Chapter 5

John stood still for many minutes, watching Belle disappear amidst the trees. He didn't move until she was long gone, thoroughly disgusted with himself and his behavior toward her. But, he reminded himself, it was no more than what was necessary. She was furious with him now, but she'd thank him eventually. Well, maybe not him, but when she was cozily wed to some marquess, she'd thank someone for saving her from John Blackwood.

He'd finally turned to head home when he realized that Belle had marched off without her boot. He leaned down and picked it up. Damn, now he'd have to go to return it, and he had no idea how he could face her again.

John sighed, tossing her flimsy boot from hand to hand as he began his slow trudge home. He'd have to come up with some excuse for having her boot in the first place. Alex was a good friend, but he would want to know why John had his cousin's footwear in his possession. He supposed he could go by Westonbirt that evening-

John swore under his breath. He'd have to go by Westonbirt that evening. He'd already accepted Alex's invitation for dinner. His curses grew more fluent as he pictured the agony ahead. He'd have to look at Belle all night, and of course she would be ravishing in her expensive evening attire. And then just when he couldn't bear to look at her for one minute longer, she'd probably say something utterly charming and intelligent, which would make him want her even more.

And it was so, so dangerous to want her.


***

Belle's progress home wasn't much swifter than John's. She wasn't used to walking about without shoes, and it seemed that her right foot managed to find every sharp pebble and protruding tree root in the narrow path. And there was also the little problem of her left shoe, which had a slight heel on it, and left her feeling rather lopsided and forced her to limp.

And every limp reminded her of John Blackwood. Horrid John Blackwood.

Belle started muttering every inappropriate word her brother had ever accidentally said in front of her. Her tirade lasted only a few seconds, for Ned was usually quite careful about holding his tongue around his sister. Fresh out of curses, Belle started in with, "Wretched, wretched man," but that just didn't seem to do the trick.

"Damn!" she burst out as her foot landed on an especially sharp pebble. The mishap proved to be her undoing, and she felt a hot tear spill down her face as she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain.

"You are not going to cry over a little pebble," she scolded herself. "And you are certainly not going to cry over that awful man."

But she was crying, and she couldn't stop herself. She just couldn't understand how a man could be so charming one minute and so insulting the next. He liked her-she could tell that he did. It was all there in the way he'd teased her and cared for her foot. And while he hadn't been completely forthcoming when she'd asked him about the war, he also hadn't completely ignored her. He wouldn't have opened up to her at all if he hadn't liked her just a little.

Belle leaned down, picked up the offending pebble, and viciously tossed it into the trees. It was time to stop crying, time to think this problem through in a rational manner and figure out why his entire personality had changed so suddenly.

No, she decided, for the first time in her life she didn't want to be calm and rational. She didn't care about being practical and pragmatic. All she wanted to be was mad.

And she was. Furious.

By the time Belle reached Westonbirt, her tears had dried up, and she was quite happily plotting all sorts of vengeful schemes against John. She didn't expect to actually carry any of them out, but the mere act of planning them raised her spirits.

She plodded through the great hall and was nearly to the curved staircase when Emma called out from a nearby parlor, "Is that you, Belle?"

Belle backtracked to the open doorway, poked her head in, and said hello.

Emma was sitting on a sofa with ledgers spread out on the table in front of her. She raised her eyebrows at Belle's disheveled appearance. "Where have you been?"

"Out for a walk."

"With only one shoe?"

"It's the latest rage."

"Or a very long story."

"Not that long but rather unladylike."

"Bare feet usually are."

Belle rolled her eyes. Emma had been known to wade through knee-deep mud to get to her favorite fishing hole. "Since when have you become the model of taste and decorum?"

"Since, oh, never mind, just come and sit with me. I'm about to go insane."

"Really? Now that sounds interesting."

Emma sighed. "Don't tease me. Alex won't let me out of this blasted parlor for fear of my health."

"You could look on the bright side and view it as a sign of his eternal love and devotion," Belle suggested.

"Or I could simply strangle him. If he had his way, I'd be confined to my bed until the baby arrived. As it is, he's forbidden me to go riding by myself."

