“What a silly thing for a heroine to do. But then you’d have a reason to love her, of course, her being so brave and resourceful.”
“Then I suppose you’d suggest they dance together in a forgotten old room.”
“Yes, and beautifully so. But then he disappears.” I sighed. How easy it was to fall back into the memory of that unusual night.
“Well then, they must find one another again.” His voice was quiet. Undefinable.
“Of course. But he doesn’t recognize her, because it’s been so many years. Then finally, when they are dancing together again at a sumptuous party, with her in a most stunning gown, she reveals it to him.” I closed my eyes, feeling the romance on the breeze about me. “‘Hero,’ she says. ‘Dear hero, I have a secret to tell you. We’ve danced this way before. You don’t recognize me, but I’ve never forgotten you. I once saved your life. Now I want to offer you mine.’”
“That’s some speech.”
“I may have rehearsed it a few times.” I heaved a sigh. The muffled strains of violins softened the quiet of the night, and I drank in the moment, the daydream whose sweetness dissolved in my heart over time like hard candy enjoyed for hours.
Jack’s voice jarred me back. “I still don’t see what she loves about this hero. He was saved. They danced. Any man can do those things.”
“Most wouldn’t. Not with a ragged little child who didn’tbelong there. He was gallant and kind, showing her how pure and sacred ballet could be, and it was all soperfect.” My chest rose and fell twice. “Of course it seems absurdly silly to a trifler like yourself, but to the rest of us...” My trailing voice mingled with the rise of orchestra music.
“She did belong there. That girl.” His simple words dropped into the night, then Jack didn’t speak for a moment, and I sank unquestioningly into the silence.
I closed my eyes to picture the dancers in the climactic moment, feeling the gentle pressure of Philippe’s hands at my waist, seeing the vibrancy of his face once again as we danced, the overflowing kindness. There was simply no way to express what I knew about that night—about Philippe.
“Show me.”
I rolled over to look at him. “What?”
He sat up, offering me a hand. “I said, ‘Show me.’ Come now, I know you can dance at least tolerably well.”
I shifted and felt the chill of grass on my bare feet. I rooted around under my skirt for the terrible brown shoes, but my feet only found more grass. I sat up and looked about, but the world around the blue-green grass had grown surprisingly dark. Insufferable man, dragging me into this. “I dance every day, Jack Dorian. What makes you think I’d want to do it now?”
“Because this time it’s with me.” His smile was so enchanting, so very inviting, that I took his hand.
“Perhaps you should dance, and I can watch.”
“Nonsense.” He gave a gentle tug. “This is an opportunity for me too, dancing with the soon-famous ballerina Ella Blythe.”
“I’d much rather watch.”
He released my hand and frowned. “What’s this about?” Again, his eyes gently demanded the truth. I looked down. Helowered himself until his bright gaze was right before mine, head tipped just so. “Well?”
I leaned up to whisper into his ear. “I’ve lost my shoes.”
He considered me with an amused half smile, then without a word, he kicked off his own shoes and offered his hand again. “Better?”
Smiling, unable to resist this gallant gentleman standing before me in his stocking feet, I took his hand and allowed myself to be framed in his arms. We stood there for a moment in the throng of crickets and night music as the violins died away to silence. He never once took his eyes off me. Then the music began anew, and he swept me along, turning me into a ballet-waltz through the grass, moving faster and faster, spinning and dipping until the music had worked into the fibers of my muscles and I too was committed.
We moved this way through the darkening lawn of the grand theater, stealing their muffled music and creating our own performance, dancing for no one but ourselves. Lifting my arms, I arched back with his arm holding my waist and felt the night cool and wild against my skin in a moment of glorious abandon. Then he pulled me to him and we moved together through the paces he’d written for the last performance. When the instruments dimmed and the world again fell quiet, we slowed our steps as the dance seemed to continue. We came to a stop, but my mind didn’t quit whirling, and I found myself powerfully drawn to Jack Dorian.
I shook it off, backing away and looking up at the theater. “They certainly have a lovely orchestra.”
“You’ve not yet told Philippe your secret?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t your bravery in such matters, you know. I’m still a bit intimidated by the whole idea—by him.”
“Ella, not every hero of a story is truly heroic and no one’s real life is a stage performance. Do not think him more perfect than he is.”
I looked into Jack’s face and thought of everything I knew about him. “Yes, I know.”
By the time Jack hailed a cab to take us back across the bridge, for my shoes were never found in the dark, we’d fallen silent again. Most of London was at home, but the streets were alive with scavengers hollering to each other, cabbies and their horses winging by, and a few lean-looking costermongers calling out their wares. He handed me into the hackney and tucked a lap rug over my legs, even though there was only a slight chill in the air from the river.
