by Nora Roberts
Their handshake was warm. Seth knew he shared the two women he loved with the Russian. A part of Lindsay had belonged to Nick before he had known her. Now Ruth was part of his world.
“Are you giving us another triumph tonight?” Seth asked.
“But of course.” Nick grinned and shrugged. “It is what I do.”
Lindsay gave Nick a squeeze. “He never changes.” She rested her head on his shoulder a moment. “Thank God.”
Throughout the exchange Ruth said nothing. She observed something rare and special between Lindsay and Nick. It emanated from them so vividly, she felt she could almost touch it. It only took seeing them side by side to remember how perfectly they had moved together on the stage. Unity, precision, understanding. She stopped listening to what they were saying, entranced by their unspoken rapport.
When Nick’s eyes met hers, Ruth could only stare. Whatever she had been trying to dissect, to absorb, was forgotten. All she knew was that she had unwittingly allowed the ache to return. His eyes were so blue, so powerful, she seemed unable to prevent him from peeling away the layers and reaching her soul. Marshalling her strength, she pulled herself out of the trance.
It would have been impossible not to have witnessed the brief exchange. Lindsay and Seth silently communicated their concern.
“Nadine will be at the reception, won’t she?” Lindsay attempted to ease the sudden tension.
“Hmm?” Nick turned his attention back to her. “Ah, yes, Nadine.” He realigned his thoughts and spoke smoothly. “Of course, she will want to bask in the glory before she launches her next fund drive.”
“You always were hard on her.” Lindsay smiled, remembering how often Nick and Nadine Rothchild, the founder of the company, had disagreed.
“She can take it,” he tossed off with a jerk of his shoulder. “I’ll see you at the reception?”
“Yes.” Lindsay watched his eyes drift back to Ruth’s. He hadn’t spoken a word to her, nor had Ruth said anything to him. They communicated with their eyes only. He held the contact for several long seconds before turning back to Lindsay.
“I’ll see you after the performance,” he said, and Ruth quietly let out her breath. “I must go change. Do svidanya.”
He was gone before they could answer his goodbye. From down the corridor, they could hear someone calling his name.
Seth walked to Ruth and, putting his hands on her shoulders, bent to kiss the crown of her head. “You’d better be changing.”
Ruth tried to pull herself together. “Yes, I’m in the first scene.”
“You’re going to be terrific.” He squeezed her shoulders briefly.
“I want to be.” Her eyes lifted to his and held before sweeping to Lindsay. “I have to be.”
“You will be,” Lindsay assured her, holding out a hand for Seth’s even as her eyes stayed on Ruth’s. “It’s what you were born for. Besides, you were my most gifted pupil.”
Ruth turned in the chair and gave Lindsay her first smile since Nick’s appearance. She lifted her face to Lindsay’s quick kiss. “Do svidanya!” Lindsay said, smiling as she and Seth left arm in arm.
Slowly Ruth moved to the door and shut it. For a moment she simply stood, contemplating the colorful costume that would make her Carlotta. She was Ruth Bannion, a little unsure of her emotions, a little afraid of the night ahead. To put on the costume was to put on the role. Carlotta has her vulnerabilities, Ruth mused, fingering the fabric of the skirt, but she cloaks them in boldness and audaciousness. The thought made Ruth smile again. Oh yes, she decided, she’s for me. Ruth began to dress.
When she left the room fifteen minutes later, she could hear the orchestra tuning up. She was in full costume. Her skirt swayed saucily at her hips, a slash of a red scarf defined her waist. Her hair streamed freely down her back. She hurried past the dancers warming up for the first scene and those idling in the doorways. She spotted Francie sitting cross-legged on the floor in a corner, breaking in her toe shoes with a hammer.
Ruth went to a convenient prop crate and used it for a barre as she began to warm up. She could already smell the sweat and the lights.
