John only growled.

Emma stepped back and smothered a laugh. "I shall tell her you said hello, then. And please do come and call soon. Alex would love to see you, I'm sure." As she walked down the steps to her carriage, it occurred to her that she'd better send Belle a note saying that John would be arriving in London very, very soon.

John watched Emma disappear down the drive from his front steps. As soon as she was gone from view, he swore viciously, kicked the side of his house for good measure, and strode back to his study where he poured himself a tall glass of whiskey.

"Goddamn, good for nothing, fickle female," he muttered, taking a healthy swig. The liquor burned a trail down his throat, but John could barely feel it.

"Getting married?" he said loudly. "Married? Ha! I hope she's miserable." He drained the rest of the glass and poured a new one. Unfortunately the whiskey did not dull the pain that was squeezing at his heart. When he had told Belle that she'd be better off without him, he'd never dreamed that it would be this excruciatingly painful to think of her in another man's arms. Oh, he'd figured that she would get married someday, but the image had been hazy and unfocused. Now he couldn't get the picture of her and this faceless earl or whoever he was out of his mind. He kept seeing her smile in that impish way of hers and then lean up to kiss him. And then once they were married, oh God, it was awful. He could see Belle, nude in the candlelight, holding her arms out to this stranger. And then her husband would cover her body with his and…

John drained his second glass of whiskey. At least he didn't know what this man looked like. He certainly didn't need to picture the scene in any more vivid detail.

"Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn," he muttered, punctuating each "damn" with a kick to the side of his desk. The desk won the battle handily, being made of solid oak, and John's foot would no doubt show bruises the next day.

Was it going to be like this for the rest of his life? He had gone into the village the other day, and every woman had reminded him of Belle.

He'd bumped into one who had eyes that were almost as blue. Another had been just about her height. Would his heart lurch every time he saw a blond woman across a crowd?

He sank down to the floor, leaning against the side of his desk. "I'm an ass," he moaned. "An ass."

And that litany sounded in his mind until he finally fell asleep.

He was walking through a house. It was lush, opulent. Intrigued, John walked further.

What was that strange thumping sound?

It was coming from a room at the end of the hall. He walked closer, terrified by what he thought he might find there.

Closer. Closer. It wasn't thumping, after all. John felt the fear begin to drain from his body. It was… dancing. Someone was dancing. He could hear the music now.

He pushed open the door. It was a ballroom. Hundreds of couples whirled around in effortless waltzes. And at the center…

His heart stopped. It was Belle.

She looked so beautiful. She threw back her head and laughed. Had he ever seen her so happy?

John moved closer. He tried to get a good look at her dance partner, but the man's features were always blurred.

One by one, the other couples dropped from view until there were only three people left in the room. John, Belle, and Him.

He had to get away. He couldn't bear to watch Belle with her lover. He tried to move, but his feet were glued to the spot. He tried to look away, but his neck refused to twist.

The music grew faster. The dancing couple whirled out of control until… they weren't dancing.

John narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look. What was happening?

The couple was arguing. Belle looked as if she were trying to explain something to the man. And then he hit her. The back of his hand slammed across her cheek, his rings leaving red welts across her pale skin.

John yelled out her name, but the couple didn't seem to hear him. He tried to go to her, but the feet that had just refused to carry him from the room wouldn't take him in the opposite direction, either.

The man hit her again, and she fell to the floor, her arms rising up to shield her head. John reached out, but his arms weren't nearly long enough. He called her name, over and over, and then, blessedly, the couple faded from view.


***

The next morning John woke up feeling not quite so sorry for himself, although he did have a headache distinctly worthy of pity, self or otherwise. He wasn't at all certain what he had dreamed about last night, but whatever it was, it had left him with the conviction that he wasn't going to sit around and watch Belle throw her life away on some dissolute earl.

That he did not know for certain that her possible fiance was an earl or that he was dissolute did not enter the picture. What if he beat her? What if he forbade her to read? John knew that he wasn't good enough for her, but he was no longer certain that anyone else was, either. John, at least, would try to make her happy. He would give her everything he had, give her every piece of his soul that was still intact.

