The butler entered with quick and silent efficiency and informed John that his belongings had been removed to a guest chamber upstairs. Still in a daze, John followed the butler to his room, where he proceeded to lie on the bed, stare at the ceiling, and let fury take over his entire being.
His brother? His brother? He'd never dreamed that Belle had this kind of malicious streak. He willed himself to clear his mind of her; he was getting far too upset, and she obviously wasn't worth it.
He wasn't successful. Every time he managed to steer his thoughts to food or horses or anything neutral, a familiar blond head and bright smile intervened. Then the smile melted into a sneer as he watched her cavort off with his brother.
Damn that woman!
When it was time to get ready for the party, John dressed with exceptional care in evening clothes of stark black relieved only by the crisp whiteness of his shirt and cravat. He and his brother exchanged polite conversation in the carriage, but John was much too preoccupied by the thought of seeing Belle again to pay very much attention to Damien. He didn't fault his brother for falling for her; he was only too familiar with her charms. But he was furious with Belle for deliberately seeking out such a vicious revenge against him.
When they arrived at the Forthright mansion, John allowed the butler to relieve him of his great coat and immediately scanned the room for Belle. She was over by the corner, animatedly talking to a tall, handsome man with dark hair and eyes. She had certainly been busy in the two weeks since their last meeting, he thought bitterly. Damien's attention was immediately captured by a friend of his, and since their hostess was nowhere to be found, John managed to avoid long, belabored introductions. He made his way over to Belle, willing himself to keep his raging anger in check. When he was just behind her, he said, "Good evening, Lady Arabella," not quite trusting himself to say anything more.
Belle whirled around, so excited to see him that she missed the coldness in his voice. "John!" she said breathlessly, her eyes lighting up with unconcealed happiness. "What a surprise." He had come. He had come. Relief and joy washed over her, then were replaced by irritation. Damn, she hadn't worn that daring blue dress. She'd never dreamed he'd arrive in London so quickly.
"Is it?"
Belle blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Perhaps you should introduce me to your friend." John wanted nothing other than to speak to her alone, but he saw no way to ignore the man at her side.
"Oh, of course," Belle said, stumbling on her words. "Lord Blackwood, this is my good friend Mr. William Dunford."
Dunford smiled at her in a manner that was much too familiar for John's taste. "Didn't know you knew my first name, Belle," he teased.
"Oh, hush, Dunford. Next time I'm going to call you Edward, just to be contrary."
A fresh spurt of jealousy raced through John at Belle and Dunford's familiarity. Nevertheless, he automatically extended his hand. Dunford shook it, murmured a greeting and then politely excused himself. Once Dunford left, however, John allowed his true emotions to come to the surface.
Belle gasped and actually stepped back from the sheer fury she saw radiating from his eyes. "John, what is wrong?"
"How could you, Belle?" he spat out. "How could you?"
She blinked. She had expected jealousy, not this barely leashed rage. "How could I what?"
"Don't play the innocent. It doesn't suit you."
"What are you talking about?" Belle repeated, her voice growing nervous.
He only glared at her.
Then she remembered the lie that Emma had told him in order to get him to come to London. Maybe he thought that she and Dunford… "Is this about Dunford?" she asked quickly. "Because if it is, then there is nothing to worry about. He's quite an old friend of mine, but that is all. He's Alex's best friend, too."
"This isn't about him," John hissed. "It's about my brother."
"Who!"
"You heard me."
"Your brother?"
John nodded curtly.
"I don't even know your brother."
"If you keep up your lies, Belle, they're going to trip you up. And believe me, I'm not going to be around to catch you when you fall."
Belle swallowed. "I think we had better continue this conversation in private." Head held high, she swept out of the room and onto a balcony. By the time she reached her destination, some of her confusion had metamorphosed into anger, and when she turned to face him, her eyes were flashing wildly. "All right then, Lord Blackwood. Now that we are no longer performing before an audience, suppose you tell me just what that little scene was about."
"You are in no position to make demands on me, my lady."
"I assure you, I was not made aware of any such limitations on my behavior."
John seethed. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. Shake her and shake her and shake her and then he… Oh Christ, he wanted to kiss her. But John was not in the habit of kissing people in anger so he simply stared her down and said, "I realize that my behavior toward you has not always been impeccable, but setting your cap after my brother is petty and childish. Not to mention disgusting-he's almost twice your age."
Belle still wasn't certain what precisely he was talking about, but she was in no mood to offer him any explanations so she lifted her chin and replied, "It's quite common for women of the ton to marry older men. I believe women mature faster, and thus we find men our age, or sometimes as much as eight to ten years older "-she said that part quite pointedly-"childish and bothersome."