Her muscles responded, tightening, stretching, loosening at her command. She concentrated on them purposefully, keeping her back to the stage, the better to concentrate on her own body. Each performance was important to her, but this one was in a class by itself. Ruth had something to prove—to Nick and to herself. She would flaunt her professionalism. Whatever her feelings were for Nick, she would forget them and concentrate only on interpreting Nick’s ballet. Nothing would interfere with that.
It had been a bad moment for her in the dressing room when his eyes had pinned hers. Something inside her had wanted to melt and nearly had. Pride had held her aloof, as it had for weeks. He hadn’t wanted her—not wholly, not exclusively—the way she had wanted him. The fact that he had so easily agreed that any number of women could give him what he needed had stung.
Scowling, Ruth curled her leg up behind her, pulling and stretching.
It was time someone taught that arrogant Russian a lesson, she thought as she switched legs. Too many women had fallen at his feet. He expected it, just as he expected his dancers to do things his way.
Ruth lifted her chin and found her eyes once again locked tight on Nick’s.
He had come out of his dressing room clad in the glittering white and gold tunic he would wear in the first act. Spotting Ruth, he had stopped to stand and watch her. He wondered if the passion he saw in her face was her own or, like the costume, assumed for her role as Carlotta. He thought that there, in the dim backstage corridor, with the gypsy costume and smoldering eyes, she had never looked more alluring. It was at that moment that Ruth had lifted her eyes to his.
Each felt the instant attraction; each felt the instant hostility. Ruth tossed her head, glared briefly, then whirled away in a flurry of color and skirts. Her unconscious mimicry of the character she was about to play amused him.
All right, little one, Nick thought with the ghost of a smile. We’ll see who comes out on top tonight. Nick decided he would rather enjoy the challenge.
He followed Ruth to the wings, dismissing with a wave of his hand one or two who tried to detain him. Reaching Ruth, he spun her around and caught her close, heedless of the backstage audience. She was caught completely off guard. Her reflexes had no time to respond or to reject before his mouth, arrogant and sure, demanded, plundered, then released.
Nick kept his hands on her forearms for a moment, arrogantly smiling. “That should put you in the mood,” he said jauntily before turning to stride away.
Furious, Ruth could only stare hotly after his retreating back. There was scattered laughter that her glare did nothing to suppress before she whirled away again and stalked out onto the empty, black stage.
She waited while the stage hands drew the heavy curtain. She waited for the orchestra—strings only, as they played her entrance cue. She waited until she was fully lighted by the single spot before she began to dance.
Her opening solo was short, fast and flamboyant. When she had finished, the stage was lit to show the set of a gypsy camp. The audience exploded into applause.
While the corps and second dancers took over, Ruth was able to catch her breath. She waited, half-listening to the praise of Nick’s assistant choreographer. Across the long stage she could see Nick waiting in the opposite wing for his entrance.
Top that, Davidov, she challenged silently. Ruth knew she had never danced better in her life. As if he had heard the unspoken dare, Nick grinned at her before he made his entrance.
He was all arrogance, all pride; the prince entering the gypsy camp to buy baubles. He cast aside the trinkets they offered with a flick of the wrist. He dominated the stage with his presence, his talent. Ruth couldn’t deny it. It made her only more determined to outdo him. She waited while he dismissed offe
r after offer, waited for him to make it plain that the gypsies had nothing he desired. Then she glided on stage, her head held high. A red rose was now pinned at her ear.
Their mutual attraction was instant as their eyes met for the first time. The moment was accentuated by the change of lighting and the orchestra’s crescendo. Carlotta, seeing the discarded treasures, turned her back on him to join a group of her sisters. The prince, intrigued, approached her for a closer study.
Ruth’s mutinous eyes met Nick’s again, and she had no trouble jerking her head haughtily away when he took her chin in his hand. Something in Nick’s smile made her eyes flare more dramatically as he turned to the dancer who played her father. The prince had found something he desired. He offered his gold for Carlotta.
