Free Dancing at Midnight by Julia Quinn

that
    evening. He'd already accepted Alex's invitation for dinner.
    His curses grew more fluent as he pictured the agony ahead. He'd have to
    look at Belle all night, and of course she would be ravishing in her
    expensive evening attire. And then just when he couldn't bear to look at
    her for one minute longer, she'd
    probably say something utterly charming and intelligent, which would
    make him want her even more.

    And it was so, so dangerous to want her.

    *  *  *

    Belle's progress home wasn't much swifter than John's. She wasn't used
    to walking about without shoes, and it seemed that
    her right foot managed to find every sharp pebble and protruding tree
    root in the narrow path. And there was also the little problem of her
    left shoe, which had a slight heel on it, and left her feeling rather
    lopsided and forced her to limp.

    And every limp reminded her of John Blackwood. Horrid John Blackwood.

    Belle started muttering every inappropriate word her brother had ever
    accidentally said in front of her. Her tirade lasted only
    a few seconds, for Ned was usually quite careful about holding his
    tongue around his sister. Fresh out of curses, Belle started
    in with, "Wretched, wretched man," but that just didn't seem to do the
    trick.

    "Damn!" she burst out as her foot landed on an especially sharp pebble.
    The mishap proved to be her undoing, and she felt
    a hot tear spill down her face as she squeezed her eyes shut against the
    pain.

    "You are not going to cry over a little pebble," she scolded herself.
    "And you are certainly not going to cry over that awful man."

    But she was crying, and she couldn't stop herself. She just couldn't
    understand how a man could be so charming one minute
    and so insulting the next. He liked her—she could tell that he did. It
    was all there in the way he'd teased her and cared for her foot. And
    while he hadn't been completely forthcoming when she'd asked him about
    the war, he also hadn't completely ignored her. He wouldn't have opened
    up to her at all if he hadn't liked her just a little.

    Belle leaned down, picked up the offending pebble, and viciously tossed
    it into the trees. It was time to stop crying, time to
    think this problem through in a rational manner and figure out why his
    entire personality had changed so suddenly.

    No, she decided, for the first time in her life she didn't want to be
    calm and rational. She didn't care about being practical and pragmatic.
    All she wanted to be was mad.

    And she was. Furious.

    By the time Belle reached Westonbirt, her tears had dried up, and she
    was quite happily plotting all sorts of vengeful schemes against John.
    She didn't expect to actually carry any of them out, but the mere act of
    planning them raised her spirits.

    She plodded through the great hall and was nearly to the curved
    staircase when Emma called out from a nearby parlor,
    "Is that you, Belle?"

    Belle backtracked to the open doorway, poked her head in, and said hello.

    Emma was sitting on a sofa with ledgers spread out on the table in front
    of her. She raised her eyebrows at Belle's disheveled appearance. "Where
    have you been?"

    "Out for a walk."

    "With only one shoe?"

    "It's the latest rage."

    "Or a very long story."

    "Not that long but rather unladylike."

    "Bare feet usually are."

    Belle rolled her eyes. Emma had been known to wade through knee-deep mud
    to get to her favorite fishing hole.
    "Since when have you become the model of taste and decorum?"

    "Since, oh, never mind, just come and sit with me. I'm about to go insane."

    "Really? Now that sounds interesting."

    Emma sighed. "Don't tease me. Alex won't let me out of this blasted
    parlor for fear of my health."

    "You could look on the bright side and view it as a sign of his eternal
    love and devotion," Belle suggested.

    "Or I could simply strangle him. If he had his way, I'd be confined to
    my bed until the baby arrived. As it is, he's forbidden
    me to go riding by myself."

    "Can he do