"Can he do that?"

"Do what?"

"Forbid you."

"Well, no, he doesn't order me about like most men do to their wives, but he made it quite clear that he'd be extremely worried every time I took Boston out for a ride, and blast him, I love him too much to upset him like that. Sometimes it's best just to humor him."

"Mmm," Belle murmured. "Would you like some tea? I'm a bit chilled." She got up and rang for a maid.

"No, thank you, but go ahead and get some for yourself."

A maid entered silently and Emma ordered some tea. "Oh, and will you please tell Mrs. Goode that I'll come by to discuss this evening's menu within the hour? We'll be having a guest, so I think we ought to do something special."

The maid nodded and left the room.

"Who is dining with us tonight?" Belle inquired.

"That John Blackwood fellow you met a few days ago. Alex invited him yesterday. Don't you remember? I think we discussed it at tea."

Belle felt her heart sink down to her stomach. She'd forgotten all about their dinner plans. "It slipped my mind, I guess," she said, wishing that she already had her tea so that she could hide her face with the cup. Her cheeks were growing unpleasantly warm.

If Emma noticed Belle's blush, however, she made no mention of it. Belle immediately began discussing the latest fashions from Paris, and the two ladies stayed on that topic until long after the tea arrived.


***

Belle dressed with particular care that evening, knowing full well that John was the reason for her assiduousness. She chose a simply cut gown of ice blue silk which set off her eyes and wore her hair piled loosely atop her head, allowing soft wispy curls to frame her face. A strand of pearls and matching earrings completed the look, and, satisfied with her appearance, she headed downstairs.

Emma and Alex were already in the parlor waiting for John to arrive. Belle barely had time to sit down when the butler entered the room.

"Lord Blackwood."

Belle looked up as Norwood finished intoning John's name. Alex rose and strode to the doorway to greet his friend. "Blackwood, good to see you again."

John nodded and smiled. Belle was irritated by the fact that he looked extremely handsome in his evening attire.

"Allow me to introduce you to my wife." Alex led John over to the sofa where Emma was seated.

"How do you do, your grace," John murmured politely, placing a swift kiss on the back of her hand.

"Oh, please, I cannot bear so much etiquette in my own home. Please do call me Emma. Alex has assured me that you are a special friend of his, so I don't think we need to be formal."

John smiled at Emma, deciding that Alex had been his usual lucky self when it came to claiming a bride. "Then you must call me John."

"And of course you already know Belle," Alex continued.

John turned to Belle and took her hand in his. A fierce heat traveled up her arm, but she forced herself not to jerk her hand back. He didn't need to know how he affected her. But when he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her softly, she wasn't able to control the blush that stole across her cheeks.

"It is indeed a pleasure to see you again, Lady Arabella," he said, still holding her hand in his.

"Pl-please call me Belle," she stammered, hating herself for her loss of composure.

John finally released her hand and smiled. "I brought you a gift." He held out a box tied with a ribbon.

"Why, thank you." Curious, Belle untied the bow and lifted the lid. Inside she found her slightly muddied boot. She stifled a laugh as she lifted it out of the box. "I had a blister," she explained, turning to Alex and Emma. "It was really quite painful, and I took off my boot…" Her voice trailed off.

John turned to Emma. "I would have brought one for you, too, but you don't seem to have left any shoes on my property recently."

Emma grinned and reached down toward her feet. "I shall rectify that matter immediately."

John found himself liking Alex's duchess immensely. It was easy and painless to like her, he supposed. Unlike her cousin, she didn't cause his heart to race and his breathing to stop every time he saw her.

"Perhaps I could simply give you one of my slippers now," Emma added, "and then you could give it back to me next time you dine with us."

"Is that an invitation?"

"Of course, Blackwood," Alex put in. "You are always welcome here."

The foursome exchanged pleasantries for a quarter of an hour, awaiting the call to dinner. Belle sat quietly, surreptitiously studying John, pondering why he would do something as sweet as wrapping her boot up as a present after he acted so rudely that afternoon. How was she supposed to react? Did he want to be her friend again? She kept a weak smile pasted to her face, silently cursing him for setting her into such confusion.