Belle belonged with someone who would appreciate her wit and wisdom as well as her grace and beauty. He could just imagine her having to sneak books into the house behind the back of her disapproving aristocratic husband. He probably wouldn't even consult her on any important decisions, feeling that a woman could not be intelligent enough to offer a worthy opinion.

No, Belle needed him. He had to save her from a disastrous marriage. And then, he supposed, he'd simply marry her himself.

John wasn't unaware that he was about to pull one of the greatest about-faces in history. He could only hope that Belle would understand that he had realized she'd had been right all along. People made mistakes, didn't they? After all, he wasn't some infallible storybook hero.


***

"No, Persephone, I think you should stay away from lavender."

Belle and her companion had gone shopping. Persephone was eager to part with some of the ample funds given to her by Alex.

"I've always liked lavender, though. It's one of my favorite colors."

"Well, then we shall find a gown with lavender accents, but I fear that the color does not suit you as well as some others."

"What would you suggest?"

Belle smiled at the older woman as she fingered a bolt of dark green velvet and held it up under her chin. She was quite enjoying her time with Alex's maiden aunt, although it did at times seem that their roles were reversed. Persephone constantly asked for her opinion on all matters, from food to fashion to literature. She rarely left Yorkshire, she'd explained, and had no idea how to go about in London. Still, Persephone had a quick wit and an understated sense of humor which entertained Belle to no end.

But it wasn't Persephone's companionship which was bringing such a ready smile to Belle's face that afternoon. She had just received an urgent message from Emma instructing her to be ready for John's arrival any day now. Apparently he had not taken the news of her impending marriage well.

Good, Belle thought with not a little smugness. She shuddered to think how she would have reacted had someone brought her similar news of John. She probably would have wanted to scratch the offending woman's eyes out. And she was not normally a violent person.

"Do you really think this green will do the trick?" Persephone asked, frowning at the fabric.

Belle snapped out of her reverie. "Hmmm? Oh, yes. You've got such nice green flecks in your eyes. I think if 11 bring them out."

"Do you think so?" Persephone held up the bolt of velvet and looked in the mirror, tilting her head in a decidedly feminine manner.

"Oh very much, and if you are so partial to lavender, perhaps you would be willing to substitute this deep violet color. I think it will look lovely on you."

"Hmm, maybe you're right. I do adore violets. I've always worn violet scented perfume."

Persephone's interest sufficiently engaged, Belle wandered over to Madame Lambert, the not entirely French proprietress of the shop.

"Ah, Lady Arabella," she gushed. "Eet eez so good to see you again. We have not seen you for many months."

"I've been out in the country," Belle replied congenially. "But if I might ask you a private question?"

Madame Lambert's blue eyes sparkled with excitement, and, undoubtedly, the prospect that Belle's request would somehow make her a mint of money. "Yes?"

"I need a gown. A very special gown. Two very special gowns, actually. Or perhaps three." Belle frowned as she contemplated her forthcoming purchase. She needed to look ravishing when John came to London. Unfortunately, she had no idea when he would arrive, or even-banish the thought-if he would arrive.

"Zat should not be a problem, my lady."

"I need a different sort of gown than I usually purchase. Something more… alluring."

"I see, my lady." Madame Lambert smiled knowingly. "You perhaps wish to attract a particular gentleman. I will make you ravishing. Now when do you need zese gowns?"

"Tonight?" Belle's answer was more of a question than a reply.

"My Gawd!" Madame Lambert shrieked, completely forgetting her accent. "I am good but I cannot perform miracles!"

"Will you be quiet?" Belle whispered urgently, looking nervously around. She liked Persephone, but she didn't think that she needed to know that her charge was planning a seduction. "I only need one of them tonight. The rest can wait. At least until tomorrow. It shouldn't be that difficult. You have all my measurements. I assure you I haven't grown fat since our last meeting."