“Why thank you, young man.” Bethelyn rolled her eyes. “Did I not teach my young men at Theater Satine to sing a woman’s praises at all times?” She slid a single condemning finger across Noel’s perfect lips. “Only words of glowing praise should pass those lovely lips.”
Ignoring her scolding words, Noel wrapped his arms around his lover and tilted his head against his.
“What troubles you, my lady?”
A sighing Bethelyn sank in his arms, running a soothing hand through the strands of his long blond hair.
“This morning I had a meeting with Zelda Martin, the investor behind many of our shows,” she explained. “I asked her to fund the production of The Phantom Lover, and she agreed-with one condition.” He sighed. “She wants Ian in her bed.”
“Ian?” Jerking upward, Noel shook his head in a show of utter shock. “He is in love with Moira.”
“I know.” Bethelyn nodded. “Yet before he knew Moira-indeed, before he even knew me-he made his money in women’s beds-not on a stage.”
“He has changed,” Noel insisted, once again taking a concerned Bethelyn in a warm, tender embrace. “We all have, with thanks to you.” He squeezed her shoulders.
Managing a small smile, Bethelyn tweaked Noel’s sculpted nose and moved away from him in the bed.
“I have money of my own, but not enough to do justice to the magnificent images that Moira composed in that book.” She shook her head, then, waving him from the bed, “This is not your worry, young man. Go and prepare for tonight’s performance.” She graced his shoulder with an affectionate nudge. “I think I’ll stay up here this evening, to conjure some sort of a plan.”
An hour later Noel stood outside the front door of Theater Satine; an elegant portrait of ivory stone arches, stained glass windows painted in lustrous fashion with all the hues of the rainbow, cast iron gates and-flanking these gates-statues of sweet winged cherubs who beamed in greeting.
The designated doorman for that evening, Noel also smiled at the long line of guests who awaited entrance into the theater; adding a wink or a sultry pout for the benefit of the females.
…at least one of whom seemed impressed by the gesture.
“Good evening Noel!” Dressed in a long gold lattice work dress that showed off her slender figure to nice effect, Zelda Martin stepped forward to clutch the hands of the smiling, handsome doorman. “Did Bethelyn post you out front, to lure hapless females into the theater?”
Noel chuckled, taking Zelda’s hand in his and kissing it with warm, soft lips.
“In your case, Miss,” he winked. “I certainly hope it works.”
Before she could respond, Noel swooped down upon her like a ravenous hawk; pulling her to him as he delivered a second sumptuous kiss-this one to her lips.
“Could I possibly ‘lure’ you into meeting me backstage?” He whispered against her mouth, running his massaging fingers across the back of her hand. “I’d love to show you the new dance steps I have learned…privately.”
His eyes flew wide as Zelda wrapped a snakelike arm around his waist; giving him a quick and unceremonious slap on the rump.
“Meet me after the final curtain,” she growled, eyes wild with desire.
Sending a salacious wink in the direction of a blushing Noel, she turned and walked with purposeful steps through the entrance of Theater Satine.
“That lass has accomplished quite a feat, Noel.” He immediately recognized the deep, sonorous voice of his next visitor. “I did not rightly think it was possible to make you blush.”
Noel raised his gaze to face a smirking Ian, already dressed for his lead role in that evening’s Ballet Noir production. At his side was Moira, who graced him with a gentler smile as she offered him her hand.
“It’s lovely to see you again, Noel.” She blushed prettily as he kissed her hand; her tender flush a lovely accent for her gown of scarlet satin.
“And you look most lovely this evening, Miss Moira.” Noel tilted his head. “It is good to see you back here at Theater Satine. I was afraid we had frightened you away.”
“Oh no,” Moira snorted, punching his shoulder. “You will find, dear Noel, that I am made of very strong stock-and, furthermore, that I have a very open mind.” She reinforced her words with a short, sharp nod. “It takes quite a lot to drive me away.”
“And it always helps when we offer her the lead role in her own production.” Ian nudged his companion, winking as he did at a chuckling Noel.
Moira gaped in mock indignation, planting her hands on her lips.
“I’ll have you know that had nothing to do with it!” She sniffed, adding in a low voice, “Well, virtually nothing at least.”
The trio laughed as Noel waved Ian and Moira onward into the theater.
I must say Ian has excellent choice in ladies, he mused, watching as the happy couple walked hand in hand in the opposite direction. I’ve never seen him this happy-and I intend to protect and preserve that happiness at any cost.” He pursed his lips. I’ll go in his place to the witch’s bed. And I shall make her forget him.
An hour later Moira sat at a front row table at Theater Satine, marveling at the spectacle of the theater’s main performance area; a tiled stage fronted by a long red velvet curtain, and bordered by a gold framed mural of ethereal cherubs in flight.
She basked further in the spectacle of an angel in motion; or at least her Ian likened an angel as he danced alone on stage, stepping and swaying a graceful line through a maze of beautiful and bountiful props: endless bouquets of radiant florals, roses red and gold, pearl pink carnations, and lavender water lilies gathered in golden urns that bordered the stage on all sides.
As much as she memorized his every move, thrilling at the sight of his flawless pirouettes and smiling as he swayed and sashayed, she also felt a degree of uncertainty as she witnessed his performance.
He and the other dancers have such natural grace, and heaven knows they’ve been learning and training in their craft for years on end. She leaned forward to focus on Ian’s feet, which seemed to float on air. And while I certainly feel confident enough to see my work performed on stage, I don’t know that I’m ready to perform it.
Seeming to read her thoughts, Ian stopped stock still at the center of the stage; fixing her with an intense, unnerving stare.
Oh no, she fixed him with a look that was vaguely threatening-in a loving way, of course. He means to bring me onstage.
Totally ignoring her hard eyes, he stepped off stage and into the audience; sweeping her most literally off her feet and returning to his place in the spotlight.
Their gazes locked as he set her on her feet, and the couple fell easily into a dance that sent them twirling across the stage. Following Ian’s lead, Moira stepped with an uneasy grace across the breadth of the stage; watching her feet to see if they claimed the divine rhythm needed to complete the dance.
She took in her breath as Ian took her chin in his fingers, lifting her head until their gazes locked.
“Do not think about it, my darling,” he whispered. “Just feel it. Just imagine that we are making love.” He fixed her with a devilish grin. “Just think about what I’m going to do to you after the show.”
Aroused and energized by these evocative words, she threw herself into the dance; her breasts crushing against his chest as their arms clutched and their hips rocked together.
Sweeping her up in an impassioned embrace, he twirled her in mid air; their public surroundings dissolved around them as she fell forward in his arms, their lips colliding in a passionate kiss.
Wrapping her arms around his muscled shoulders, Moira devoured Ian’s mouth as their tongues entangled; engaging in their own delicious tango as their bodies sank together.