She defied him with pride and fury. No one could buy her; no one could own her. Taunting him, arousing him, she agreed to sell him a dance for his bag of gold. Enraged yet unable to resist, the prince tossed his gold onto the pile of rejected trinkets. They began their first pas de deux, palm to palm, with heated blood and angry eyes.
The high-level pace was maintained throughout the ballet. The competition between them remained sharp, each spurring the other to excel. They didn’t speak between acts, but once, as they danced close, he whispered annoyingly in her ear that her ballottés needed polishing.
He lifted her, and she dipped, her head arched down, her feet up, so that he was holding her nearly upside down. Six, seven, eight slow, sustained beats, then she was up like lightning again in an arabesque. Her eyes were like flame as she executed a double turn. When she leaped offstage leaving him to his solo, Ruth pressed her hand to her stomach, drawing exhausted breaths.
Again and again, the stage burned from their heated dancing. When the ballet finally ended, the two in each other’s arms, she managed to pant: “I dislike you intensely, Davidov.”
“Dislike all you please,” he said lightly as applause and cheers erupted. “As long as you dance.”
“Oh, I’ll dance, all right,” she assured him breathlessly and dipped into a deep, smiling curtsy for the audience.
Only she could have heard his quiet chuckle as he scooped up a rose that had been tossed onstage and presented it to her with a bow.
“My ballottés were perfect,” she hissed between gritted teeth as he kissed her hand.
“We’ll discuss it in class tomorrow.” He bowed and presented her to the audience again.
“Go to hell, Davidov,” she said, smiling sweetly to the “bravos” that showered over them.
“After the season,” he agreed, turning for another bow.
Chapter Five
Nick and Ruth took eleven curtain calls. An hour after the final curtain came down, her dressing room was finally cleared so that she could change from her costume. Now she wore a long white dress with narrow sleeves and a high collar. The only jewelry she added were the sleek gold drop earrings that Lindsay and Seth had given her on her twenty-first birthday. Triumph had made her eyes dark and brilliant and had shot a flush of rose into her cheeks. She left her hair loose and free, as Carlotta’s had been.
“Very nice,” Donald commented when she met him in the corridor.
Ruth smiled, knowing he spoke of the dress, his design, as much as the woman in it. She slipped her arm through his. “Like it?” Her eyes beamed up into his. “I found it in this little discount dress shop in the clothing district.”
He pinched her chin as punishment, then kissed her. “I know I said it before, darling, but you were wonderful.”
“Oh, I could never hear that too often.” With a laugh she began to lead the way to the stage door. “I want champagne,” she told him. “Gallons of it. I think I could swim in it tonight.”
“Let’s see if it can be arranged.”
They moved outside, where his car was waiting. “Oh, Donald,” Ruth continued, the moment they had settled into it. “It never felt more right. Everything just seemed to come together. The music—the music was so perfect.”
“You were perfect,” he stated, steering the car into Manhattan traffic. “They were ready to tear the walls down for you.”
Much too excited to lean back, Ruth sat on the edge of her seat and turned toward him. “If I could freeze a moment in time, with all its feelings and emotions, it would be this ballet. Tonight. Opening night.”
“You’ll do it again tomorrow,” he told her.
“Yes, and it’ll be wonderful, I know. But not like this.” Ruth wished he could understand. “I’m not sure it can ever be exactly like this again, or even if it should be.”
“I’d think you might get a bit weary of doing the same dance night after night after a couple of weeks.”
He pulled over to the curb, and Ruth shook her head. Why did she want him to understand? she wondered as the doorman helped her alight. For all his creative talents as a designer, Donald was firmly rooted to the earth. But tonight she was ready to fly.
“It’s hard to explain.” She allowed him to lead her through the wide glass doors and into the hotel lobby. “Something just happens when the lights come on and the music starts. It’s always special. Always.”
The banquet room was ablaze with light and already crowded with people. Cameras began to click and flash the moment Ruth stepped into the doorway. The applause met her.
