Dancing at Midnight

by Julia Quinn

  Neither woman really needed new clothing after their last outing, but the holiday season was approaching, so they browsed through trinket shops, looking for gifts. Belle found an odd little telescope for her brother and a lovely music box for her mother, but she couldn’t stop her heart from wishing that it were John for whom she was shopping. She sighed. She would just have to believe mat all would work out in the end. She couldn’t let herself believe anything else. It would simply be too painful.

  It was probably because she was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the two rather unsavory looking characters lurking in an alleyway as she passed by. Before she realized what was happening, one of them had grabbed her arm and started pulling her deeper into the alley.

  Belle yelled out and fought with all her might. The thug had pulled her far enough into the alley so that the passersby on the main street did not see her. And London had grown so loud, it was understandable that no one paid her cries any mind. “Let go of me, you cur,” she cried out. Her arm felt as if it were being torn from the socket, but she blocked out the pain, intent only on escape.

  “She’s the one, I tell ya,” she heard one of the villains say. “She’s the one the fancy cove wanted.”

  “Shut up and get ’er over here.” The other man stepped forward and Belle’s terror increased tenfold. There was no way she’d be able to hold out against the strength of both of these men.

  But just when it seemed that all was lost, salvation came in the unlikely form of Persephone. She had been distracted by a particularly attractive window display when Belle had disappeared into the alleyway and was quite baffled when she looked back up and her charge was gone. When she called out Belle’s name and got no response, she grew worried and began to look about frantically.

  “Belle?” she called out again, this time loudly. She scurried forward, her head turning in all directions. Then, as she was passing the alleyway, she saw a blur of movement and Belle’s familiar blond hair.

  “Good God!” she screamed, loud enough to make most of the people on the sidewalk stop and stare. “Let go of her, you beasts!” She rushed forward, raising her parasol above her head. “Let go, I tell you!” With a furious whack, she slammed her weapon down on the head of one of the assailants.

  “Shut up, you old bitch!” he yelled, howling in pain.

  Persephone’s response was a horizontal swing which clipped him neatly in the middle. The breath knocked out of him, he fell to the ground.

  The other thug was caught between utter panic and sheer greed, lusting after the money he’d been promised if he captured the yellow-haired lady. He gave it one last desperate try, barely aware that a number of people had rushed into the alleyway upon hearing Persephone’s cries of distress.

  “I said let go of her!” Persephone boomed. She changed her attack tactics and started viciously poking him with the end of her parasol. When she stabbed him neatly in the groin, he finally let go of Belle and ran away, painfully hunched over the entire way.

  “Persephone, thank you so much,” Belle said, tears of terror belatedly forming in her eyes.

  But Persephone wasn’t listening. All of her attention was focused on the man still lying on the ground. He made a motion as if to get up, but she jabbed him in the belly. “Not so fast, mister,” she said.

  Belle’s eyes widened. Who would have dreamed that dear old Persephone would have such a tough streak?

  The villain saw the growing crowd of people forming around him and closed his eyes, surmising that escape was impossible. Much to Belle’s relief, a constable quickly arrived on the scene, and she relayed her story to him. He started to question her attacker, but the man remained closemouthed. That is, until the constable reminded him of the possible punishments for attacking a lady of Belle’s position.

  The man sang like a canary.

  He’d been hired to grab her. Yes, just her. No, not any pretty blond lady, this one in particular. The gentleman who had hired him spoke with uppity accents—definitely highborn. No, he didn’t know his name, and he hadn’t seen him before, but he had straight blond hair and blue eyes, if that helped any, and his arm was in a sling.

  After finishing the interrogation, the constable hauled him away and told Belle to be extra careful. Maybe she ought to hire one of those Bow Street Runners for added protection.

  Belle shivered with fear. She had an enemy. One who probably wanted her dead.

  As the crowd began to disperse, Persephone turned to her and asked solicitously, “Are you all right, dear?”

  “Yes, yes,” Belle replied. “I’m fine.” Her eyes strayed down to her arm where that awful man had grabbed her. There had been a dress and a coat between her skin and his, but still she felt dirty. “I think, however, I’d like a bath.”

  Persephone nodded. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  Late the next morning a footman brought Belle a reply from Emma.

  Dearest Belle,

  I cannot imagine why you suddenly want to learn how to climb trees since you never professed any love for it when we were small.

  The first step is to find a tree with some reasonably low branches. If you cannot reach the first branch, you’ll never get anywhere...

  The letter continued for two pages. Emma was nothing if not detailed. She was also a little suspicious, as the end of the letter showed.

  I hope you find this helpful, although I must say I wonder where you are going to climb trees in London. I profess that I think this has something to do with John Blackwood. Love does strange things to women, as I well know. Be careful, whatever you do, and I can only breathe a sigh of relief that I am no longer your chaperone. God save Persephone.

  Fondly,

  Emma

  Belle scoffed. If Emma were still her chaperone, she’d probably insist upon going along with her. Emma had never been known for prudent behavior.

