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."