Dare to Love (7 page)

The dancers' movements brought them near to where Brence and I were standing. When the youth turned and scowled, he saw me, and then he stood still, forgetting the music, forgetting the dance. Those dark eyes stared into mine, and when the girl caught hold of his arm and tried to pull him back, he gave her a hard shove without even looking at her. She stumbled backward and, losing her balance, fell on her backside with jolting impact. She cursed him loudly, but he paid no attention. Mouth turned down at the corners, brows pressed together, he stared at me, and I recognized him. That face had been younger, thinner the last time I had seen it. The surly boy had grown into a savagely handsome man.

“You remember?” he growled.

“I remember,” I whispered.

“The dance? You remember how it ends?”

“I think so. It—it's all right, Brence,” I said quickly as he began to tense.

Julio seized my wrist and pulled me into the clearing, and I moved to the music, becoming a part of it, my body a supple instrument. I was a gypsy, all fire and fury, caught up in the dance I had learned so many years ago. I whirled around, my dark skirt swirling above my knees, the ruffles fluttering. Julio smiled fiercely, circling me as I swayed. The gypsy girl leaped to her feet, flying toward us with claws unsheathed. Julio caught her and snarled a threat between his teeth, tearing the castanets from her fingers and pushing her aside. She turned away, casting venomous glances at me over her shoulder. I took the castanets from him and fastened them on my fingers, missing not a beat, and the crowd applauded, thinking it all a part of the performance.

The music was fiery and flamboyant, ringing with a sensuous melody that caught me up, became a part of me. Julio backed away from me, and I followed, hips swaying, castanets clicking provocatively. He stopped. He snarled. I threw my head back, hair flying free, spilling over shoulder and cheek, and I stamped and stepped, shaking my skirt, easily recalling each movement. He turned his back to me, folding his arms across his chest, and I circled around him, enticing him, brazen in my beauty, aware of my power. He looked up, nostrils flaring, teeth bared, desire beginning to stir, beginning to burn in his eyes as I smiled and swayed and whirled.

I danced the dance of love, executing each movement as expertly as I had in the past, but now I understood them and each movement took on new meaning. The demure young woman in the sophisticated frock became a seductive creature, for I was dancing for Brence, not Julio, smiling for Brence, telling him in dance what I could not tell him in words. Julio came to me and wrapped his arms around my waist and we swayed together, to and fro. I dipped backwards, supported by those steel-strong arms, my hair brushing the ground, and he swung me in his arms, to the left, to the right, my body limp, liquid, melting to the music. He released me, and I whirled away from him, faster, faster, and he pursued me, crushing me to him in a passionate embrace as the music abruptly ended.

The crowd applauded vigorously. Julio let me go and smiled the old arrogant smile, all male superiority as he looked me up and down.

“You'd make a good gypsy, little sister. The fire is there. With practice you'd make a good gypsy, good partner.”

He strolled over to the musicians and took an old felt hat and began to move around the circle of people, collecting coins, much too superior to engage in further conversation with a mere female. I removed the castanets and gave them to one of the guitarists. He grinned broadly and nodded in approval. Smoothing my hair back and adjusting my bodice, I joined Brence. His expression was noncommittal.

“You were quite good,” he remarked.

“I used to know all the dances.”

“Shall we go now?”

“I suppose so. I've seen my friends, and … one can never recapture the past. I'm an outsider here. I suppose I was back then, too, but they were so kind to me—”

I was in a pensive mood as we drove away from the fairgrounds. For a few minutes, caught up in the magic of music and movement, I had been vibrantly alive, but now I felt a curious deflation. Brence was silent and remote, which didn't help at all. Had he understood the message I conveyed with the dance? Had he been pleased, displeased, shocked? I had no idea. Thousands of distant stars twinkled like diamond chips against the smooth black sky, and the fields on either side of the lonely road were the color of old pewter. As we rode near the edge of the cliffs I could see the ocean and hear the waves slapping the rocks far below.

