Dancing at Midnight (4 page)

"No, no, Belle has quite a strong will, don't get me wrong. But it's not

quite the same as Emma. My wife is so stubborn she'll

often plunge herself into situations without quite thinking about it

first. Belle isn't like that. She's very practical. Very pragmatic.

She's got this insatiable curiosity. It's damned difficult to keep a

secret around her, but I must say, I quite like her. After seeing some

of the hellish situations of my friends, I consider myself quite

fortunate in my in-laws."

Alex realized that he was speaking far more openly than he normally

would with a friend whom he hadn't seen in years, but

he supposed that there was something about war that forges an

indestructible bond between men, and it was probably for

that reason that he was talking with John as if the last four years had

never passed.

Or it also could have been that John was a very good listener. He always

had been, Alex remembered. "But enough about my new family," he said

suddenly. "You'll meet them soon enough. How are you? You managed to

avoid my questions rather neatly."

John chuckled. "Same as ever, I suppose, except now I've got a title."

"And a home."

"And a home. I bought this place by investing and reinvesting the price

of my commission."

Alex let out a low whistle. "You must have quite the golden touch in

financial matters. We should talk about it someday.

I could probably learn a thing or two from you."

"The secret to financial success is not difficult, actually."

"Really? Pray tell, what is it?"

"Common sense."

Alex let out a laugh. "Something I fear I've been lacking these last few

months, but I'm afraid that's what love does to a man. Listen, why don't

you come over to dine soon? I told my wife about you, and she's very

eager to meet you. And of course you already know Belle."

"I'd like that," John said. And in a rare show of emotion, he added, "I

think it will be very nice to have some friends in the district. Thank

you for stopping by."

Alex looked at his old friend intently, and in a flash he saw just how

lonely John really was. But a second later, John shuttered

his gaze, and his expression adopted its usual inscrutability. "Very

well, then," Alex said courteously. "How about in two days' time? We

don't keep town hours out here, so we'll probably dine around seven."

John nodded his head.

"Excellent. We'll see you then." Alex stood up and shook John's hand.

"I'm glad our paths crossed again."

"As am I." John escorted Alex out of the house to the stables where his

horse was waiting. With a friendly nod, Alex

mounted and rode away.

John walked slowly back into the house, smiling to himself as he looked

up at his new home. When he reached the hall,

however, Buxton intercepted him.

"This arrived for you, my lord, while you were conversing with his

grace." He handed John an envelope on a silver tray.

John raised his eyebrows as he unfolded the note.

How strange. John turned the envelope over in his hand. His name was not

written on it anywhere. "Buxton?" he called out.

The butler, who had been on his way to the kitchen, turned around and

returned to John's side.

"When this arrived, what did the messenger say?"

"Just that he had a note for the master of the house."

"He didn't mention my name specifically?"

"No, my lord, I don't think so. It was a child who delivered it,

actually. I don't think he was more than eight or nine."

John gave the paper one last speculative glance and then shrugged. "It's

probably for the previous owners." He crumpled

it in his hand and tossed it aside. "I certainly have no idea what it's

about."

*  *  *

Later that night as John was eating dinner, he thought about Belle. As

he nursed a glass of whiskey over the pages of /

The Winter's Tale, /he thought about her. He crawled into bed, and he

thought about her.

She was beautiful. That much was irrefutable, but he didn't think that

was the reason she pervaded his thoughts. There had

been a gleam in those bright blue eyes. A gleam of intelligence, and ...

compassion. She'd tried to befriend him before he'd

gone and completely foiled her attempt. He shook his head, as if to

banish her from his thoughts. He knew better than to

think about women before bed. Closing his eyes, he sent up a prayer for

dreamless sleep.

/He was in Spain. It was a hot day, but his company was in good spirits;

no fighting for the last week./

/They had settled into a small town, nearly a month ago. The locals

were, for the most part, glad to have them. The soldiers brought money,

mostly to the tavern, but everyone felt a little more prosperous when

the English were in town./

/As usual, John was drunk. Anything to wipe out the screams that rang in

his ears and the blood that he

always felt on his hands, no matter how often he washed them. Another

few drinks, he judged, and he'd be

well on his way to oblivion./

/"Blackwood."/

/He looked up and nodded at the man settling across the table from him.

"Spencer."/

/George Spencer picked up the bottle. "Do you mind?"/

/John shrugged./

/Spencer splashed some of the liquid into the glass he'd brought over

with him. "Do you have any idea when we're getting out of this hellhole?"/

/"1 prefer this hellhole, as you call it, to the deeper one on the

battlefield."/

/Spencer glanced at a serving girl across the room and licked his lips

before turning back to John and saying, "Never would have took you for a

coward, Blackwood."/

/John shot back another glass of whiskey. "Not a coward, Spencer. Just a

man."/

/"Aren't we all." Spencer's attention was still focused on the girl, who

couldn't have been more than thirteen. "What do you think of that one, eh?"/

/John just shrugged again, not feeling especially communicative./

/The girl, whose name he had learned during this -past month was Ana,

came over and set a plate of food

in front of him. He thanked her in Spanish. She nodded and smiled, but

before she could leave, Spencer

had pulled her onto his lap./

/"Aren't you a nice piece?" he drawled, his hand creeping up and

covering her barely mature breast./

/"No," she said in broken English. "I—"/

/"Leave her alone," John said sharply./

/"Christ, Blackwood, she's just a—"/

/"Leave her alone."/

/"You're an ass sometimes, did you know that?" Spencer pushed Ana off of

his lap, but not before giving her backside a vicious pinch./

/John forked a bite of rice into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and said,

"She's a child, Spencer."/

/Spencer flexed his hand. "Not the way I felt it."/

/John just shook his head, not wanting to have to deal with him. "Just

leave her alone."/

/Spencer stood up abruptly. "I gotta go piss."/

/John watched him leave and turned back to his supper. He'd not taken

more than three bites before Ana's mother appeared at the table./

/"Senor Blackwood," she said, speaking in a mix of English and Spanish

she knew he understood.

