I caught my breath, stared directly into that sharply handsome face that glowed so vibrantly. I couldn’t speak. We moved apart and I focused on my turns, my gaze locking onto that peep.
Then in two leaps and a turn he was again before me, his face inches from mine, his body poised in the dramatic pantomimeof his character. “I promised you we’d dance together on this stage one day. I don’t keep a lot of things, but I keep my promises, love.”
Then he captured my hand, and we were spinning, spinning, blurring the world into a haze of muted colors, with only his presence, those incredible eyes shining out at me. That was the moment, caught up in the pas de deux,the heady delight of it, I realized that I’d danced with Jack Dorian before. The perfect harmony of our movements, the infectious delight spilling forth, the inescapable draw of his heart on display in every move—with a sudden rush it feltfamiliar,and I knew.
All this time I’d danced at Craven, I’d had, as usual, the wrong focal point. It wasn’t Philippe—it hadneverbeen Philippe. I could merely stare as we danced opposite each other, our bodies circling back and forth, round and round under our clasped hands held overhead, our gazes mingling and catching.
“Lesson five. Always look beyond the greasepaint.” At the sight of my shock, he offered a most unsettling, roguish smile. “What, you think this is the first time I’ve stood in for that poor sot?” He winked.
He twirled me out, then I spun back in close, and he anchored me to him for a brief stolen moment together.
I spun away, letting the music carry me once again, winging my way about the stage as I had in that cramped old materials room so many years ago. It was the same—orchestra music sinking into marrow, the greatness of the theater billowing around me, and a most unusual man watching me with unguarded admiration.
In a moment, the corpsand the sujet dancers swarmed outaround us, taking over the stage. I sailed with one final lift, grand jeté’ing into the wings where I clung to the curtains, trying to catch my breath, my runaway thoughts, as reality circled and refused to completely settle. Jack. Jack Dorian. He had been the cause of that magical pas de deux.
Then he was there, slipping into the folds of the heavy curtain with me, holding me up as he always did, emboldening me with a mere look. I could see it as I looked into that familiar countenance—that vibrant North Wind with the glowing blue face alive with delight and energy, buoyant of spirit and eager of heart, inviting me to dance, seeing the ballerina I could not even see in myself, daring to draw it out of me.
“That Philippe,” he whispered, breathless. “He has no idea what he missed, all for the sake of drowning those sorrows in his cups. And I, with a wig and a few spare hours, got it all.”
Dear Jack. I touched his face, his cheek. “You should have told me.”
“What, and have you fall in love with some romantic ideal?” His face sobered, that deeply vulnerable look coming through his handsome features. “I tried. I tried to tell you, in all those little outings. All the silly gestures that mimicked that night, hoping you’d remember. In the end, I couldn’t bear to tell you outright. I had it in my head to wait for the perfect moment—the one in which you fell in love with me in the light of day, without the fairy tale, but...”
I dropped my hand. “That took a terrible amount of waiting.”
He lifted my hand back to his cheek and held it there. It was smooth and strong. “I wanted nothing less than the real thing from you, Ella Blythe. Not a fanciful ballet that would end in two hours’ time.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” My voice was soft, my senses full of him.
A smile flickered against my hand. “I’m envisioning a much longer pas de deuxbetween us.” He dropped my hand and touched my hair, somehow drawing me closer. “We’ll stumble, we’ll collide a time or two, but then we’ll hold each other up, lift the other closer to the heavens. It’ll be you and me, always partners, always moving together.” He closed his eyes and leaned in close, kissing my forehead as if bestowing a blessing. “There’s simply no one quite like you.”
I blinked away tears. “I thought you hated me. The look on your face...”
He ran his thumb along my jawline, then dipped it toward the topaz he’d once given me hanging in the little hollow of my throat. “It’s the flaws that tell us when something’s real. And what’s real ... well, that’s quite valuable indeed.” He placed a solemn kiss on my temple. “Do you know, I believe it is your flaw that has saved me.”
“Oh?” I smiled from my heart, clear through to my lips.
“You’d just as well have saved your breath trying to convince me about God in all your little speeches. For all your talking and prattling on, it was what you refused to tell me for so long that finally rescued me. I’m so very broken, you know, and God so unfathomablygood.Yet ... yet if he could pursue and abide with a girl who’d done the worst possible thing I could imagine—what was once done to me—well then, just maybe he could tolerate a wretched man like myself.” He rested his forehead on mine. “The question is ... can you?”
A bubble of delight bobbed in my heart and I smiled up at him. “It was never about what you do or don’t do.”I just loveyou. Just love who you are.My breath shuddered as I acknowledged the truth I’d held so close. It was too much—too much to voice just yet.
“Fournier tried to convince me months ago when we started this ballet, but I wouldn’t believe it. You were so gone on Philippe Rousseau before, that all I could do was try to help you reach him. Until ... well, until last night.”
“Oh?”
A smile tipped the corner of his mouth. “I’ve never seen anyone ...smellmy coat.”
I buried my laughter into his chest and clung to him, feeling the heat rise in my face. Ihadheard someone last night.
Then he pushed me back, holding me by the shoulders as he always did before saying something vital. “I’ve nothing to offer. My mother the silk heiress has officially disowned me—legally and otherwise. It seems she has quite the passel of legitimate children among whom to divide the pieces of the pie, so I’ll not see a farthing.”
I leaned close, resting my head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, absorbing his presence. “As I said, it was never about what you do or what you have. You are enough, Jack. An adventure and a half by yourself.”
His expression melted into gladness. Relief. His arms tightened around me, then released and tightened again as if he could not get enough. He lifted his smiling countenance, leaving a trail of kisses along the side of my face. “You called me Jack.”
“I’ve done it before.”
“Yes ... but this time you meant it.” He brushed the loose strands from my face as he leaned close, and he sought my lips with his and kissed me with all the passion and wonder andheady vulnerability that had swept me up the last time. I pressed into him, feeling the extent of my devotion to him, and the same in return from him. When I moved back, he did not release me from his hold, as if afraid I’d dart, so I looked straight up into the most dangerously handsome face I’d ever seen—the golden-haired trifler I’d been warned against, troublemaker ... abandoned little boy.
