Dancing at Midnight Read Online Free PDF Page A

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