hat are you doing here?” Belle gasped. “Would you put that thing down!”

Belle finally lowered the candlestick and offered John her hand. He took it and got to his feet. “What are you doing here?” she repeated, her heart starting to flutter strangely at the sight of him in her bedroom.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Well, he might be here to kidnap her and spirit her away to Gretna Green, or he might be here to ravish her, or he might just be here to say hello. “No,” she said slowly. “It isn’t obvious.”

“Do you realize that in the past week I have seen you four times with Persephone, twice with my brother, once with your chum Dunford, and thrice at social functions where I’m allowed to talk with you only in the presence of women over the age of sixty?”

Belle bit back a smile. “We’ve had some time together here when you’ve come to call.”

“I don’t count it as being alone when I must worry about Miss Lemon Tree barging in at any moment.”

His expression was so petulant that Belle had a vision of him as an eight-year-old stamping his foot at some horrid injustice. “Now, now,” she chuckled. “Persephone’s not that bad.”

“She’s supreme as far as chaperones go, but that doesn’t eliminate the fact that she’s got bloody repellent timing. I’m damned near afraid to kiss you half the time.”

“I hadn’t noticed any decline in the frequency of your attempts.”

John shot her a look which said he did not entirely appreciate her humor. “All I’m saying is that I’m damned sick and tired of sharing you.”

“Oh.” Belle thought that was just about the sweetest thing she had ever heard.

“I just climbed up a tree, shimmied along an unsteady branch, and then vaulted through a window at an extremely unsafe height. All, might I add, with a bum leg,” John said, pulling off his gloves and brushing himself off. “Just to be alone with you.”

Belle swallowed as she stared at him, dimly registering the fact that he had actually referred to his injury without bitterness or despair.

“You wanted a romantic proposal,” he continued. “Believe me, I’m never going to get more romantic than this.” Out of his pocket he pulled a crumpled, red rose.

“Will you marry me?”

Overcome with emotion, Belle blinked away the tears pooling in her eyes. She opened her mouth but no words came out.

John stepped forward and took both of her hands in his. “Please,” he said, and that single word held such promise that Belle started nodding furiously.

“Yes, oh yes!” She threw herself in his arms and buried her face in his chest.

John held her tightly for several minutes, savoring the feel of her warm body next to his. “I should have asked you so long ago,” he murmured into her hair. “Back at Westonbirt. I tried so hard to push you away.”

“But why?”

His throat tightened.

“John, are you ill? You look as if you’ve eaten something that’s gone off.”

“No, Belle, I—” He fought for words. He wouldn’t deceive her. He wouldn’t enter into a marriage based upon lies. “When I told you that I wasn’t the man you thought I was—”

“I remember,” she interrupted. “And I still don’t understand what you mean. I—”

“Hush.” He placed his finger on her lips. “There is something in my past I must tell you about. It was during the war.”

Wordlessly, she took his hand and led him to her bed. She sat and motioned him to do likewise, but he was far too restless.

He turned abruptly and strode over to the window, bracing himself against the sill. “A girl was raped,” he blurted out, thankful that he couldn’t see her expression. “It was my fault.”

Belle paled. “Wh-what do you mean?”

John recounted the details, finishing with, “That’s how it happened. At least that’s how I remember it. I was drunk.” He let out a short, hollow laugh.

“John, it wasn’t your fault.” Her words were soft, but they were filled with love and faith.

He didn’t turn around. “You weren’t there.”

“I know you. You wouldn’t have let something like this happen if you could have prevented it.”

He whirled to face her. “Weren’t you listening to me? I was drunk. If I’d had my wits about me I would have been able to fulfil my promise to Ana’s mother.”

“He would have found a way to get to her. You couldn’t have guarded the girl every minute of the day.”

“I could have— I—” He broke off. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Belle stood and crossed the room, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Perhaps you should.”

“No,” he said quickly. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it. I—” He choked on his words. “Will you still have me?”

“How can you even ask?” she whispered. “I lo—” She stopped, too scared of upsetting the precious balance they’d achieved to voice her true feelings. “I care for you so much. I know what a good and honorable man you are, even if you don’t.”

