The Perfect Waltz (33 page)

There was no handle. Hope scrabbled for it desperately, then started hammering on the door. The darkness closed in on her, thick, oppressive, obliterating everything. She would die here. She clutched at her throat, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. She was going to be sick any minute.

From a long way away, she heard Lady Elinore say, “Miss Hope. Is there something wrong? Can’t you open the door?”

Hope choked, unable to muster enough breath to talk. It was all she could do to keep breathing, rapid, shallow breaths.

She scrabbled at the door. She was going to pass out. She felt Lady Elinore’s arms go around her. “Miss Hope. Are you ill? Can I help?”

The arms were confining, imprisoning. Hope thrust them away, fighting for breath. Her heart was beating rapidly, palpitating. Feebly she hammered.
Faith!

She was going to faint at any minute. Her chest was so tight, so tight. Not enough air.
Faith! Twin!

Suddenly there was light. Blessed light. And air. And him. Not Faith. Him. She could not see his face, her eyes were blurry, they didn’t work anymore. But she heard his voice, from far, far away, deep, strong, worried.

“Good God, Miss Hope. What happened?”

She tried to stagger toward him, to climb out of the black panic, but her knees gave way. She found herself scooped up by strong arms, held against a strong, broad chest.

“She’s near to swooning. Do you have any smelling salts, Lady Elinore?”

“No, I’m sorry. A woman of Rationality never faints. My mother used to say that fainting in ladies is usually induced by hunger and tight lacing, neither of which are Rational behaviors.”

He swore.

Hope could hear his heart beating, strong and sure. Her own heart was fluttering madly,
like a fish, a landed fish, flopping and gasping for air in the fisherman’s arms
.

“Perhaps she has contracted a fever. Her skin is drenched, and she is shaking. My late mother used to say—”

“I don’t think it’s a fever. Why were you in the cupboard?”

“We thought it was a private stairway down to the next level, and by the time we realized it wasn’t, the door was closed, and then we discovered that the handle had fallen off so we could not get out.”

“And that was when this happened to her?”

“Yes, I suppose it was.”

“Then she’s not ill. I have seen this before. I know what to do.”

“Is it hysterics? My late mother used to recommend a sharp slap—”

“No one shall slap her!” His voice was harsh, peremptory. Hope flinched at the sound. The voice softened to a deep rumble in her ear, “There now, Miss Hope.” A big, calloused hand gently smoothed her hair back. “No one shall harm you. You are safe now with me.’Tis but a passing fright. You shall recover directly, as soon as I get you to the air.” The tenderness in the deep growl shivered all through her, soothing, calming.

The voice changed again. Crisp command. “Giles, escort Lady Elinore back to the box, and fetch Miss Merridew’s warm cloak. She is frozen. Send that footman to inform her sister what has happened. I daresay Miss Faith has seen her like this before and will know what to do. You there, conduct me to the roof of this establishment by the quickest route. There is a guinea in it for you. You, usher, see if there is a doctor in the theater. I think I know what is the matter, but if I’m wrong, we’ll need a physician. Waiter, fetch me some brandy—your finest—and some water, and bring them instantly to the roof. A guinea in it for each of you. More if you’re faster. Now hop to it!”

Hope felt herself moving along the corridor. She closed her eyes against the faces. She could not feel her hands or feet.
Cold. So cold.
She struggled feebly, the world spinning.

The arms tightened, and a deep voice rumbled in her ear. “Hush now, sweet, I have you safe, now. Do not fear. No one shall harm you.”

“C-cold.”

“I know,” he murmured soothingly. “Your cloak is coming, but in the meantime, I’ll warm you. Here.” He pulled his coat open.

Confused, she tried to stare into his face. Still blurry. A large hand pressed her face against his chest, against the fine linen shirt. “Closer. Let my body warm you.” The big hand urged her gently against his chest. Warmth radiated from him. She pressed her shivering body against it.

“That’s the way. You’ll feel better soon.”

She lay against his chest panting, soaking in the warmth and the soothing rhythm of his hand along her spine.

