Dare to Love (24 page)

Clumsily, he began to unfasten my gown, muttering a little curse as he freed my arms from the sleeves and pushed it over my hips. After I stepped out of the circle of red silk, he removed my undergarments one by one until, finally, I stood naked in the moonlight, trembling slightly, resigned but exultant, too, filled with a wild joy that seemed to sing in my veins. Stepping back, he looked at me, and his eyes darkened with something almost like reverence. For. the first time in my life I felt completely beautiful, and I was glad, so very glad that I could be beautiful for him.

Resting his hands on my shoulders, he gazed into my eyes for a long moment, his own conveying a silent message that caused the music inside to swell. He caressed my shoulders, my throat, touching me gently, reverently, his fingers sliding slowly over my flesh. His hands encircled my breasts, his fingers stroking the soft, fleshy mounds. My eyes closed as waves of sensation swept over me, carrying me into a void where there was nothing but this man, this moment, these feelings that swelled and surged and threatened to drown me. With one hand lightly at my waist, he bent to kiss each nipple, his lips moist and warm, and I caught my fingers in his hair, almost fainting with desire.

It had been so long, so long, that I had denied myself, denied this part of me. Now as he caressed me, kissed me, drew me into his arms, I shivered, and Anthony, thinking I was cold, folded me closer, murmuring soft words. He caught my lips with his; his mouth worked slowly, savoring mine, his lips spreading and forcing my own to part. That kiss seemed to last forever, sheer torture that combined agony with bliss, and, naked, I clung to him as his silk shirt pressed against my bare breasts.

Finally, lifting me into his arms, he carried me to the bed, lowering me onto the satin counterpane, and he knelt over me and kissed me again and again, on my temple, my throat, my breasts, my thighs. The feeling inside me grew more and more tormenting. Anthony moved away from the bed, and I felt lost, alone, incomplete, craving his touch, craving his body and the musky smell of him that was like heady perfume. He stepped into the shadows away from the windows, and I could see his dark form moving and bending as he removed his clothes. As I watched, his neckcloth floated to the floor like a silky moth.

I closed my eyes and stretched on the counterpane, its satin smooth and cool beneath me, emptiness above, space that must be filled with muscle and bone and weight and warmth and wonderment. Need mounted to agony as I opened my eyes and saw him step out of the shadows and into the moonlight, naked now, looking like a magnificent statue suddenly imbued with life. He stood there for a moment bathed in silver, moonlight rippling over that perfect body, and then he smiled a wicked smile and I raised my arms as he moved across the floor to the bed.

The mattress sagged and the springs creaked noisily as he climbed onto the bed, and he looked so startled by the sound that I laughed, and Anthony laughed, too, gathering me to him. The weight of his body crushed me, heavy, hurting, glorious. It was lovely, lovely, and I struggled beneath him; for a few moments we were like two children playing a naughty game, wrestling together on the slippery satin counterpane, limbs entwined, and then his face, inches from my own, grew stern, almost savage, and his lips sought mine with bruising force and a wild, tumultuous fury possessed us both. He was fierce and forceful, uninhibited, and I was uninhibited, too, returning each touch with equal ardor, clutching him to me as senses shredded like silk tearing and we soared as one to a dizzying height and plunged together into a shattering paradise where ecstasy exploded again, again, and again.

XIX

The music of Rossini swelled, fast, merry, slightly frenzied, ringing loudly through the wings and down the hall, into my dressing room as I checked my makeup. Through the closed door it was like the frantic buzzing of a swarm of insects, and soaring over it was the voice of the soprano, who was much too shrill. A capacity crowd filled the theater. Every seat was taken, and dozens of people were standing in back. In twenty minutes the first act would be over and I would step out in front of the footlights and all those hundreds of people would be staring at me, waiting for Elena Lopez to dazzle them.… I forced the thought from my mind, concentrating on the face in the mirror. The perfect, sultry face of Elena.

Millie was fidgeting around like a nervous cat, making a terrible racket, dropping things, and I was the one who should have been nervous. I wasn't. I was resigned. I felt much older, and wiser, too. Last night had been explosive, and it had been satisfying, but, somehow, it had merely underlined my loneliness. I had made love with Anthony Duke, but I could never love him, could never depend on him. He was as mercurial as quicksilver and as elusive, bright and glowing and impossible to hold. I was wise enough to know that, wise enough to realize that no matter how many times we made love it could never be more than physical gratification.

