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lord."

    John staggered out of bed and grabbed a robe to cover his naked body.
    "Who the hell comes calling at nine in the morning?"

    "Lady Arabella Blydon, my lord."

    John whirled around in shock. "Who?"

    "I believe I said Lady—"

    "I know what you said," John snapped, his temper shortened by his rather
    unceremonious awakening.
    "What the hell is she doing here?"

    "I am sure I do not know, my lord, but she did ask for you."

    John sighed, wondering when Buxton would realize that every question did
    not require a response. He sighed again. He didn't doubt for a moment
    that the sly old butler knew very well that John's remarks had been
    hypothetical. "I suppose I have to get dressed," he finally said.

    "I should think so, my lord. I took the liberty of informing Wheatley
    that you would require his services."

    John turned around and headed to his dressing room. Like Buxton, the
    valet had also come with the house, and John had to
    admit that it was not difficult to get used to the luxury. In no time,
    he was dressed in form-fitting biscuit-colored breeches,
    a crisp white shirt, and navy blue coat. He deliberately ignored his
    cravat. If Lady Arabella required a cravat, she shouldn't
    have come calling at nine in the morning.

    He splashed some water on his face then ran his wet hands through his
    unruly hair, trying to tame the sleep-tossed look.
    "Damn it all," he muttered. He still looked half-asleep. Hell, who
    cared? He went downstairs.

    Buxton intercepted him on the landing. "Lady Arabella is waiting for you
    in the green salon, my lord."

    John took a breath, trying not to let his exasperation show. "And which
    one is that, Buxton?"

    The butler gave him an amused smile and pointed. "Right over there, my
    lord."

    John followed Buxton's finger and entered the room, leaving the door
    respectably open. Belle was standing near a blue chair,
    idly examining a painted vase. She looked utterly charming and damnably
    awake in her rose-colored gown.

    "This is a surprise," he said.

    Belle looked up at the deep sound of his voice. "Oh, hello, Lord
    Blackwood." She glanced lightly at his disheveled hair.
    "I hope I didn't wake you."

    "Not at all," he lied.

    "I thought that perhaps we didn't get off to a good start when we met."

    He didn't say anything.

    She took a breath and continued. "Right. Well, I thought I should greet
    you to the neighborhood. I brought you something to
    break your fast. I hope you like scones."

    John flashed her a wide smile. "I /adore /scones. And they're just in
    time for breakfast."

    Belle frowned at his overly amused tone. She /had /woken him up. "There
    is some jam to go with them." She sat down,
    wondering what on earth had possessed her to come over here so early.

    John rang for some tea and coffee and then seated himself across from
    her. He glanced mildly around the room.
    "I see you have no escort."

    "Oh, no, I did bring a maid, but she went off to visit your servants. I
    would have had Emma accompany me, but she wasn't
    yet up and about. It's early, you know."

    "I know."

    Belle swallowed and continued. "It really isn't that important, I don't
    think. This isn't London, after all, where one's every movement is fair
    game for the gossips. And it's not as if I'm in any danger."

    John's eyes raked appreciatively over her decidedly feminine form.
    "Aren't you?"

    Belle flushed and stiffened in her seat. She looked him straight in the
    eye and saw honor lurking behind his sardonic facade.
    "No, I don't think I am," she replied resolutely.

    "You shouldn't have come here alone."

    "I told you, I didn't come here alone. My maid—"

    "Your maid is in the kitchen. You are here in this room. Alone. With me."

    Belle's mouth opened and closed several times before she managed to
    speak. "Well... yes, of course ... but..."

    John stared at her, thinking that he'd like nothing better than to lean
    over and kiss those soft lips which were opening and closing with such
    consternation. He