I thought about what Inez had told me, trying to remember her exact words. There would be many trips to many countries, she had said. As a diplomat Brence would naturally travel a great deal, and as his wife I would naturally accompany him. I would know many men, but there would always be the one. The one would be Brence, of course, and the others—the others would be the diplomats and ambassadors whom I would meet as I performed my duties as official hostess. Fame and glory would come as Brence reached the pinnacle of his career, the riches a part of it. The pain … I supposed she meant there would be a number of setbacks, disappointments, and I would need to be strong, always encouraging him.

Lost in thought, I was surprised when I looked up and saw Graystone Manor ahead. A lamp burned downstairs, making a yellow-gold square in one of the windows. Fanny would be waiting up for me, worried, unable to sleep until I was safely inside. Brence tugged gently on the reins and stopped the carriage in front of the gate. He hadn't said a single word since we left the fair, and he didn't speak now. Climbing out of the carriage, he reached up to encircle my waist with strong hands and help me down. The gate creaked noisily when he opened it, echoing in the silence as we walked toward the house together.

When he reached the door Brence turned and gazed at me. His face was all shadow and planes in the moonlight, the cheekbones taut, the lips slightly parted. He was so near, so tall, so handsome. I felt a hollow ache inside as he gazed at me; moments passed, and the ache grew unbearable. Would he finally take me into his arms? Would he finally kiss me, tell me all the things I longed to hear? Leaves rustled in the breeze. Moonlight and shadow made dancing patterns over the ground.

Brence sighed and reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from my cheek.

“You're incredibly lovely, Mary Ellen. I wonder if you have any idea how lovely you are.”

His voice was soft, melodious, a husky drawl. I stood very still, barely able to breathe, yet I was trembling inside. Brence took hold of my bare shoulders, his fingers squeezing my flesh with a gentle pressure.

“Lovely,” he said, “unspoiled. So innocent and yet so wise, so eager.”

His fingers tightened their grip. He tilted his head slightly and studied me as a connoisseur might study a priceless work of art. I looked up into those dark, gleaming eyes, waiting, wanting to speak, unable to say a word.

“Shall I be the one?” he mused. “The temptation is strong. Shall I be the cad and satisfy my instincts, or shall I be the gentleman I'd like to be and leave now, before it's too late?”

I held my breath, and the moment that followed seemed to stretch into an eternity. He finally sighed and gave my shoulders a painful squeeze, and then he released me.

“There are things we need to settle, but this is not the night. You must be very tired. I'd better go now.”

I was still unable to speak. Brence smiled.

“Tomorrow, Mary Ellen,” he said.

He spoke lightly in that gentle, husky voice that was so like music, so persuasive. Tomorrow. As I watched him walk back toward the carriage, I wondered if I could bear to wait for tomorrow to come.

VIII

Leaving our horse and carriage under the shade of the trees, we started across the brownish-gray moor, walking slowly, moving down sloping ground, climbing over occasional boulders, large gray stones lightly streaked with bronze and green. There was a light breeze, and the short, stiff grass rustled, whispering, while above the sky arched an endless blue, pale and pure. We could smell the pungent moor smells of damp earth and dust, of rock and root and grass mixed with the tangy smell of salt. The landscape was wild, primitive, savage grandeur surrounding us, swallowing us up.

“How far is this secret waterfall?” Brence inquired.

“At least another mile. There's a small valley fed by the spring, and the grass is greener there. There are mossy banks covered with tiny purple wildflowers and huge gray rocks, much larger than these. It's not a
large
waterfall, but it's lovely.”

“You're quite attached to these moors, aren't you?”

“I love them. They—they seem to speak to me. They make me want to dance. I suppose you think that's foolish.”

“I think it's delightful. You never fail to intrigue me, Mary Ellen. Sometimes I wonder what the final shape will be.”

“What do you mean?”

“You're clay, my dear, beautiful clay, malleable, not yet fully formed, not yet baked in the kiln of life. One moment you're innocent, expectant, so very young and vulnerable, and the next moment you're sad, serious, wise beyond your years. The woman is there inside the girl, and I've a feeling she'll be a magnificent creature.”