“Now, I want you to try to slow your breathing. It will help, I think. Breathe in. Slowly,” he instructed. “Now out . . . slowly. That’s it. Good. Now keep breathing just like that. I am taking you outside, into the air.”

The air. She could breathe there. The fear that she was dying receded a little.

She breathed against his shirt as he strode along, taking her to the air. She did not suffocate. Her frantic heartbeat slowed. With each breath she inhaled him, scent of man, starched linen, sandalwood soap. The panic subsided a little. The spinning slowed.

He turned sideways as they came to some stairs.

Helpless. Not helpless.
“Can walk,” she muttered. “Put me down. Can walk.”

He hesitated for a moment, and she pushed at his chest. Gently he set her on her feet. She took a step, and her knees buckled. The dizziness swept over her.

“I think not,” he growled gently.

Again she was swept into his arms, held secure. She clutched his shirt and buried her face in his chest. The smell of him was familiar. Beloved.
Safe. Strong. Protected.

“Breathe in . . . now out. That’s my girl. It’s passing now, see? And in a moment you’ll be outside in the air, yourself again.”

Safe.
She relaxed against his chest and let him take her out into the air.

 
Lady Elinore’s forehead puckered worriedly. “I think I should be with her.”

“Bastian has it all in hand,” Giles said. “There’s nothing more to do. He has brandy, and her sister and chaperone have been informed, and when I passed him her cloak, he said she was recovering rapidly.”

She glanced at the door at the top of the stairs. “But she—she’s alone out there on the roof with Mr. Reyne.”

“Exactly. It’s what she needs. Privacy in which to recover.”

She considered his words, then relaxed. “Yes, it would be most uncomfortable to have people staring.” She straightened. “In that case, I shall return to my seat.”

He reached out a hand and detained her. “Not so fast, Elinore.”

She stiffened and glared at his hand. “Unhand me, sir!”

He grinned but said in a mild voice, “Miss Merridew has need of you yet. You need to stay, for the sake of propriety.”

She glanced at the door to the rooftop. “But you said—”

“If after her recovery she returns with you, me, and Bastian, no one will turn a hair, but if she returns alone, with Bastian . . .”

“Oh.”

“Exactly. Now, come and sit down. I suspect we will have quite a wait.” Giles dusted the stairs with a handkerchief and gestured for her to sit down. “Plenty of room for two.”

She eyed the narrow space, then said frostily, “Thank you, I shall stand.”

He shrugged and sat down. She stood like a little stick. After a few moments he said softly, “Elinore.”

She whirled on him crossly. “I have not given you permission—oof!”

Giles pulled her down onto his lap. She struggled a moment, then sat still and rigid. “Mr. Bemerton, this is most improper!” she hissed.

“Yes. Fun though. Remember the closet? That was fun, too, wasn’t it, Elinore?” There was a long pause, then he asked, “Why didn’t you use your hatpin?”

She looked away and bit her lip.

“You could use it on me now if you wanted to.”

In a tremulous voice she said, “Mr. Bemerton, why are you doing this? You can’t possibly desire me. So why do you make fun of me in this way?”

“Elinore, I am not making fun of you, believe me.” Giles tipped her gently back into his arms and kissed her very softly on her trembling lips. “And you have no idea of what is possible and what isn’t.” He kissed her again, less softly.

She made a little sound deep in her throat. Her hand wavered, moved toward her bodice, then trembled and came to rest on the back of his neck, then slid up to bury itself in his thick, golden hair.

JOHN MILTON

 
 
 
 
 
HOPE STOOD LOOKING OUT OVER LONDON, SILHOUETTED against the gentle lemon moon and the gaslights reflecting from the streets below. Sebastian took the luscious folds of ruched velvet and wrapped her in it. She seemed to sag beneath its weight, yet it was not so heavy.

She turned, her face pale and resolute in the gaslight, and faced him. He was prepared for reaction to set in, for tears. She surprised him.

“I must apologize,” she said in a composed voice in which only a hint of quaver remained. She looked unutterably beautiful and quite desolate.

Sebastian swallowed. “For what?”