  Belle reread the letter, carefully going over the part about how to climb trees. Was she really going to do this? When she’d stopped outside of Damien’s house and assessed that tree, she hadn’t really thought that she would do anything about it. She wasn’t the sort of daring female who would climb a tree and break into an earl’s house through a third-story window. For one thing, she had no head for heights.

  But, as Emma so wisely pointed out, love did strange things to a woman. That, and danger. Her nasty experience with those two thugs in the alleyway had convinced her that it was time to act decisively.

  Or perhaps rashly was a better word for it.

  Belle shook her head. No matter. She’d made up her mind. She was scared, and she needed John.

  But those thugs did complicate her plans a bit. She couldn’t very well go over to Damien’s house in the middle of the night by herself when someone was out to kidnap her. And Mary, of course, would not be sufficient protection. Persephone and her perilous parasol were another story, but Belle doubted that Persephone would agree to go with her. She might be rather lenient as far as chaperones went, but she would certainly put her foot down at Belle breaking into a man’s room.

  What to do, what to do?

  Belle smiled mischievously.

  She picked up a quill and wrote a note to Dunford.

  “Absolutely not!”

  “Don’t be stodgy, Dunford,” Belle said. “I need your help.”

  “You don’t need help, you need a harness. And I’m not being stodgy, I’m being a sensible. A word of which you appear to have forgotten the meaning.”

  Belle stubbornly crossed her arms and sank back into her chair. Dunford was up and pacing, his arms flying as he spoke. She’d never seen him so out of sorts.

  “This is a damn fool thing you’re thinking of, Belle. If you don’t break your neck—and that’s a pretty big If, considering that all of your tree-climbing experience can be located in a letter from your cousin—you’ll probably be arrested for t
respassing.”

  “I won’t be arrested.”

  “Oh, really? And how do you know that you’ll just happen to tumble into the correct room? With your luck you’ll end up in the earl’s bedroom. And I’ve been watching him watching you. I think he’d appreciate his good fortune.”

  “He would not. He knows I’m interested in his brother. And I’m not going to ‘tumble into his bedroom’ as you so delicately put it. I know which room is John’s.”

  “I’m not even going to ask how you know that.”

  It was on the tip of Belle’s tongue to defend her reputation, but she kept silent instead. If Dunford thought that she’d already been in John’s bedroom he might be less reluctant to help her get there again.

  “Look, Belle, my answer is still no. Absolutely not! With three exclamation points,” he added.

  “If you were my friend...” Belle muttered.

  “Exactly. I am your friend for not letting you do this. An amazingly good friend. There is nothing you could say that will make me help you.”

  Belle rose. “Well, thank you, then, Dunford. I had hoped for your assistance, but I see that I’m just going to have to go about this alone.”

  Dunford groaned. “Except that. Belle, you really wouldn’t go over there by yourself.”

  “I don’t have any choice. My need to see him is most urgent, and he won’t receive me. I suppose I’ll hire a hack to take me the short distance from here to there so I won’t have to walk alone so late at night, but—”

  “All right, all right,” Dunford conceded with an exasperated expression. “I’ll help you, but I want you to know that I completely disapprove.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ve made that quite clear.”

  Dunford sank into a chair and his eyes closed in mental agony. “God help us,” he groaned. “God help us all.”

  Belle smiled. “Oh, I think He will.”

  Chapter 15

  “Where on earth did you come up with a crazy idea like this, anyway?”

  “No matter.” Belle glanced over at her reluctant partner in crime. Dunford was not at all pleased to be standing next to her in front of John’s brother’s house at three in the morning, and he certainly had no qualms about showing his ire.

  He scowled as he gave her a leg up into the tree. “I’m not leaving until I see you depart from this house. Preferably through the front door.”

  Belle didn’t look down at him as she grabbed the first branch. “I wish you would. There’s no telling how long I might be inside.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about.”

  “Dunford, even if he detested me, John would insist upon seeing me home. That’s just the sort of man he is. You needn’t worry about my welfare when I’m with him.”

  “Perhaps, but what about your reputation?”

  “Well, that’s my problem, isn’t it?” Belle hoisted herself up onto the next branch. “This is much easier than it looks. Have you ever climbed a tree, Dunford?”

  “Of course I have,” he replied in an irritated voice. She was now even with the second-story windows. Not for the first time, he cursed himself for letting her talk him into this insane scheme. But then again, if he didn’t help her, she’d probably have come alone, which was even more insane. He’d never seen Belle like this before. For her sake, he hoped this Blackwood fellow felt the same way about her.

  “I’m almost there, Dunford,” she called out softly, testing the sturdiness of the branch which would have to bear her weight as she moved horizontally toward the window. “Will you promise me that you’ll leave once I’m inside?”

  “I’ll promise no such thing.”

  “Please,” she pleaded. “You’ll freeze out here.”

  “I’ll leave only if Blackwood comes to the window and gives me his word as a gentleman that he’ll see you safely home.” Dunford sighed to himself. He’d not be able to protect Belle’s virtue—if there was anything left to protect, which he sincerely hoped there was—but at least he could make sure she got home safely.