He reached for her, pulling her roughly into his arms. He clung to her, covering her face with kisses. “Oh, Belle, I need you so much. I don’t know how I survived without you.”

“And I you.”

“You are such a treasure, Belle. Such a gift to me.” He suddenly whirled her around, spinning her in a dazzling waltz. They twirled about, turning circle after circle until they both collapsed on the bed, laughing and out of breath.

“Look at me,” John gasped. “I cannot remember the last time I allowed myself to be so happy. I smile all day long without knowing why. I climbed a bloody tree, vaulted through your window, and here I am—laughing.” He jumped to his feet, pulling her along with him. “It’s the middle of the night, and yet here I am with you. Dancing at midnight, holding perfection in my arms.”

“Oh, John,” she sighed, unable to think of any words to express her feelings.

He touched her chin with his fingers and drew her closer, ever closer.

Belle’s breath caught in her throat as his lips swooped down to claim her own. The kiss was different than any other they had shared. There was a fierceness to it that hadn’t been there before, a sense of ownership. And Belle had to admit that this possessiveness was not one-sided. The way she kissed him with all her passion, clutched at the sinewy muscles of his back—all this was meant to show him that he belonged to no one but her.

John’s hands roamed down her back, spreading warmth through the thin material of her nightgown. He strayed down to her bottom and cupped it, pulling her tightly to him so that she could feel the hard, physical evidence of his desire. “Do you realize how much I want you?” he rasped. “Do you?”

Belle couldn’t speak, for his lips had covered her own. She couldn’t nod because one of his hands had stolen back up to her thick hair and was holding her head immobile. She responded in the only way she could, which was to reach around to his buttocks and pull him even closer to her. A harsh moan was his answer, and Belle felt a feminine thrill at her power over him.

He sank to his knees, his lips burning a hot path through her nightgown, descending through the valley between her breasts and settling over her navel.

“John?” she asked breathily. “What…?”

“Shhh, just let me take care of everything.” He sank down even lower, until his hands could wrap around her ankles. “So soft,” he murmured. “Your skin is like moonlight.”

“Moonlight?” she said in a strangled voice. The powerful sensations streaking through her body had rendered her voice barely usable.

“Soft and gentle, yet with a touch of mystery.” His hands made the slow trip up her calves, pushing her nightgown up along with them. When he was halfway up, he twisted around her to deposit twin kisses on the backs of her knees. Belle cried out and nearly fell over, and she had to clutch on to his head for support.

“You like that, do you? I’ll have to remember that.” He continued moving upward, marveling at the delicate skin of her thighs. With a devilish laugh, he darted his head under the now rather high hem of her nightgown and planted a kiss in the crook between her leg and her hip.

Belle thought she might faint.

The nightgown moved even higher, past her hips, and Belle felt a vague relief that he had moved from her thighs straight to her stomach, bypassing her most private area.

As John pushed the material further, he rose to his feet, pausing briefly before he bared her breasts. “Did I remember to tell you the other day that they’re perfect?” he murmured huskily into her ear.

Belle shook her head mutely.

“Round and ripe with two precious pink buds. I could suckle at them all day.”

“Oh God.” Belle’s knees went completely and totally weak again.

“I’m not done yet, love.” He held the hem of her gown just below her breasts and then pressed it to her skin. As he lifted it up, Belle could feel the pressure traveling up the underside of her breasts. Spasms of pleasure shot through her as the hem caught her nipples and then freed them with a bounce. And then before she knew it, she was completely naked, her skin glowing soft and white in the dim light of the candles.

John sucked in his breath. “Never in my life have I seen a sight so glorious,” he whispered reverently.

Belle flushed with delight at his words, and then all of a sudden she seemed to realize that she had on not a stitch. “Oh my God,” she croaked. Shyness swept over her like a cool wind, and her hands snaked forward to cover herself.

As best she could.

Which wasn’t, after all, very well.