“—wants to take me out,” Millie was saying. “Altogether too fresh, he is, thinks he can take liberties. I'm respectable now and I intend to stay that way, though I must admit it gets a bit tiring. He is very good-looking in a rough-and-tumble sort of way. What do you think?”

“I—I'm sorry, Millie. I wasn't listening.”

“David Rogers. He wants to take me out tonight after we finish up 'ere. Has
plans
, he does. Thinks I don't know what he's after. Do you think I should go out with him?”

“You'd probably enjoy yourself.”

Millie brushed a stray tarnished gold curl from her temple. “I probably would,” she admitted. “I suppose you can carry this respectability bit too far. A person needs to have a little fun, wouldn't you say? I just might let him take me to dinner.…”

She flashed the old pixie smile and, glancing at the clock, took down my costume. As I stood up, I slipped off my robe, and Millie helped me into the bold, dramatic garment designed for Elena Lopez. The blue satin bodice had full off-the-shoulder sleeves and was cut extremely low, over it a black velvet corselet, laced down the front, fitted snugly over bosom and waist and the top of my hips, flaring then into a skirt composed of row upon row of silk ruffles, red, blue, violet, and white, ruffles that billowed and blew as I moved. It was provocative and revealing, and when I danced the skirt would lift and whirl, exposing my legs.

“I feel naked,” I said.

“You look smashing. The men are going to go out of their minds.”

“What time is it?”

“Ten more minutes,” Millie informed me. “You nervous?”

“Not really. Resigned might be a better word.”

“You're going to be sensational,” she promised.

“I have to be,” I said. “My whole future depends on it. I don't intend to fail, Millie. I can't.”

At the hard, determined note in my voice, Millie gave me a curious look. I was frightened, terribly frightened, but I wasn't going to acknowledge the fear. I wasn't even going to entertain the possibility of failure. I had to succeed. I had to make money, to make some kind of life for myself. If I couldn't be a celebrated ballerina, then I could be Elena Lopez, and Elena was going to be a spectacular success. I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the dress over waist and hips, willing myself to be strong and self-assured.

“Are you ready?” Millie asked, as she took my hands and squeezed them and then gave me a quick hug. I hugged her back, and then I picked up my castanets and left the dressing room.

The music of Rossini swelled to a crescendo, and as I closed the dressing room door behind me there was one brief moment of paralyzing fear, a moment of incredible grief and loss that seemed to stab at the very core of my being, but I quickly pulled myself together and moved down the hallway past stacks of painted flats and a rack of shabby, fading costumes.

Moving past the rusty iron staircase, I stood in the wings beside a huge pile of boxes. The music rose, swirling higher and higher as the final notes of the first act were sung. The stage was brightly lit, the strong lights somehow enhancing the cheap set and making the costumes seem almost rich. Magic was taking place out there, a golden illusion being spun, however poor the performers, however shabby the production. Here, beside the boxes, it was dark and dusty. High above, men in shirtsleeves stood on catwalks, ready to work ropes and pulleys the moment the last note was sounded. In a few moments I was going to create my own magic. I was going to convince that vast crowd of people sitting in the darkness that I was indeed Spanish and seductive.

A sudden draft of cold wind eddied backstage as someone opened the stage door that led into the alley. My costume left much of my bosom and shoulders and almost all of my back bare, and I shivered as the icy wind swirled past dusty brick walls and besieged me, causing the ruffles on my skirt to flutter. The door closed. Footsteps approached. Anthony materialized out of the darkness and, seeing me standing there, moved toward me with that long, jaunty stride.

“Here you are,” he said.

“Hello, Anthony.”

“I didn't realize it was so late. I've been in a mad rush all day. It's almost time, isn't it?”

“It's almost time,” I said.

He looked resplendent in his formal attire, dark satin lapels gleaming, white silk tie perfectly knotted, his manner breezy and casual as ever. I hadn't seen him all day. He had dressed and slipped out while I was still sleeping. He hadn't even bothered to leave a note. Last night might never have happened.

