Read Online Dancing at Midnight by Julia Quinn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Julia Quinn
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even though he was barely
touching her. Belle sighed, sinking into him, knowing
instinctively that he would know what to do, how to make this wondrous
feeling go on forever. She melted against him, her body searching out
the warmth of his. And then he abruptly pulled away, muttering a sharp
curse, his breathing harsh and uneven.
Belle blinked in confusion, not understanding his actions and feeling
utterly bereft. She gulped down her pain and hugged her
legs to her body, hoping that he'd say something kind or funny, or at
least something that would explain his actions. And if he
didn't, she just hoped that he couldn't see how much she was hurting
from his rejection.
John stood up and turned away from her, planting his hands on his hips.
Staring up at him through her eyelashes, Belle thought
that there was something extremely bleak about his stance. Finally, he
turned around and offered her his hand. She took it and rose to her
feet, softly thanking him as she did so.
John sighed and ran his hand through his thick hair. He'd never meant to
kiss her. He'd certainly wanted to, but that didn't mean he'd had any
right to touch her. And he'd never dreamed how much he'd like it, or how
difficult it would be to stop.
God, he was weak! He was no better than Spencer, mauling an innocent
young lady, and the truth was he wanted more.
So much more ...
He wanted her ear and her shoulder and the underside of her chin. He
wanted to run his tongue along the length of her neck, trailing moist
fire down to the valley between her breasts. He wanted to cup her
backside and squeeze, pull her into him, use
her as a cradle for his desire.
He wanted to possess her. Every inch. Over and over.
Belle watched him silently, but he'd turned slightly away from her, and
she couldn't see into his eyes. When he finally looked
back at her, however, she was shocked by the harsh expression on his
face. She took a step back, her hand unconsciously
coming up to cover the lower part of her face. "Wh-what's wrong?" she
gasped.
"You ought to think twice before you throw yourself at men, my little
aristocrat." His voice was dangerously close to a hiss.
Belle stared at him, dumbfounded, until horror, hurt, and fury
simultaneously rose within her. "You can rest assured," she bit
out icily, "that the next man I 'throw' myself at will not be so lacking
in breeding as to insult me as you have done."
"I am so sorry that my blood is not blue enough for you, my lady. Do not
worry, I will try not to taint you with my presence again."
Belle raised a brow and stared at him disdainfully, her eyes hard. "Yes,
well, we cannot all claim a relationship with a duke." Her voice was
sharp, and her words were cruel. Satisfied with her performance, she
turned on her heel and strode away, carrying herself with as much
dignity as her limping body would allow.
*
*
*
*
*Chapter 5
*
John stood still for many minutes, watching Belle disappear amidst the
trees. He didn't move until she was long gone, thoroughly disgusted with
himself and his behavior toward her. But, he reminded himself, it was no
more than what was necessary. She
was furious with him now, but she'd thank him eventually. Well, maybe
not him, but when she was cozily wed to some marquess, she'd thank
/someone /for saving her from John Blackwood.
He'd finally turned to head home when he realized that Belle had marched
off without her boot. He leaned down and picked it
up. Damn, now he'd have to go to return it, and he had no idea how he
could face her again.
John sighed, tossing her flimsy boot from hand to hand as he began nis
slow trudge home. He'd have to come up with some excuse for having her
boot in the first place. Alex was a good friend, but he would want to
know why John had his cousin's footwear in his possession. He supposed
he could go by Westonbirt that evening—
John swore under his breath. He'd /have /to go by Westonbirt
touching her. Belle sighed, sinking into him, knowing
instinctively that he would know what to do, how to make this wondrous
feeling go on forever. She melted against him, her body searching out
the warmth of his. And then he abruptly pulled away, muttering a sharp
curse, his breathing harsh and uneven.
Belle blinked in confusion, not understanding his actions and feeling
utterly bereft. She gulped down her pain and hugged her
legs to her body, hoping that he'd say something kind or funny, or at
least something that would explain his actions. And if he
didn't, she just hoped that he couldn't see how much she was hurting
from his rejection.
John stood up and turned away from her, planting his hands on his hips.
Staring up at him through her eyelashes, Belle thought
that there was something extremely bleak about his stance. Finally, he
turned around and offered her his hand. She took it and rose to her
feet, softly thanking him as she did so.
John sighed and ran his hand through his thick hair. He'd never meant to
kiss her. He'd certainly wanted to, but that didn't mean he'd had any
right to touch her. And he'd never dreamed how much he'd like it, or how
difficult it would be to stop.
God, he was weak! He was no better than Spencer, mauling an innocent
young lady, and the truth was he wanted more.
So much more ...
He wanted her ear and her shoulder and the underside of her chin. He
wanted to run his tongue along the length of her neck, trailing moist
fire down to the valley between her breasts. He wanted to cup her
backside and squeeze, pull her into him, use
her as a cradle for his desire.
He wanted to possess her. Every inch. Over and over.
Belle watched him silently, but he'd turned slightly away from her, and
she couldn't see into his eyes. When he finally looked
back at her, however, she was shocked by the harsh expression on his
face. She took a step back, her hand unconsciously
coming up to cover the lower part of her face. "Wh-what's wrong?" she
gasped.
"You ought to think twice before you throw yourself at men, my little
aristocrat." His voice was dangerously close to a hiss.
Belle stared at him, dumbfounded, until horror, hurt, and fury
simultaneously rose within her. "You can rest assured," she bit
out icily, "that the next man I 'throw' myself at will not be so lacking
in breeding as to insult me as you have done."
"I am so sorry that my blood is not blue enough for you, my lady. Do not
worry, I will try not to taint you with my presence again."
Belle raised a brow and stared at him disdainfully, her eyes hard. "Yes,
well, we cannot all claim a relationship with a duke." Her voice was
sharp, and her words were cruel. Satisfied with her performance, she
turned on her heel and strode away, carrying herself with as much
dignity as her limping body would allow.
*
*
*
*
*Chapter 5
*
John stood still for many minutes, watching Belle disappear amidst the
trees. He didn't move until she was long gone, thoroughly disgusted with
himself and his behavior toward her. But, he reminded himself, it was no
more than what was necessary. She
was furious with him now, but she'd thank him eventually. Well, maybe
not him, but when she was cozily wed to some marquess, she'd thank
/someone /for saving her from John Blackwood.
He'd finally turned to head home when he realized that Belle had marched
off without her boot. He leaned down and picked it
up. Damn, now he'd have to go to return it, and he had no idea how he
could face her again.
John sighed, tossing her flimsy boot from hand to hand as he began nis
slow trudge home. He'd have to come up with some excuse for having her
boot in the first place. Alex was a good friend, but he would want to
know why John had his cousin's footwear in his possession. He supposed
he could go by Westonbirt that evening—
John swore under his breath. He'd /have /to go by Westonbirt
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