Belle forgot to be pleased that she had met a man who was actually encouraging her to read and said, "Thank you for the suggestion, but I've read it already."

"I'm impressed," John said. "Have you read Othello?"

She nodded.

"The Tempest?"

"Yes."

John searched his brain for the most obscure

Shakespearean work he could recall. "What about The Passionate Pilgrim?"

"Not my favorite, but I plodded through it." Belle tried but couldn't stop the smile that was creeping across her face.

He chuckled. "My compliments, Lady Arabella. I don't think I've ever even seen a copy of The Passionate Pilgrim."

Belle grinned, graciously accepting the compliment as her previous antagonism toward the man melted away. "Won't you join me for a few minutes?" she asked him, waving toward the empty expanse of blanket spread out beneath her. "I still have most of my picnic lunch, and I would be happy to share it with you."

For a moment it looked as if he would accept. He opened his mouth to say something, then let out a tiny sigh and closed it. When he finally spoke, his voice was very stiff and formal and all he said was "No, thank you." He took a couple of steps away from her and turned his head so that he could stare out across the fields.

Belle cocked her head and was about to say something further when she noticed with surprise that he limped. She wondered if he'd been injured in the peninsular war. An intriguing man, this John. She wouldn't have half minded spending an hour or so in his company. And, she had to admit, he was really quite handsome, with strong, even features, and a body which was lean and powerful in spite of his injured leg. His velvety brown eyes displayed obvious intelligence, but they also seemed hooded with pain and skepticism. Belle was starting to find him very mysterious, indeed.

"Are you certain?" she asked.