John chuckled and lifted her into his arms. “You, love, are perfect. You shouldn’t feel ashamed.”

“I’m not,” she replied softly. “Not with you. It’s just very strange. I’m not…used to this.”

“I should hope not.” He pushed the books off of her bed and laid her down on the soft white sheets. Belle stopped breathing momentarily as she watched him begin to undress. His shirt came first, baring a firmly muscled chest that spoke of years of hard exercise. The sight of him caused warm, tingly feelings to pool in her belly. Without thinking she reached a hand out, even though he was much too far away to touch.

John both smiled and groaned at her curiosity. It was getting harder and harder for him to maintain his control, especially when she was lying there looking up at him with huge blue eyes. He sat down on the edge of the bed and yanked off his boots, then stood up again to peel off his breeches.

Belle gasped when she saw his manhood, huge and…no this wasn’t going to work. He must be bigger than normal, or maybe she was smaller than normal, but—she gasped again.

His knee.

“Dear God,” she whispered. It was covered with scars, and it looked as if a large chunk of flesh had been removed from just above the joint. The taut skin was discolored and without hair, its mere presence an angry reminder of the horrors of war.

John’s mouth twisted. “You don’t have to look at it.”

Belle’s gaze shot quickly up to his face. “It’s not that,” she assured him. “It’s not ugly at all.” And to prove her point, she slid out of bed and knelt before him to kiss the scars. “It makes me sick to think of how this must have hurt you,” she whispered. “And how close you came to losing your leg. You’re so vital, so strong. I can’t imagine what that would have done to you.” She began to kiss him again, raining a soft stream of love onto his skin.

Emotions John had never expected to feel, never dreamed he could feel, surged powerfully within him, and he pulled her roughly to her feet. “Oh God, Belle,” he rasped. “I want you so much.”

They tumbled onto the bed, landing so that John’s hard frame covered hers. The breath was squeezed from Belle’s body, yet the weight of him was glorious, unlike anything she’d ever experienced. He kissed her and kissed her until she was certain she would melt, and then suddenly he lifted his head and looked deeply into her eyes.

“I’m going to pleasure you first,” he said. “So you know that there is nothing to fear, that there is only beauty and wonder.”

“I’m not afraid,” she whispered. Then she remembered how large he had looked. “Well, maybe a little nervous.”

John smiled reassuringly. “I haven’t any experience with innocents, but I want this to be perfect for you. I think it might be easier if I give you release first.”

Belle had no idea what he was talking about, but she nodded anyway. “You sound as if you’ve given this considerable thought.”

“Believe me,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve thought of little else.” His hand gently slid down the length of her body.

She reached up, touched his cheek, and softly said, “I trust you.”

John brushed his lips against hers to distract her when his fingers sought out her very essence. She’d be nervous, and he didn’t want it to be too much of a shock.

It was. She nearly flew off the bed. “Are you sure this is what you’re supposed to be doing?” she asked breathlessly.

“I’m sure.”

And then his mouth joined his fingers. Belle was certain that she’d died. Nothing could possibly feel that wicked…or that good.

“Oh John!” she gasped, unable to stop her soul from spiraling out of control. “I don’t think…I can’t…”

And then she did. It felt as if every nerve ending in her body suddenly converged in her abdomen. She tensed, then exploded. It took her several minutes to float back down to earth, and all she could say was, “Merciful heavens.”

She heard John laugh, and when she opened her eyes saw that he was looking down at her with an amused expression. He leaned down and kissed her nose.

“Was that normal?” she asked in a small voice.

He nodded. “Better.”

“Really?”

He nodded again.

“Did you…?” She let her words trail off. She was new to this and hadn’t much idea how to go about it.

He shook his head gently. “When I find my release you’ll know it.”

“Will it be as good as what I…?” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

John’s eyes darkened with desire, and he nodded.

“Good.” Belle sighed. “I wouldn’t like it if you didn’t feel as good as I do. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to cuddle up against you for a minute or two.”

His straining manhood disagreed with his words, but John said, “There is nothing I’d rather do.”

