To Dream Again (25 page)

How long would Nathaniel stay before the dream lost its fascination, before a new and brighter dream lured him away?

A picture of him formed in her mind, a picture of eyes like the sea and hair like the sun. She recalled his words about trust and partnership, and the feel of her hand in his. She thought of that night on the roof, of how tempted she'd been to lean against him, rely on his strength and confidence.

Mara came to a halt on the sidewalk, staring straight ahead but seeing nothing as the realization hit her. She was doing it again, listening to dreams and promises and believing them. She was being taken in by beguiling talk and charming smiles. She was a fool.

She glanced around. Shadows of twilight darkened the narrow street. A gust of wind stirred the rubbish nestled against soot-covered brick buildings and whipped the ragged skirts of the two girls playing on the sidewalk. This was Whitechapel, for heaven's sake. The streets weren't paved with gold and opportunity had never knocked on these doors.

It was growing late, and Mara knew she shouldn't be wandering the neighborhood after dark. She had to go back. Reluctantly, she turned around, retracing her steps, trying not to think about what would happen when Nathaniel's dream became tarnished and he went off to seek a brighter one. She didn't want to think about being alone again.

***

Nathaniel stared out the window, watching the street and waiting for Mara, growing more worried as time went by and she did not return. He'd let her go this afternoon, knowing how upset she was, but now he wished he hadn't.

He knew she hadn't gone home. He'd paid Mrs. O'Brien half a crown to let him know if she returned to the lodging house. Night had fallen, and he had no idea where she was.

When he turned away from the window, the glimmer of silk under the gaslight caught his eye. He walked over and lifted the dress from the floor. For a few moments, his fingertips traced the watermarks of tears, then he laid the dress neatly in the trunk atop James's other belongings, closed the lid, and pushed the trunk into an out-of-the-way corner.

Mara had lived with years of broken promises. Nathaniel knew he couldn't fulfill all the promises James had made to her, but he could fulfill at least one. He looked at the stacks of crates against the wall and wondered which one contained his gramophone. Rolling up his sleeves, he set to work. When he was done, he went back to the lodging house, changed his shirt, and left a note for Mara with Mrs. O'Brien. Then he went back to the factory and waited.

***

By the time Mara arrived home, it was dark. She stepped into the dim interior of the lodging house and started for the stairs, but she'd only taken two steps before Mrs. O'Brien's shadow fell across the wall and banister.

"Mrs. Elliot?"

Mara turned to her landlady. The woman was standing in the doorway to her parlor, the light from within outlining her silhouette. "Yes?"

She stepped forward, holding out a folded sheet of paper sealed with wax. "Mr. Chase asked me to give this to ye."

Mara took the note and broke the seal, turning away as Mrs. O'Brien leaned forward, obviously hoping for a peek. Mara unfolded the note and held it up to the light from the parlor.

Where toys are made and dreams come true,

A friend stands by and waits for you.

Promises were broken, and so you wept.

But promises made are sometimes kept.

Mara smiled. Another riddle. He was obviously waiting for her in the factory, but what was he up to?

"Thank you, Mrs. O'Brien," Mara said over one shoulder as she turned and left the lodging house.

She walked back to the factory, feeling a mixture of curiosity and anticipation as she wondered what Nathaniel was planning. She quickened her steps as she entered the building and ascended the stairs, but when she walked into the office, her steps faltered at the sight of him.

Nathaniel had moved the table and chairs to one side of the room, and he was bent over the table, tinkering with a wooden box of some sort. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps. "You received my note."

"Yes, I did. Mrs. O'Brien gave it to me," she answered in a rush, out of breath and trying not to sound it. "But I don't understand what it means." Feeling awkward, she glanced away and added, "I'm not very good at riddles."

"You don't have to be. It's enough that you came." He bent back over the table, turned a handle on the side of the wooden box, and music suddenly began to play, issuing from a sort of horn on the opposite side. It was the lilting melody of a Strauss waltz.

