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“He dances beautifully, does he not, señorita? Like a gypsy, though he swears he is not. Well, will you dance, my lord?”
“Teach the señorita to dance, Marita, for it is she who dances beautifully.”
“No!” Celia burst out. “I…I do not care to dance.”
“Do you not?” The girl he’d called Marita tossed back her long loose hair like a dark cloud, and lifted her slim shoulders in a shrug. “It is true that few can dance like a gypsy. We are more graceful, have more passion. I have never seen a clumsy Englishwoman who can compare.”
“I’m not English,” Celia said stiffly, and recognized the challenge in the girl’s black eyes. “Nor am I clumsy.”
“No?” Red lips parted in a grin. “Yet you stand there as stiff as an English oak, unyielding and with as little grace. No, I say, you do not care to try because you know you cannot learn our dances.”
All eyes were on them now, and Celia flushed when her cousin urged her to try. Jacqueline laughed gaily.
“Oh, do give it a try, Celia. I think it wo
uld be quite entertaining.”
Mrs. Pemberton snorted. “I daresay, a proper lady does not indulge in such…such heathen activities. My niece would never be so heedless of her position.”
“But, Aunt Agatha,” Olivia said softly, “I do not think it would be so terrible. And they do look so graceful and lovely, and the music is quite lively.”
“I’ll try it,” Celia said, “if Carolyn and Miss Freestone join me.”
Marita clapped her hands, and two of the young men joined them, hot-eyed and eager, with broad white grins on dark faces. She spoke to them in what sounded like Spanish but must be a different dialect, then one of the men took Celia’s hand and drew her out onto the cleared paving stones, while another young man escorted Carolyn and Miss Freestone.
Mrs. Pemberton looked disgruntled, but Jacqueline only smiled as the music began again.
Celia’s partner put an arm around her waist, and when she drew away, he shook his head and said something in his own language. She looked down at his feet when he pointed to them, and studied the brief steps he showed her. It was very simple, really, a combination of several dances. What made it seem so different was the movement of the body and the stamping of the feet.
Fascinated, she watched Marita, saw that she put her entire body into the dance, eyes half-closed, a teasing smile on her lips as she swayed, turned, then stamped her feet to the beat of the fiddle, guitar and drums. Bells attached to the many bracelets on her arms jangled as she lifted her arms over her head, whirled around, bare feet a blur and her body lithe. She shook her head, and her hair swung down her back to her waist in a silky mass.
Marita looked as if she danced for a man, a lover, her slender body moving in blatant seduction. Snapping fingers over her head, she danced toward Northington, lips half-parted, eyes glistening an invitation as her hips undulated provocatively, skirts whirling up above bare knees. Celia heard her partner make some kind of low sound in the back of his throat as Marita pressed her body against Northington briefly, then whirled away in a teasing summons for him to follow.
To Celia’s surprise, he did, eyes narrow and focused on the girl’s face, his step matching hers, heels slamming down one after the other, his lean body powerful and graceful at the same time. It was obvious he had done this before, and Celia was shocked by the realization that the gypsy girl was very familiar with him. It was in her eyes, in the laughing curve of her lips, in the dark gleam of triumph she threw toward Celia.
They have been together, she thought then, and was startled by the pang of anger that knifed through her. Why should she care what woman had caught his eye? It didn’t matter in the least.
She must have stumbled, for her partner caught her by the elbow to steady her.
“Señorita,” he said softly, a question in the dark eyes fastened on her face.
Smiling, he urged her to follow his steps, and Celia forced a smile as she obliged.
Damn Northington, this was just another of his games, an attempt to prove his masculine appeal. She would ignore him, as he well deserved, and pretend that she hadn’t noticed at all, or even cared.
She danced with the young gypsy, and discovered that once she concentrated, she could mimic his moves quite well. Her feet flew over the stones and her body seemed to move of its own volition to the driving tempo of the music that soared beneath the lanterns. The music went faster and faster and so did her feet as she twisted, turned, let her arms go above her head as she had seen Marita do. It was suddenly liberating to dance so freely, as if she cared for nothing but the moment.
And maybe that’s partly true, she thought as she let the music direct her feet. Maybe I should think of nothing but this very moment, right now, and not remember anything or think of what I must do tomorrow…I’m so weary of it all, the hurting and the frustration. And yes, the desperation. Oh, why did I ever think I could manage this?
It was hopeless. The earl of Moreland was too far out of her reach, beyond any justice she could exact. How silly it all was, to think she could come to England and somehow ruin a man like Moreland.
Hot tears stung her eyes, half-blinding her as she danced, losing herself in the music instead of despair, pushing all from her mind as her breath came in harsh pants and perspiration dampened her clothes.
As she had seen Marita do, she reached up to free her hair, tossing aside the pretty hairpins as carelessly as if they were worthless, shaking her head to let her pale hair cascade around her shoulders and in her face. Nothing mattered at this moment but relief from constant tension, from all restrictions.
From Northington…
Colter was very much aware of her, startled and angrily amused by her display. Bloody hell, he had only himself to blame for it, for goading her into some kind of reaction, something other than the stiff, cool composure that he knew she didn’t feel. But this! Christ, Harvey was nearly choking on his port, staring at Celia as if he’d never seen her before, and the gypsies—He’d put an end to this before it went too far, for the young man, Mario, who danced with Celia was getting much too close to her.