He’d only held her in his arms for a few seconds when they heard an awful noise.

Persephone’s voice.

There was a knock at the door. “Oh Belle?” she said in a stage whisper. “Belle?”

Belle shot up straight. “Persephone?”

“May I come in for a moment?”

Panic gripped her. “Uh, just one moment!” Thank God her door was locked. “Hide!” she hissed at John.

“I’m trying,” he hissed back. He hopped out of the bed, cursing the cold night air. He gathered up his clothes, praying he’d got them all, and stumbled into her dressing room.

Belle grabbed her dressing gown, covered herself, and went to the door. She turned the key and opened it, marveling that her quivering legs were actually holding her upright. “Good evening, Persephone.”

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I couldn’t sleep, and I knew that you had gone to the bookshop today. I was wondering if I could borrow something to read.”

“Of course.” Belle rushed back into the room and gathered up some of the books. “It’s all poetry, but I’m done with it for the evening.”

Persephone noticed Belle’s bare calves peeking out from under her dressing gown and said, “Don’t you wear a nightgown?”

Belle blushed and silently thanked the dark cloak of night for hiding her embarrassment. “I was hot.”

“I can’t imagine why. The window is wide open. You’ll catch a chill.”

“I don’t think so.” Belle thrust the books into Persephone’s arms.

“Thank you.” Persephone wrinkled her nose and sniffed. “What is that smell? It’s most peculiar.”

Belle prayed that Persephone’s maiden aunt status was entirely accurate because the room reeked of lovemaking. One could only hope that she wouldn’t recognize the smell. “Umm, I think it’s coming in from outside.”

“Well, I can’t imagine what it is, but you ought to remember to shut the window before you go to sleep. And if you’d like I could give you some of my violet-scented perfume. I’m sure that smell will go away if you spray a bit of it around.”

“Perhaps in the morning.” Belle led the way back to the door.

“Good night, then. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night.” Belle shut the door and locked it quickly, leaning back against it with a sigh.

The door to the dressing room swung open. John emerged, his upper body tangling in Belle’s dresses. “Good God, woman, you have a lot of frocks.”

Belle ignored him. “I was so scared.”

“And I felt damned foolish. I’m warning you, I’m not going to put up with this for long.” He viciously thrust his bad leg into his breeches.

“You’re not?” Belle asked weakly.

“Not a chance. I’m a grown man. I’ve fought a bloody war, nearly got my leg shot off, played the market for five years and amassed enough money to purchase a damned house. Do you think I like creeping around in closets?”

Belle didn’t really think that a reply was necessary.

“Well, I don’t, I tell you. I don’t like it at all.” He sat down in a nearby chair so that he could put his good leg into his breeches. Belle surmised that his injured leg wasn’t quite strong enough to hold him up for long.

“And I’ll tell you something else,” he added, working himself up into a fine bout of annoyance. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re mine. Do you understand that? And I don’t like being made to feel like a thief for enjoying what is mine.”

“What are you going to do?”

He grabbed his shirt. “I’m going to marry you right away. And then I’m going to take you back to Bletchford Manor and toss you into bed and keep you there for a week. All without having to worry about Miss Lemon Tree barging in to spoil the mood.”

“You really need to find a new name for your home.”

“Our home,” he corrected, scowling at her attempt to change the subject. “And I’ve been too busy chasing after you to give the matter much thought.”

“I’ll help you.” Belle smiled. He loved her. He might not have said as much, but it was right there in his eyes.

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to jump back out your window, slide down that tree, return to Damien’s, and get some sleep. Then I’ve got to see about getting a special license.”

“A special license?”

“I’m not putting up with this nonsense any longer than I have to. With any luck we’ll be married by the end of the week.”

“By the end of the week?” Belle echoed. “Are you mad? I can’t get married this week. I can’t even get officially engaged until my parents return.”

John groaned as he picked up his boots and uttered a curse which was completely unfamiliar to Belle. “When are they getting back?” he asked in a very low voice.

“I’m not certain.”

“Would it be possible for you to offer an estimate?”