  “All right,” she agreed, and started inching her way along the thick branch toward the window. After about three seconds on her hands and knees, a better idea offered itself to her, and she straddled the branch, thankful for the breeches she had swiped out of her brother’s closet. Using her arms for support, she slowly pushed her way along. When she reached the window, the branch sagged perilously, and Belle quickly climbed onto the wide ledge. Below her she could hear Dunford’s footsteps as he scurried toward the building, obviously certain that he was going to have to catch her as she plunged toward the ground.

  “I’m fine,” she called out softly. She started to push the window up.

  John was awakened by the sound of the window scraping against its frame. Years of soldiering had left him a very light sleeper, and the recent attack against his life had honed his senses even further. With one fluid motion he grabbed his pistol from his nightstand, rolled onto the floor, and crouched next to the bed, his leg screaming against the sudden movement. When he realized that the intruder was having a bit of trouble getting the window open, he took advantage of the delay and grabbed his dressing gown. His back to the wall, he made his way around the perimeter of the room until he was standing right next to the window. He would not be surprised this time.

  With considerable exertion Belle managed to hoist the window up. Once there was enough space for her to squeeze through, she waved down at Dunford and wormed her way in.

  The minute her feet touched the floor, a steely arm grabbed her from behind, and she felt the cold butt of a pistol pressed up against her neck. Fear froze her body and her mind, and she went stiff as a board.

  “All right,” she heard a furious voice behind her hiss. “Start talking. I want to know who you are and what you want with me.”

  “John?” Belle croaked.

  She was instantly spun around. “Belle?”

  She nodded.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  She swallowed nervously. “Could you put the gun down?”

  John realized that he was still holding his weapon and dropped it on a nearby table. “For the love of God, Belle, I could’ve killed you.”

  She managed a tremulous smile. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  He raked a hand through his thick hair and then finally took a good look at her. She was dressed in black from head to toe. Her bright hair, which would have undoubtedly glowed in the moonlight, was stuffed under a cap, and the rest of her appeared to be stuffed into a pair of men’s breeches. Or rather, a pair of boy’s breeches. Her shapely form was shown off quite nicely by her unconventional attire, and he doubted that there were men’s breeches small enough to compliment her backside so delightfully.

  “What are you wearing?” He sighed.

  “Do you like it?” Belle smiled at him, determined to brazen this out. She pulled the cap from her head, allowing the mass of her hair to tumble down her back. “I got the idea from Emma. From something she did once. She, umm, dressed as a boy, and—”

  “Spare me the story. I’m sure Ashbourne was as furious as I am now.”

  “I think he was. I wasn’t there. But the next day—”

  “Enough!” He held up a hand. “How in hell did you get up here?”

  “I climbed the tree.”

  “Where’d you get a damn fool idea like that?”

  “Do you have to ask?”

  John shot her a look which told her that he was not amused at having his own behavior thrown back at him. “You could have broken your neck, woman.”

  “You didn’t leave me much choice.” She reached forward to place her hand on his arm.

  John jerked back. “Don’t touch me. I can’t think when you touch me.”

  That was encouraging, Belle thought, and reached forward again.

  “I said stop it! Can’t you see I’m furious with you?”

  “For what? For taking a risk in coming up
here to see you? This wouldn’t have been necessary if you hadn’t been such an addlebrained idiot and refused to see me.”

  “I had a very good reason for refusing to see you,” John snapped.

  “Oh, really? And what was that?”

  “None of your damned business.”

  “I can see you’re just as childish as ever,” Belle sneered. “Ouch!” She jumped back as a rock hit her in her arm.

  “What was that?” John hissed, grabbing his gun again and pulling her back from the window.

  “When did you grow so paranoid? It’s only Dunford, growing irritated at me, no doubt, for waiting so long to tell him that I made it in safely.” Belle wriggled from his grasp and moved to the open window. Dunford was looking up at her. She couldn’t see his face clearly, but she knew that concern was etched into his expression.

  “I’m fine, Dunford,” she called down.

  “Is he going to see you home?”

  “Yes, fine. Don’t worry.”

  “I want to hear it from him.”

  “Stubborn man,” Belle muttered. “Umm, John? Dunford won’t leave until you give him your word that you’ll see me home safely.”

  John scowled and crossed over to the window. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I’d have liked to have seen you stop her,” Dunford growled back. “Are you going to escort her home or do I have to remain here and—”

  “You know damned well I will, and the two of us are having a talk tomorrow. You’re either stupid or drunk or both to let her—”

  “Let her? Let her? Oh, Blackwood, you’re going to have a fine time of it as her husband. I didn’t let her do anything. Napoleon himself couldn’t have stopped her. I wish you the best of luck. You’re going to need it.” Dunford spun on his heel and walked back to the carriage he’d left a block away.

  John turned back to Belle. “You’d better have a very good reason for pulling a stunt like this.”