Mara stared at the contraption with a mixture of skepticism and awe. "What is it?"

Straightening, he began to walk toward her. "It's a gramophone. An invention of Mr. Edison. He sent it to me about a year ago."

"How does it do that?"

"I'll explain it some other time."

There was something intense and purposeful in his eyes as he came to a halt in front of her, and Mara's breath caught as she gazed up at him. When he reached for her hand, she jumped. "What are you doing?"

His fingers closed around hers, tightening when she tried to yank her hand away. Gently he pulled her further into the room. "Teaching you to dance."

"What?" She tried unsuccessfully to extricate her hand from his grasp as he led her toward the empty space he had made in the center of the room. "No, really, that's quite nice of you, but—"

"Every woman should know how to dance." He turned to face her with only a hand's breadth between them.

Mara licked her dry lips and stared at his white shirt front and remembered the tautness of muscle and skin beneath it. "I don't think so."

"Yes." He lifted her hand in his, and put his other hand on her waist.

She pulled back at the light touch, resisting the impulse to twist away from it, to run. She made a fluttering motion with her free hand, and he answered her unspoken question.

"My shoulder."

Her hand came to rest there, lightly, her palm fitted against the dent of his shoulder, her fingers curving over the top, black kid against white linen. "This is silly," she mumbled.

"No, it isn't. Now, pay attention, and I'll show you how it's done. Follow me." He began to move his feet in time to the lilting melody, pulling her with him, showing her the steps. "The easiest way is to count in your head as you go," he told her. "Like this. One-two-three, one-two-three."

Mara watched his feet and followed with awkward, stilted movements, trying to concentrate on the steps of the dance rather than the man. But he was so close. She could feel the warmth of his fingers through layers of fabric, through walls of defense. Too close.

She stumbled, tripping over her own feet, and she felt his hands tighten to steady her as they stopped moving.

"Mara, don't look at the floor. Look at me."

"I'll step on your feet."

"They've been stepped on before. Look at me."

She lifted her gaze as far as his chin and saw the hint of a smile above it, a lingering, teasing twist of the lips. Was he laughing at her?

Challenged, she looked higher and saw the humor in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

"That's better." His smile widened and he began moving again, pulling her with him in the steps of the waltz. She kept her gaze locked with his, but she only made it through three steps before she stumbled again. He came to a halt and sighed.

"This won’t work if you don't allow me to lead," he told her.

She stirred restlessly in his hold. "I don't understand."

"It's very simple. I lead you where I want you to go, and you follow."

Mara didn't like that notion at all. She looked down at his black boots. "I'm not any good at this," she said, shaking her head and pulling free of him as the music ended. She clasped her hands behind her back. "I appreciate what you're trying to do. Really, I do, but I fear you won’t succeed. I can't dance."

She waited, but he continued to stand before her, and finally she looked at him. His smile was gone, and he was studying her with that thoughtful, perceptive look.

"I have an idea." He lifted his hand, palm facing her. "Don't move."

She watched him disappear into the other part of the room and heard the sound of him rummaging about, obviously looking for something. Wildly, she wondered if she should just leave, but before she made up her mind, he reappeared with a length of white silk in his hand.

A cravat? She frowned suspiciously. What was he up to? With Nathaniel, it could be anything. There was no way to predict what crazy ideas would enter his head. She watched, her curiosity keeping her there when all her instincts told her to run.

He walked to the table and again turned the handle on the gramophone. A moment later, the waltz began again, and he returned to stand before her. "If you're to follow my lead, you have to let me guide you."

"I told you, I'm not any good at this. Let's just forget it, shall we?"

There was a hint of desperation in her voice, and she knew he heard it.

He shook his head. "Oh, no. You shall learn how to do this. I lead, you follow, we waltz."

He lifted the cravat in his hands. Too late, she realized what he intended. The silk came around her eyes, blinding her to everything but the wall of white before her, and she began to panic as she felt him knot the length of silk behind her head. "No, I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"I don't want to." She reached up to pull the cravat away, but his hands captured hers, and she felt the panic wash over her in waves. "I don't want to do this!"