She raised a brow and said with a faint edge of bitter sarcasm, “To be afraid of being locked inside a cupboard? A simple, ordinary, harmless cupboard. Without even any spiders in it?” She said it as if repeating a lesson learned by heart. There was an odd cadence, not her own, as if she was unconsciously imitating someone. There was a degree of self-loathing there that shocked him.

He poured brandy into a glass and handed it to her. “Sometimes our fears overcome us, no matter how hard we try. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Now drink that. It will restore you a little.”

She held the glass in limp fingers and stared at him. “A cupboard! What sort of pathetic creature is frightened by a mere cupboard?” She closed her eyes in brief self disgust. “And I was not even alone in it. What must Lady Elinore think of me?”

“It’s not her business to think anything!” Sebastian growled. “You are not to be upset by anything of the sort, do you hear me? Now drink that brandy.”

She stared at him a moment, then the bitter look faded from her eyes. She smiled ruefully. “I suppose you will order her not to think poorly of me.”

“No.” Sebastian shook his head. Barking at her like an overseer on the factory floor! No wonder she thought he might try to order a lady what to think. “Lady Elinore has a kind heart. She will understand.”

“She does have a kind heart. But who can understand fear of a cupboard?” she said so sadly he wanted to snatch her into his arms again. She turned away from him, setting her untouched glass down on the balustrade and looked out over the streetscape below them. Sebastian felt helpless. He wanted to hold her tight, to force her to receive comfort. He hated that look of shame and misery in her eyes. He didn’t know what to do.

Her cloak slipped off one shoulder. He stepped forward and wrapped it more securely around her. His arms stayed around her waist, supporting her. He could feel the faint shivers that still occasionally rocked her, and he drew her back against him, offering his warmth and strength. She leaned against his chest, staring miserably out across the London rooftops. Her hair was disordered and slightly damp. He drew in the scent of her with each breath. She seemed completely desolate.

He said the first words that came into his mind. “I knew a man once, in the mill. Reuben Davy. A big, brawny fellow he was. Could lift anything. I thought he was the strongest man in the world. I was just a lad, myself. He was a fighter, too, county champion.”

She gave no sign she was listening. The breeze ruffled her curls. Below them they could hear a barrow man trundling his wares home, a carriage going past, the horses’ hooves clip-clopping on the cobbles.

“One thing Reuben wouldn’t do: go down into the cellar. Not for anything or anyone. Some of the other men thought it was funny, a big strong fellow like Reuben, afraid of the dark. They tricked him one day. Threw a bag over his head, locked him down there in the cellar. For a joke.”

There was a long silence. She didn’t move a muscle. Far away, a lone seabird circled down near the river, its cry mournful and bleak.

“When they found him, Reuben was weeping like a babe, gasping for breath, in a grip of a panic so deep it took him hours to come out of it. They had to carry him out of the cellar, all sixteen stone of him.”

She stood as still as a statue, staring blankly out over the darkened city. A barge glided silently along the river, sending dark ripples in its wake.

“He told me much later that when he was only seven years old, he’d started off working in the mines. He never minded the dark then. He worked there for years. One day toward the end of the shift, the tunnel came down around them. It was five days before they dug him out. All the other men and boys down there were dead, including his father and two of his brothers. He lay there for days, under the earth, dead men all around him, waiting to die. He was twelve years old—the same age I was when he told me the story. Reuben never went down another mine again. Couldn’t. Never went into a dark cellar or a small, dark cupboard either.”

A wagon rumbled noisily past in the street below. Somewhere a dog barked. Sebastian placed a hand on her shoulder.

“He beat those men to a pulp, afterward. A man to demand respect, Reuben Davy. No matter that he couldn’t abide closed, dark spaces. We all have things we cannot abide.”

He felt the tension sigh out of her. Slowly, slowly she turned, and he released her. Her eyes were swimming, liquid; her face was working with emotion. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss all the distress away. He picked up her brandy glass and held it to her lips. “Drink. It will burn a little, but you will feel better afterward.”

She gave him a shimmering, unfathomable look and then leaned closer. He could smell the faint scent that was uniquely hers. His mouth was dry as she put her lips to the glass he held. He’d never held a glass for a woman to drink from before. It was strangely intimate.