Belle felt absurdly pleased and was suddenly very, very glad that she'd ventured out that morning. "I'll take that as high praise, indeed."

"It was meant as such." John waved his hand toward the diminishing number of scones. "Don't you want one? I'm liable to eat the whole plateful if you don't intervene soon."

"Well, I already had breakfast but…" Belle eyed the mouth-watering scones. "I suppose one wouldn't hurt."

"Good, I haven't the patience for ladies who try to eat like rabbits."

"No, you prefer sheep, I understand."

"Touché again, my lady." John glanced out the window. "Are those your horses out there?"

Belle followed his gaze and then got up and walked to the window. "Yes, the one on the left is my mare Amber. I didn't see the stables, so I just tied her to the tree. She seems content."

John had stood when Belle had gotten up, and now he walked over to join her at the window. "The stables are in the back."

Belle was intensely aware of his nearness, of the spicy masculine scent of him. The breath seemed to leave her body, and for the first time that morning, she felt robbed of all speech. While he was watching her mare, she stole a quick glance at his profile. He had a straight, patrician nose, and a strong chin. His lips were simply beautiful, full and sensual. She swallowed uncomfortably and forced herself to move her gaze to his eyes. They looked bleak. Belle found herself desperately wishing that she could erase the pain and loneliness she saw there.

Abruptly, John turned and caught Belle watching him. His eyes locked with hers, and for a moment he left his expression unshuttered, allowing her to look into his very soul. Then he quirked a smile, breaking the spell, and turned away.

"She's a lovely mare," he said.

It took a few moments before Belle could catch her breath. "Yes, I've had her for several years."

"I cannot imagine she gets much exercise in London."

"No." And why were they speaking so flatly now, Belle wanted to know. Why had he pulled away from her? She didn't think she could bear being with him for one more moment if they were only going to speak inanities and, God forbid, make polite conversation. "I'd better go," she said abruptly. "It's getting late."

John chuckled at that. It was barely ten in the morning.

In her haste to compose herself and leave, Belle didn't hear his mirth. "You can keep the basket," she said. "It's a gift, after all, along with all the food."

"I shall treasure it always." He pulled the bell-cord to summon Belle's maid from the kitchens.

Belle smiled, and then to her horror and surprise, she felt a tear welling up in her eye. "Thank you for your company. I had a lovely morning."

"As did I." John escorted her to the front hall. She smiled before turning away from him, rocking him to his very soul and sending a fresh wave of desire through his body. "Lady Arabella," he said hoarsely.

She turned around, concern clouding her features. "Is something wrong?"

"It isn't wise for you to keep company with me."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't come here again."

"But you just said-"

"I said don't come again. At least not alone."

She blinked. "Don't be silly. You sound like the hero in a gothic novel."

"I'm not a hero," he said darkly. "You'd do well to remember that."

"Stop funning me." Her voice lacked conviction.

"I'm not, my lady." He closed his eyes, and for a split second an expression of pure agony washed over his features. "There are many dangers in this world about which you don't know. About which you should never know," he added harshly.

The maid arrived in the hall.

"I'd better go," Belle said quickly, completely unnerved.

"Yes."

She turned and fled down the steps to her horse. She mounted quickly and set off down the drive to the main road, intensely aware of John's eyes on her back the entire way.

What had happened to him? If Belle had been intrigued by her new neighbor before, now she was ravenously curious. His moods shifted like the wind. She didn't understand how he could tease her so sweetly one moment and be so dark and forbidding the next.

And she couldn't shake the idea that he somehow needed her. He needed someone, that much was clear. Someone who could wipe away the pain that surfaced in his eyes when he thought no one was looking.

Belle squared her shoulders. She'd never been one to back down from a challenge.

Chapter 4

Belle was plagued by thoughts of John for the rest of the day. She went to bed early, hoping that a good night's sleep would give her new perspective. But sleep eluded her for hours, and once she fell into slumber, John haunted her dreams with startling persistence.

