Julia Quinn - Dancing At Midnight

John raised an eyebrow.

"You might as well accept it," Belle stated plainly. "You like me."

Much to John's dismay, his coffee cup clattered loudly in its saucer. "What did you say?"

"You like me." Belle cocked her head, looking much like a cat who had just lapped up a very large bowl of cream.

"And how did you reach that conclusion, may I ask?"

"I can just tell."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she also realized that he wanted her very badly. Could she tell that? Perhaps. He himself was quite surprised by the force of his reaction to her. Yesterday, she'd looked lovely sitting under his tree, but today, to his still slightly sleepy eyes, she was a goddess.

"You needn't look so impressed by my insight," Belle quipped.

A goddess with a very smart mouth.

"You," John said forcefully, "should be whipped."

"I hope you don't intend to search out a crop right now. I've grown rather fond of my backside." Good Lord, Belle wondered, when had she grown so bold? She glanced over at his furious visage.

John's traitorous mind decided that it would like to get very, very fond of her backside, and then his even more traitorous body reacted violently to the thought. What on earth was this chit thinking? You only pushed a man so far. Still, he couldn't deny that her words had a ring of truth. He did rather like her. So, trying to steer the conversation out of dangerous waters, he said deliberately, "You are correct. I am not very good at making polite conversation."

Belle took the hint. She smiled prettily and said, "I wouldn't worry overmuch. I still have hope for you."

"Imagine my relief."

"That hope is dwindling by the second," she said between clenched teeth.

John looked over at her as he chewed a bite of scone. Somehow she managed to look sweet and desirable at the same time. God help him, she was already breaking through the protective wall he had erected around himself years ago. She certainly didn't deserve the kind of treatment he'd been dishing out. He swallowed his food, slowly and deliberately wiped his mouth with a napkin, stood up, and took her hand.

"Will you allow me to start over this morning?" he said elegantly, raising her hand to his lips. "I fear I arose on the wrong side of the bed."

Belle's heart did a little flip at the feel of his lips brushing along her knuckles. "It is I who should apologize. I'm afraid that any side of the bed would have been the wrong one at this hour."

John smiled at that and sat back down, reaching for another scone. "These are delicious," he commented.

"Our cook's mother was from Scotland."

"Our cook?" John questioned her choice of words. "Have you become a permanent part of the household, then?"

"No, I shall be heading back to London when my parents return from Italy. But I must admit that Westonbirt is starting to feel like home."

John nodded and then held up his half-eaten scone. "Ever been to Scotland?"

"No. Have you?"

"No."

There was a moment of silence and then John said, "How am I doing?"

"How are you doing at what?" Belle asked with a perplexed expression.

"Making polite conversation. I've been trying very, very hard for the last few minutes." He flashed her a boyish smile.

Belle couldn't keep down the gurgling laugh which welled up in her throat. "Oh, you're making great strides!"

"I shall be ready for a London season in no time." He popped the last bit of scone in his mouth.

Belle leaned forward excitedly. "Are you planning to come to town for the season, then?" The thought thrilled her. She was starting to get bored with the social whirl, and John would certainly liven things up. Besides, she found the idea of dancing in his arms strangely erotic. An electric tingle traveled up her spine just at the thought of being so close to him, and she blushed.

John noticed the color in her cheeks and was wildly curious as to what scandalous thought could make her blush after she'd brazenly come to his home at nine in the morning. He had no desire to embarrass her by asking, however, and so he merely said, "No. I haven't the blunt."

Belle sat back, surprised at his forthrightness. "Well, that's no matter," she tried to joke. "Half the ton hasn't the blunt. Most simply manage to get invited to parties every evening and thus never have to pay for their own food."

"I've never been one for parties every evening."

"No, I didn't think you were. Neither am I, as it happens."

"Really? I would have thought you'd be the belle of the ball, if you pardon the pun."

Belle smiled wryly. "I won't be falsely modest and say that I haven't enjoyed a measure of social success-"

John chuckled at her careful choice of words.

"But I must admit, I'm growing weary of the season."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. But I suppose I'll have to go back next year."

"Why go if you find it so dull?"

She grimaced. "One's got to get a husband, after all."

"Ah," was all John said.

"It isn't as easy as you might think."

"I cannot imagine finding a husband would be especially difficult for you, Lady Arabella. You must know that you are extremely beautiful."

Belle flushed with pleasure at his compliment. "I had some offers, but none were suitable."

"Not enough money?"

This time when Belle flushed, it was with consternation. "I take offense at that, Lord Blackwood."

"I'm sorry, I thought it was the way of things."

Belle had to admit that for many women, it was the way of things, and she accepted his apology with a brief nod. "A few of the gentlemen informed me that they would be able to overlook my appalling bluestocking tendencies on account of my looks and fortune."

"I find your bluestocking tendencies quite appealing."

Belle sighed happily. "How nice it is to hear someone-a man-say that."

John shrugged. "It always seemed silly to me to desire a woman who cannot converse any better than a sheep."

Belle leaned forward, her eyes glittering mischievously. "Really? I would have thought you'd prefer such a woman, considering your difficulty with polite conversation."

"Touché, my lady. I cede this round to you."

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.