"That man—he touch my Ana. It must stop."/

/John blinked a few times, trying to rid his mind of its alcoholic haze.

"Has he been bothering her for long?"/

/"All week, Senor. All week. She no like it. She frightened."/

/John felt disgust roiling the contents of his stomach./

/"Don't worry, Senora," he assured her. "I'll make sure he leaves her

alone. She'll be safe from my company."/

/The woman bowed her head. "Thank you, Senor Blackwood. Your word

comforts me." She returned to the kitchen where, John presumed, she

would spend the rest of the evening cooking./

/He went back to work on his meal, downing another glass of whiskey

along with it. Closer and closer to oblivion. He craved it these days.

Anything to wipe his mind free of the death and the dying./

/Spencer returned, wiping his hands on a towel as he entered. "Still

eating, Blackwood?" he asked./

/"You always did have a penchant for stating the obvious. "/

/Spencer scowled. "Eat your slop then, if that's what you want. I'm

going off in search of entertainment."/

/John raised a brow as if to say, "Here?"/

/"This place is ripe, I think." Spencer's eyes gleamed as he swaggered

up the stairs and out of sight./

/John sighed, glad to be rid of this man who had always been such an

annoyance in his company. He'd never liked Spencer, but he was a decent

soldier, and England needed all of those she could get her hands on./

/He finished his meal and pushed the plate across the table. The food

had been tasty, but nothing seemed to satisfy him anymore. Perhaps

another glass of whiskey./

/Oh, now he was drunk. Really drunk. There were, he supposed, still a

few things for which to thank the Lord./

/He let his head slump down toward the table. Ana's mother had been

quite nervous, hadn't she? Her face,

lined with worry and fear, floated through his mind. And Ana, poor

child, she couldn't like having these men around. Especially one like

Spencer./

/He heard a thump come from the floor upstairs. Nothing out of the

ordinary./

/Spencer. Oh, yes, that's who he was thinking about./

/Pain in the ass, he was. Always bothering the locals, caring for

nothing but his own amusement./

/Another thump./

/What was that he'd said—he was going off in search of entertainment.

That was rather like him./

/Another odd noise —this one sounded like a woman's cry. John looked

around. Didn't anyone else hear this?

No one seemed to react. Maybe it was because he was closest to the stairs./

This place is ripe, I think.

/John rubbed his eyes. Something wasn't right./

/He stood, bracing himself against the table to ease the nausea rocking

his body. Why did he have this odd

sense that something was amiss?/

/Another thump. Another cry./

/He 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. "Nooooooooool"

Ana's voice./

/John sobered in an instant. He burst through the door, knocking it off

one of its hinges. "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./

/"What the hell—Blackwood?" Spencer's face was as mottled and red as his

member./

/"You bastard," John breathed, his hand coming to rest on his gun./

/"For God's sake, she's just some Spanish whore."/

/"She is a child, Spencer."/

/"She's a whore now." Spencer turned around to retrieve his breeches./

/John's hand tightened on his gun./

/"That's all she ever would have been."/

/John lifted his gun. "His majesty's soldiers do not rape." He shot

Spencer in the ass./

/Spencer howled and went down, letting loose a swift stream of

expletives. John immediately went to Ana,

as if there was something he could possibly do to erase her pain and

humiliation./

/Her face was blank. Completely devoid of expression .../

/Until she saw him./

/She cringed. She turned away from John in horror. He staggered backward

at the force of her terror.

He hadn't.. .It hadn't been him .. .He'd meant to .../

/Ana's mother burst into the room. "Mother of God," she cried out. "What

is —Oh, my Ana. My Ana."

She ran to her daughter, who was now weeping uncontrollably./

/John stood in the middle of the room, dazed, in shock, and still drunk

with whiskey. "I didn't..." he whispered. "It wasn't me."/

/There was so much noise. Spencer was screaming and cursing in pain. Ana

was crying. Her mother was railing at God. John couldn't seem to move./

/Ana's mother turned around, her face full of more hatred than John had

ever seen in a single person.

"You did this," she hissed, and spit in his face./

/"No. It wasn't me. I didn't/..."

/"You swore you'd protect her." The woman seemed to be trying to

restrain herself from attacking him.

"It might as well have been you."/

/John blinked. "No."/

/It might as well have been you./

/It might as well have been you./

/It might as well.../

John sat up in bed, his body soaked with sweat. Had it really been five

years? He laid back down, trying to forget that Ana

had killed herself three days later.

*

*

*

*

*Chapter 3

*

"When Belle arrived at breakfast the next morn-ww ing, she discovered

that neither Emma nor Alex were up yet. This was

rather surprising because Emma tended to be something of a morning

person. Belle guessed that Alex was keeping her

abed for his own purposes and wondered if a woman could get pregnant