“Indeed?”

“I had a glimpse of her last night when you were dancing.”

“That wasn't me, not really. That was just music and mood and a part I played.”

“You played it well. You were superb.”

“Thank you.”

“You've told me about your dancing, of course, but I never realized you were so accomplished.”

“Last night wasn't really dancing—I mean, it wasn't ballet. All the gypsy dances I learned are merely for amusement. It's ballet that I love. So many years of study—” I paused, remembering the sweat and the aching muscles, the burning pain required to make a light, graceful movement seem light and graceful.

“You had your heart set on studying with this Russian woman in London, didn't you? What was her name?”

“Madame Olga. The chance to study with her meant … it meant everything. She takes only a few students, and only those who have already made great progress. I'd never have been accepted had Giovanni not written to her, recommending me. Ballet was going to be my life—”

“Was?”

“And then I met you.”

“Then you met me,” he said.

His voice was quiet, reflective. His mood was pleasant, attentive, as casually affectionate as ever, yet I sensed a tension that hadn't been there before. Something in the set of his jaw, the tight curve of his mouth suggested a steely determination and, at the same time, a curious reluctance. I was sure that he was going to declare himself today, ask me to marry him, and that wouldn't come easy to a man like Brence Stephens.

He walked beside me with a long, casual stride, wearing a pair of shiny black knee boots, snug black breeches, and a loose white silk shirt opened at the throat, the long sleeves full, billowing slightly in the breeze. His hair was windblown, and his dark brown eyes were moody, contemplating inner visions I could only guess at.

We walked for several minutes in silence, moving down another gentle slope. As we drew nearer the underground springs the grass began to lose its brownish-gray hue, gradually turning a dusty jade green. The ground became softer, spongy underfoot, and there were many more boulders now, huge, hulking stones of varying shapes. Patches of wildflowers began to appear, pale purple, purple-blue, deep royal purple, white. It was a strange, mysterious place that cast a peculiar spell. I fancied the ghosts of the Druids who had once dwelled here watched us as we passed, invisible specters that whispered in faint voices.

I wore a dark blue frock with a full, flaring skirt. As I walked the skirt billowed, revealing glimpses of the ruffled white petticoats beneath, and my hair tumbled about my shoulders in loose waves. I was filled with a heady anticipation, but there was apprehension as well. What if I disappointed him when he finally took me into his arms and kissed me? What if I were awkward and gauche? I was so very inexperienced, knew so little about these matters despite all my worldly reading. I wished that I were indeed the seductive temptress of the dance, instead of a nervous girl unsure of herself.

“Your maid looked upset when I called for you,” Brence remarked.

“She was. She's leaving for Devon tomorrow, and she's reluctant about leaving me alone.”

“Oh?”

“She didn't plan to join her sister until—until things were settled, but she received another letter. Her sister's going to take a short trip and wants Fanny to come early so she can look after the cottage. Fanny didn't want to, but I insisted. There's really no reason for her to stay.”

“So you'll be all alone in the house.”

“For at least three more weeks. Then Chapman will foreclose and all the furnishings will be sold at public auction. I—I don't know what I'll do then.”

“You're not to worry, Mary Ellen.”

He'd said that before, and it was very comforting. Brence was going to take care of me. What did it matter if the house was lost, the furnishings sold to strangers? We would be leaving Cornwall, sharing a bright new future together. The thought was elating. I felt that glorious rush of happiness, aglow inside, shimmering, making me light-headed.

Surrounded by boulders as large as houses, I led the way along the narrow path that twisted among them, Brence following patiently behind. The sound of splashing water echoed among the stones, and there was the smell of moss and mud. The stream was a glittering silver ribbon that appeared and disappeared. We caught glimpses of it as we followed the path that finally led into the small clearing I remembered so well. A thin waterfall tumbled over the face of a rough gray boulder, branching into three small streams that fell into a pool with mossy banks. An oak tree spread shadows over the ground, and the purple wildflowers grew in profusion.