“No more than a couple of weeks, I would imagine.” Belle forbore to point out that they would have to wait at least another month or two after her parents returned before they could actually marry. Her mother would insist upon a large wedding. Of that she was certain.

John swore again. “If they’re not home within a fortnight Alex can give you away. Or call your brother down from Oxford. I don’t care which.”

“But—”

“No buts. If your parents ask questions, you can simply tell them that we had to get married.”

Belle swallowed and nodded. What else could she do? “I lo…” She lost her courage, and the rest of the sentence remained on her tongue.

He turned around. “Yes?”

“I—nothing. Be careful getting down that tree. It’s rather tall.”

“Three stories, to be precise.”

His wry grin was infectious, and Belle felt the corners of her mouth tugging up as she followed him to the window.

He leaned down and murmured, “A kiss goodbye.” His lips touched hers in one last, passionate caress.

Belle barely had time to kiss him back before he moved away, pulled on his gloves, and disappeared outside. She rushed to the window and looked out, watching him with a smile as he made his way down the tree.

“He could have just gone out the door,” she muttered to herself. “Persephone’s room is in the opposite direction.” Oh well, it was more fun this way, and certainly more romantic. As long as he didn’t break his fool neck on the way down. Belle leaned out the window a little further and sighed with relief when she saw his feet touch the ground. He leaned down to rub his bad knee, and she winced in sympathy.

She watched him until he disappeared from sight, leaning against the windowsill with a dreamy expression on her face. London could be beautiful on ocassion, she mused. Like now, with its deserted streets, and—

A movement caught her eye. Was that a man? It was hard to tell. Briefly she wondered what someone would be doing up and about and on foot this time of night.

She giggled. Maybe all of London’s gentlemen had decided to do some unconventional courting that evening.

Taking a deep breath, she shut the window and made her way back to bed. It was only when she was snuggled up under her mountain of covers that she remembered that he had never found his fulfillment.

She smiled wryly. No wonder he was so cranky.

John made his way back to his brother’s house, his hand on his pistol the entire time. London was getting more and more dangerous these days, and one really couldn’t be too careful. Still, he hadn’t wanted to bring a carriage by Belle’s house. Someone might have seen it, and he didn’t want her subject to any vicious rumors. Besides, it was only a few short blocks to Damien’s home. It seemed that all of the ton was squeezed into one tiny section of London. He doubted that most of them knew that the city continued past the borders of Grosvenor Square.

He was about halfway home when he heard footsteps.

He turned around. Was someone behind him?

Nothing but shadows. He continued on his way. Surely he’d imagined it. He was still paranoid from the war, when every sound could mean death.

He turned the last corner when he heard the footsteps again. And then a bullet whined past his ear. “What the hell?”

Another bullet whizzed by, this one grazing his arm and drawing blood. He whipped out his pistol and spun around. He saw a shadowy figure across the street, furiously reloading a gun. John lost no time in firing, and the villain went down as he took a bullet in the shoulder.

Damn! His aim was off. Gun still in hand, he started after his would-be assassin. The man saw him coming, grabbed his shoulder, and got to his feet. He shot John an apprehensive look, but his face was covered by a half-mask, so John had no way of recognizing him. With one last fleeting glance, the villain rushed off.

As John made his way across the street, he cursed his leg for slowing him down. Never had he been so furious at the fates for maiming him this way. There was no way he’d be able to catch up with his attacker. Accepting defeat, John sighed and turned around. This was trouble.

And he had no right dragging Belle into it.

His hand strayed to his arm as he finally realized that he was bleeding. He could barely feel the pain, however. His fury blocked out all other feeling. Someone was after him, and he didn’t know why. Some lunatic was sending him cryptic notes and wanted him dead.

And whoever it was, he probably wouldn’t hesitate to involve Belle if he realized how much she meant to John. And if he had been following him at all during the past week, he would know that John had spent every free minute in her company.

John swore as he mounted the front steps to Damien’s house. He would not put Belle in danger, even if that meant he had to postpone his marriage plans.

Bloody hell.