.

'Oh, God, no,' he gasped, stumbling back against the bed. 'Not me. I couldn't do that. I wouldn't.'

The other John laughed. It was a sick, maniacal sound.

'No, I wouldn't. I couldn't. Oh, Belle.' He looked down at the bed, but she was gone.

'No! Belle!'

John was awakened by the sound of his screams. Gasping for air, he clutched his arms to his stomach. He rolled back and forth, his body racked by silent sobs.

Chapter 8