Belle gasped, shocked that he'd been spying on her, yet still strangely aroused by the notion.
"Do you know what I'd do?" John asked huskily, his eyes never leaving hers.
Mutely, she shook her head.
"I'd lean down and kiss you through the silk. I'd take your dusky nipple into my mouth and suck it until it was a hard little bud. And then when that wasn't enough, I'd slide your silky little underthing up along your skin until your breasts were free and exposed, and then I'd lean down and do it all over again."
Belle didn't move a muscle, absolutely rooted to the spot by the sensual onslaught of his words. "Then what would you do?" she whispered, acutely aware of the heat of his hands on her shoulders.
"You want to punish me, don't you?" John asked harshly, tightening his grip on her. "But since you asked… I'd slowly peel off every article of your clothing until you were gloriously naked in my arms. And then I'd start kissing you, every damned inch, until you were quivering with desire."
Somewhere in the back of Belle's passion-hazed mind, she dimly registered that she was already quivering.
"And then I'd lay you down and cover your body with my own, pressing you down against the ground. And then I'd enter you oh-so-slowly, savoring each second as I made you mine." John's voice broke off, his breath ragged as an image of Belle with her long legs wrapped around him floated through his brain. "What do you say to that?
Belle ignored his crude question, her body flooded with the sensual images he had planted there. She was on fire, and she wanted him, in every way. It was now or never, she knew that, and she was terrified that she'd lose him completely. "I still wouldn't stop you," she whispered.
Disbelief and desire crashed through John's body until he rudely pushed her away from him, knowing full well that he'd be unable to resist temptation if he remained touching her one moment longer. "For God's sake, Belle, do you know what you're saying? Do you?" He raked his hand through his hair, taking deep breaths as he tried to ignore the painful hardness of his body.
"Yes, I know what I'm saying," Belle cried out. "You just won't listen."
"You don't know who I am. You've built up some romantic image of the poor, wounded, war-hero. Wouldn't it be a lark to be married to a real-life gothic hero? Well, I have news for you, my lady, that's not me. And after a few months, you'd realize that I'm no hero, and it isn't much of a lark being married to a lame pauper."
Rage unlike anything Belle had ever known poured through her, and she launched herself at him, beating her fists mercilessly against his chest. "You bastard!" she cried out. "You supercilious bastard. How dare you tell me I don't know my own mind? Do you think me so stupid that I can't see who you really are? You keep saying you've done something bad, but I don't believe you. I think you're making it up just to push me away."
"Oh, God, Belle," he said hoarsely. "It's not that. It's-"
"Do you think it matters to me that your leg is injured? Do you think I care that your title is not centuries old? I wouldn't care if you hadn't one at all!"
"Belle," John said in a placating voice.
"Stop! Don't say any more. You're making me sick! You accuse me of being spoiled, but it is you who are the snob. You're so obsessed with titles and money and social position that you won't allow yourself to reach out for the one thing you really want!"
"Belle, we've barely known each other for a week. I fail to see how you could have decided that I was the right man for you." But even as John spoke the words, he knew he was lying, for he had already reached the same conclusion about her.
"I'm beginning to wonder that myself," Belle said harshly, wanting to wound him as he had done to her.
"I deserved that, I know, but you'll soon realize that I've done the right thing. Maybe not tomorrow, but once you get over your anger, you'll know."
Belle turned her head away, not wanting to let him see her brush away a tear. Her breath was coming in short gasps, and it was several moments before she was able to still her heaving shoulders. "You're wrong," she said softly, turning back around to face him with accusing eyes. "You're wrong. I'll never realize that you're doing the right thing because you're not! You're destroying my happiness!" She gulped down a lump in her throat. "And yours, too, if you'd only stop to look in your heart."
John turned away, unnerved by the unwavering honesty in her eyes. He knew that he could not tell her the real reason he was pushing her away, so he tried to appeal to her innate sense of practicality. "Belle, you've been raised with every luxury. I can't give you all that. I can't even give you a house in London." "It doesn't matter. Besides, I have ample funds." John stiffened. "I won't take your money." "Don't be silly. I'm sure I have a large dowry." He whirled around, his eyes hard and deadly serious. "I won't have it said that I'm a fortune hunter."
"Oh, is that what this is all about? You're worried about what people will say? Dear God, I thought you were above all that." Belle turned on her heel and marched back to her mare, who'd been idly munching on some grass. Grabbing the reins, she mounted the horse, harshly brushing away John's offer of assistance. "Do you know something?" she asked, her tone cruel. "You were absolutely right. You're not the person I thought you were." But her voice broke on the last word, and Belle knew that he could see through her false bravado.
"Goodbye, Belle," John said flatly, knowing that if he went to her now, he'd never be able to let her go.