“Ruth!” Nadine walked through the crowd with the assurance of a woman who knew people would step aside for her. She was small, with a trim build and grace that revealed her training as a dancer. Her hair was sculptured and palely blond, her skin smooth and pink. The angelic face belied a keen mind. More than she ever had as a dancer, Nadine Rothchild, as company founder, devoted her life to the ballet.
Ruth turned to find herself embraced. “You were beautiful,” Nadine said. Ruth knew this to be her highest compliment. Pulling her away, Nadine stared for several long seconds directly into her eyes. It was a characteristic habit. “You’ve never danced better than you danced tonight.”
“Thank you, Nadine.”
“I know you want Lindsay and Seth.” She began to lead Ruth across the room, leaving Donald to follow in her wake. “We’re all sitting together.”
Ruth’s eyes met Lindsay’s first. What she read there was the final gratification. Lindsay held out both her hands, and Ruth extended hers to join them. “I’m so proud of you.” Her voice was thick with emotion.
Seth laid his hands on his wife’s shoulders and looked at his niece. “Every time I watch you perform, I think you’ll never dance any better than you do at that moment. But you always do.”
Ruth laughed, still gliding, and lifted her face for a kiss. “It’s the most wonderful part I’ve ever had.” She turned then, and taking Donald’s arm, made quick introductions.
“I’m a great admirer of your designs.” Lindsay smiled up at him. “Ruth wears them beautifully.”
“My favorite client. I believe you could easily become my second favorite,” Donald returned the compliment. “You have fantastic coloring.”
“Thank you.” Lindsay recognized the professional tone of the compliment and was more amused than flattered. “You need some champagne,” she said, turning to Ruth.
Before they could locate a waiter, the sound of applause had them turning back toward the entrance. Ruth knew before she saw him that it would be Nick. Only he could generate such excitement. He was alone, which surprised her. Where there was Davidov, there were usually women. Ruth knew his eyes would find hers.
Nick quickly dislodged himself from the crowd and slowly, with the perfectly controlled grace of his profession, walked to her, holding a single red rose, which he handed to Ruth. When she accepted it, he took her other hand and lifted it to his lips. He didn’t speak, nor did his eyes leave hers, until he turned and walked away.
Just theatrics, she told herself, but she couldn’t resist breathing in the scent of the
rose. No one knew how to set the stage more expertly than Davidov. Her eyes shifted to Lindsay’s. In them Ruth could read both understanding and concern. She barely prevented herself from shaking her head in denial. She forced a bright smile.
“What about that champagne?” she demanded.
***
Ruth toyed with her dinner, barely eating, too excited for food. It was just as well; she sat at the table with Nadine, and it was a company joke that Nadine judged her dancers by the pound.
Nadine gave Lindsay’s dish of chocolate mousse a frowning glance. “You have to watch those rich desserts, dear.”
With a laugh Lindsay leaned over and kissed Nadine’s cheek. “You’re so wonderfully consistent, Nadine. There’s too much in the world that’s unpredictable.”
“You can’t dance with whipped cream in your thighs,” Nadine pointed out and sipped at her champagne.
“You know,” Lindsay said to Ruth, “she caught me once with a bag of potato chips. It was one of the most dreadful experiences of my life.” She shot Nadine a grin and licked chocolate from her spoon. “It completely killed my taste for them.”
“My dancers look like dancers,” Nadine said firmly. “Lots of bone and no bulges. Proper diet is as essential as daily class—”
“And daily class is as essential as breathing,” Lindsay finished and laughed again. “Can it really be eight years since I was with the company?”
“You left a hole. It wasn’t easy to fill it.”
The unexpected compliment surprised Lindsay. Nadine was a pragmatic, brisk woman who took her dancers’ talent for granted. She expected the best and rarely considered praise necessary.
“Why, thank you, Nadine.”
“It wasn’t a compliment but a complaint,” Nadine countered. “You left us too soon. You could still be dancing.”
Lindsay smiled again. “You seem to have plenty of young talent, Nadine. Your corps is still the best.”