The next morning she slept a little later than usual, but when she went down to breakfast, she found that Alex and Emma had stayed abed again. She didn't feel like searching out something with which to amuse herself, so she finished her breakfast quickly and decided to go for a walk.

She glanced down at her booted feet, decided that her shoes were sturdy enough for a bit of a hike, and slipped out the front door, leaving a note for her cousins with Norwood. The autumn air was crisp but not cold, and Belle was glad that she hadn't bothered to put on a cloak. Taking quick strides, she found herself heading east. East toward John Blackwood's property.

Belle groaned. She should have known this was going to happen. She stopped, trying to force herself to turn around and head west. Or north or south or north by northwest or anything but east. But her feet refused to obey, and she trudged onward, trying to excuse her behavior by telling herself that she only knew how to get to Blondwood Manor by way of the main road, and here she was going through woods, so she probably wouldn't ever get there anyway.

She frowned. It wasn't called Blondwood Manor. But for the life of her, she couldn't remember what it was called. Belle shook her head and kept on walking.

An hour went by, and Belle started to regret her decision not to bring her mare. It was a couple of miles to the edge of Alex's property, and from what John had told her the previous day, she knew it was another couple of miles to his house. Her boots weren't turning out to be as comfortable as she had hoped, and she had a sneaking suspicion that a blister was forming on her right heel.

She tried to keep a stiff upper lip, but the pain soon reached new heights of irritation. With an audible groan, Belle finally gave up and conceded defeat to her blister. She squatted down and patted the grass with her hand, checking to see if it was damp. The early morning dew had already evaporated, so she plopped down onto the ground, unlaced her boot, and pulled it off. She was about to get up and start walking again when she realized that she was wearing her favorite stockings. With a sigh, she reached up under her skirt and slowly rolled one off.


***

From his position ten yards away, John could not believe his eyes. Belle had wandered onto his property again, and he was just about to make his presence known to her when she started muttering to herself and then sat down on the ground in a most undignified manner.

Intrigued, John darted behind a tree. What followed was a scene far more seductive than he would have ever dreamed possible. After pulling off her shoe, Belle had lifted her skirts well above her knees, giving him a tantalizing view of her shapely legs. John almost groaned. In a society that considered ankles promiscuous, this was racy, indeed.

John knew he shouldn't look. But as he stood there, watching Belle roll off her stocking, he could come up with no better alternative. If he called out to her, he'd only embarrass her. Better she didn't know that he was there. A true gentleman, he supposed, would have the fortitude to turn his back, but then again, John found that most men who took the time to call themselves gentlemen were fools.

He just couldn't take his eyes off of her. Her innocence only made her more seductive-more so than the most professional of performers. Her unintended striptease was all the more sensual because Belle was lowering her stocking with agonizing slowness not because she had an audience but because she seemed to love the feel of the silk sliding along her soft skin.

And then, much too soon for John's tastes, she was done and muttering to herself again. He smiled. He'd never met anyone who talked to herself quite so often-especially not in such amusing tones.

She stood and looked herself up and down a few times until her gaze fell on a bow which adorned her dress. She tied her stocking around the frippery, firmly securing it to her attire, and then reached down and picked up her boot. John almost laughed when she started to mutter again, glaring at her shoe as if it were some small, offensive creature as she realized that she could have just stuffed her stocking into the boot for safekeeping.

He heard her sigh, so she must have done so loudly, and then she shrugged her shoulders and trudged away from him. John quirked a brow at her movements because she wasn't walking home, she was heading toward his house. Alone. One would have thought that the chit would have had the sense to heed his warning. He thought he'd frightened her the day before. Lord knew he frightened himself.

He couldn't contain a smile, however, because with one of her boots off, she was limping almost as much as he did.

John quickly turned and headed back into the woods. After his accident, he had exercised his bad leg religiously, and as a result, he could walk quite swiftly-almost as fast as an uninjured man. The only problem was that overexertion meant that his leg would later ache as if he'd walked-no hopped-to hell and back.