“I suppose you saw the papers today,” he remarked, toying with his top hat.

“I saw them.”

“That incident in the restaurant made terrific copy, luv. It caused a whole new rush on the box office. Dorrance was delighted, by the way. No hard feelings. They spelled his name right.”

I said nothing.

“Say, I … uh … I hope you weren't upset about my leaving like that this morning. I guess I should've awakened you, but … well, you were sleeping so peacefully I didn't want to disturb you.”

“You needn't apologize.”

“I had things to do, very important things. I had a meeting with some chaps I know. We're going to make an awful lot of money, luv, and money means responsibility. You have to know how to handle it, how to invest it for the best returns. These chaps are involved with the railroads. They're looking for investors, a few smart men willing to double, triple their investments in a matter of months. They explained the whole thing to me, and it's a chance in a lifetime—”

Aware that I wasn't paying attention, he cut himself short and shook his head, and then he gave me an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. I guess I got carried away. I should've realized this isn't the time or place to discuss business. You don't want to be bothered with details, anyway. I'm the manager. I'll manage, and you just concentrate on being a sensation.”

As the words left his mouth the music ended. The men above worked frantically, hauling on the ropes. The heavy gold velvet curtains rang down, slowly, smoothly, sending thin clouds of dust backstage. The audience applauded, and members of the chorus hurried offstage and up the staircase to their dressing rooms. A stagehand held the curtain back so the principals could step out in front of the lights for their curtain calls.

Anthony took my hand and squeezed it tightly.

“I'm not going to wish you luck, luv. You don't need it. You're going out there and you're going to dazzle 'em. I've known it all along. I knew it from the first.”

“Indeed?”

“From the first.”

He squeezed my hand again and grinned that engaging grin, and even though I knew him for what he was, I couldn't help responding. I did so ruefully. Anthony Duke was the kind of man women would forgive over and over again, each time against their better judgment. As I pulled my hand free and fastened on my castanets, Anthony thrust his hands into his pockets, looking pleased and proud.

The principals were still taking their curtain calls, milking applause now, the soprano outrageously grateful, smiling, bowing, blowing kisses, while behind the curtains in the darkness men were dismantling the set quickly and quietly. I left Anthony and moved nearer the stage. I was much calmer than I had any right to be. Perhaps it was a kind of numbness. The soprano took one final call to tepid applause, and then the baritone seized her wrist and pulled her back behind the curtain. The audience grew silent. Moments passed. The air seemed to be charged with tension. They were out there waiting, filled with expectancy, growing more and more restless as they stared at the brilliantly lighted gold curtain.

The orchestra began the first strains of the Spanish melody, slow and sensuous music that suggested hot sunlight and cool balconies and smouldering passions. The curtain rose slowly to reveal a bare stage with a blue silk backdrop. As I waited, I thought of Brence Stephens. If I succeeded tonight he might one day come to a theater and see Elena Lopez and remember the girl he had abandoned. As the music grew warmer, more persuasive, I realized that I had done all this for him, to show him, to have revenge on the man who had given me such happiness and then brutally destroyed it.

As the music swelled, I moved onstage with the grace of a panther, hips swaying, colored ruffles billowing. Proud, passionate, disdainful, I pouted my lips and glared at the audience and then tossed my head, giving them exactly what they wanted, wooing them even as I scorned them. I could feel their awe, their admiration, but I was Elena and it was no more than my due. I raised one arm, then the other, and I stared at the dark sea of faces and imagined a handsome Spanish youth with soulful eyes who must melt before me as I began my sinuous dance of love.

Movement and music seemed to melt together into a burning expression of desire as I whirled and turned and swayed, clicking my castanets provocatively, urging the invisible lover on. I had never danced as well before, my body lithe, movement liquid, the melody a part of me. He was melting me. His mouth grew tight. His nostrils flared. I beckoned him with my body, urging him on with my eyes. He moved toward me, and I moved away, toying with him now, taunting him. I smiled, delighted with my power over him. I drew him to me and swayed, slowly, slowly, and he was mine now and I parted my lips and lifted my arms to him as the last note of music echoed into silence.