"Do you think so?"
Belle took John's hand and rose. "You should take it as a compliment. It means Emma likes you."
"And do you like me, Belle?"
There was a long pause, followed by a decisive, "No."
"I suppose that I deserve no better." He allowed her hand to drop back to her side.
She whirled around. "No, you don't. I cannot believe you even had the nerve to come over here to dine tonight."
"I was invited, if you recall."
"You should have declined. You should have sent word that you were ill, or that your mother was ill, or your dog or your horse or anything to avoid accepting the invitation."
He had nothing to say other than, "You are, of course, correct."
"You just don't-You don't kiss someone and then speak to her the way you did to me. It isn't polite. It isn't nice, and-"
"And you are always nice?"
His voice wasn't the least bit mocking, which confused her. "I try to be. Lord knows I tried to be nice to you."
He inclined his head. "You certainly did."
"I-" She broke off and looked up at him. "Aren't you even going to argue with me?"
He lifted his shoulder in a tired gesture. "What would be the point? You are obviously in the right, and I, as usual, am in the wrong."
Belle stared at him incomprehensibly, her lips parted in amazement. "I don't understand you."
"It is most likely for the best that you don't even try. I apologize, of course, for my behavior this morning. It was unpardonable."
"The kiss or your horrid words afterward?" The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them.
"Both."
"I accept your apology for your insults."
"And the kiss?"
Belle kept her eyes fixed on the crescent moon which shone through the window. "There is no need to apologize for the kiss."
John's heart slammed into his chest. "I am not sure I understand your meaning, my lady," he said cautiously.
"I only have one question." Belle tore her gaze away from the moon and forced herself to look at him. "Did I do something wrong? Something to offend you?"
John let out a harsh laugh, unable to believe his ears. "Oh God, Belle, if you only knew." He raked his fingers through his hair and then planted his hands on his hips. "You couldn't offend me if you tried."
A hundred conflicting emotions raced through Belle's heart and mind in the space of one second. Against her better judgment, she touched his arm. "Then what happened? I need to know."
John took a ragged breath before he faced her. "Do you really want the truth?"
She nodded.
He opened his mouth, but it was several seconds before his lips formed words. "I'm not the man you think I am. I've seen things…" He closed his mouth, a muscle working violently in his throat as he fought to control the emotions playing across his face. "I've done things. These hands…" He looked down at his hands as if they were foreign objects. His voice dropped down to a low whisper. "I'm a greedy bastard, Belle, just for kissing you this morning. I'm not fit even to touch you."
Belle stared at him, horrified by the pain etched on his face. How could he not see what was so clear to her? There was something within him. Something so good… It seemed to glow from his very soul. And he thought that he was worthless. She didn't know what had happened to make him so, but his pain devastated her. She took a step forward. "You're wrong."
"Belle," he whispered, "you're a fool."
Wordlessly, she shook her head.
John looked deeply into her eyes, and heaven help him but he couldn't stop the slow descent of his lips down onto hers.
For the second time that day, Belle felt that unfamiliar rush of desire as her body swayed closer to his. His mouth brushed gently against hers, and Belle daringly ran her tongue along the soft skin of his inner lip, just as he had done to her that morning. John's reaction was instantaneous, and he pulled her roughly toward him, needing to feel the heat of her body pressed up against his.
The intimate contact set off an alarm in Belle's mind, and she gently pulled herself away from him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and there were considerably more wisps of hair framing her face than there had been just a few moments earlier. "Alex and Emma are expecting us in the dining room," she reminded him breathlessly. "We're going to be quite late."
John closed his eyes and exhaled, mentally willing his body to cool down. After a moment he offered her his arm, quirking his mouth into a lopsided smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "We shall blame our tardiness on my leg."
Belle felt an immediate rush of sympathy for him. He was a proud man and wouldn't like to admit that his injury slowed him down. "Oh, no, that's not necessary. Emma is forever complaining that I walk too slowly. I shall simply tell them that I was showing you one of the paintings in the gallery. Alex has a marvelous Rembrandt."
John placed his forefinger against her lips. "Shush, we'll blame it on my leg. It's about time I got some benefit from this damned thing."
They exited the parlor, and Belle noticed that he moved quite quickly through the long halls to the dining room. "Tell me when we're almost there," he whispered in her ear.
"It's just around the corner."
John slowed down so much that Belle thought they'd stopped. When she glanced down at his legs, she noticed that he was limping far more noticeably than usual. "You're terrible," she scolded. "I know you can bend your leg more than that."