“A rope-walker,” she exclaimed. “What do you think, Aunt Lucinda? Isn’t she marvelous?”
“I am terrified,” her aunt said, grabbing Miranda’s arm. “I don’t know if I can watch.”
“She hasn’t fallen yet,” Lord Mercer said. “I saw her at the theatre twice.”
Miranda wondered when and with whom, although it was none of her business.
“But this is special,” he began just before a firework exploded behind Madame Saqui, illuminating her figure so they could all see her clearly.
With her feathers waving gracefully overhead, she took a step forward and another back and then forward again.
“Why, she is dancing!” Miranda exclaimed, then held her breath, wishing the woman was already farther along the taut rope and closer to the ground.
“It appears to be a minuet,” her aunt said. She was correct, for that’s what the musicians were playing. A few minutes later, the music quickened, and Madame Saqui began to skip along the rope.
Her aunt added, “And now the gavotte!”
Madame Saqui had only the toes of one slippered foot on the rope while lifting her other leg in a jaunty kick. With her arms swaying, she seemed to be as light as air.
“Gracious!” Miranda said. “It appears she could fly if she wished.”
Meanwhile, the fireworks continued overhead, showering the performer in a rainbow of colors — yellow, orange, red, then suddenly green and white.
The crowd cheered.
“I’m sorry to abandon my charge,” her aunt said, “but this is leaving me a bundle of nerves. I cannot watch. It is madness! I trust you’ll be safe among all these onlookers,” she said to Miranda before giving Lord Mercer a particularly hard stare.
“She’ll be perfectly safe here,” he agreed.
Her aunt sniffed. “Then I will see you back at our supper box.” With that, she turned from the fantastical performance.
“I, too, am worried for Madame Saqui,” Miranda confessed, “yet I cannot possibly look away.”
Chapter Ten
If it hadn’t been for Madame Saqui, Philip would never have lost sight of Miss Bright. The thirty-year-old, famed rope-dancer was truly mesmerizing, having been practicing her craft in France with her parents since she was a girl. But that was no excuse for taking his eyes off Miranda. Not even for a second.
Nor would he have, regardless of how dainty and magical the French woman appeared. Yet somehow, Madame Saqui made eye contact with him, and he could sense she was going to use him in her act even before it happened. The fireworks continued behind her, the music swelled, and she ran on tip-toe the final yards down the inclined rope.
Sure enough, as Madame Saqui approached the end, she bent slightly at her knees and sprang into the air, directly at him. This was probably the most dangerous part of her act because she was relying upon a stranger. Luckily, he caught her midair.
“Twirl me, monsieur,” she demanded, and suddenly, as if it had been planned, he found himself cradling her in his arms and turning in a circle while she threw her hands overhead, accepting the acclaim and applause of all those around them.
“Again!” she ordered, and he did as requested, enjoying her warm body against his and even appreciating the envy of the men in the crowd.
Finally, she said, “Enough. You may set me down.”
Disentangling himself from the lovely limbs of Madame Saqui, who let her hands run down his arms and chest, Philip finally looked around for Miranda.
She was no longer in the vicinity.
Blast!
Philip recalled the last time he’d panicked when he had lost sight of her, and took a steadying breath. There had been nothing to worry about then and probably all was well now. Thinking she’d decided to rejoin her aunt, he returned to their supper box. Alas, it held only Mrs. Cumbersome.
“Where is Miss Bright?” he asked the older woman who had ordered herself a pitcher of the popular Arrack punch and already downed a portion.
“I came here twenty years ago and had the very same,” she said, slurring slightly and looking at her nearly empty glass that had held the unique, distilled liquor of fermented palm sap, mixed with citrus fruit, sugar, and spice.