“It’s just a dance.” His voice was low against her ear. "I'll take you where you're supposed to go."

"Nathaniel?"

"Yes?"

"What if I don't like where you're taking me?" she asked in a whisper.

His hands tightened around hers, and she knew he understood what she meant. "You'll just have to trust me," he said.

He released one of her hands, lifted the other in his, and began the waltz. She had no choice now.

Her free hand reached for the solid reassurance of his shoulder as he whirled her around. "Count," he said softly. "One-two-three."

She focused on that, repeating the numbers in her head as he moved her through the steps. He gave her no opportunity to be tentative, and without sight to guide her, she began to find the rhythm of the dance in him.

She stopped counting and clung to him, the only solid thing in a world that was spinning, her movements following his by instinct alone. The music receded until all she could hear was her own heartbeat. The tension left her until all she could feel was the strength and reassurance emanating from him.

When the music ended, he brought her to a stop. Exhilaration flooded through her. "I did it!" she cried. "Nathaniel, I really did it."

He laughed. "Yes, you did. And very well, too."

His hands released her, moving to the back of her head to untie the cravat. When he let it slip down her nose to rest beneath her chin, she smiled.

"Thank you. I'm ever so grateful."

She felt the wisp of silk slide against her throat, and she realized his hands were still behind her head, his wrists resting on her shoulders. She would have pulled away then, but she felt his thumb caress the side of her neck, and she couldn't seem to move. She couldn't seem to breathe.

His fingers slid into the knot of her hair, pulling gently to lift her face. He bent his head slowly, ever so slowly, until his lips brushed hers, feather light and warm. "As a very strong-minded woman once said to me," he murmured against her mouth, "I don't want your gratitude."

The light grazing of his lips sent an involuntary shiver through her.

He had the ability to turn her upside down and inside out. He took away all her safe ideas and replaced them with dangerous new ones. He guessed her private secrets and tore down her protective walls. It was so easy. Easy because she let him.

Mara was lost in the sensation of his mouth against hers, her open eyes watching his close, watching his thick gold lashes sweep downward to rest against his skin. She felt him pull her lower lip between both of his, and he brushed his tongue back and forth over it, teasing and tasting, savoring her like a comfit. In that moment, something hard and tight deep within her unclenched, yielded. Her mouth opened.

His response was immediate. His tongue entered her mouth, and she realized that was what he'd been waiting for, that silent yielding. His hands tangled in her hair as he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss. The knot loosened, sending her hair and her defenses tumbling down.

She lifted her hands to grasp at something that wasn't him, but as it had been when she'd danced blindfolded in his arms, he was the only thing solid to hang on to. Her fists opened and closed on the air, helpless. She couldn't pull him closer, but she couldn't push him away.

Nathaniel broke the kiss, pulling back to look into her face. He was breathing hard, and she realized that she was, too, her breath coming out in little whispers between her parted lips, mingling with the hiss of the gramophone.

Her body tingled and her pulse beat frantically. She stared up at him in shock and wonder. So long ... it had been so long ... oh, heavens. She couldn't think.

He was smiling, looking down at her. It was a smile unlike any other before, a smile of infinite tenderness. His hands slid from beneath the heavy curtain of her hair to cup her face, and his thumbs swept back and forth across her cheekbones.

His head lowered a fraction, and she knew he intended to kiss her again. A tremor ran through her, a tremor of sudden panic, and she stepped back with a little gasp. He drew a deep breath and let her pull away.

He tugged the cravat gently from her throat and pushed back a wisp of her hair that had fallen over one shoulder, then his hands fell away, leaving her free. Alone.

She didn't want to be alone. She wanted to lean into him, feel his strength and gentleness again, hold on to him and keep him there. But she didn't. She couldn't. Something inside her held her back, the insecurity, the knowledge that she couldn't really hold him, not for long.