Free Captive Innocence by Fern Michaels Page B

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    Sebastian turned his eyes toward Royall and smiled. Somewhere within her something stirred, making it hard for her to breathe.
    He had kept his eyes on her throughout the dinner, ruining her appetite. What was he looking for when he peered so deeply into her eyes? Why was it so hard for her to keep her eyes from meeting his? She didn’t like the strange emotions his presence evoked.
    The music began to play again, a soft, haunting tune with which she was not familiar. Waiters busied themselves quenching the candles burning brightly in the chandeliers above the tables.
    A huge black man, dressed in bright gaudy trousers and an orange silk shirt open to the waist, proceeded onto the dance floor and squatted, placing a pair of drums between his knees.
    The flutist played a haunting melody, rising an octave above the other instruments. Suddenly, on the dance floor were two other natives, a man and woman, both dressed in flamboyant costume. They assumed a stiff, yet graceful pose and waited for the music to reach its end.
    The dining hall became quiet; the diners waited expectantly.
    â€œYou are in store for a treat, Royall,” Mrs. Quince whispered. “This is, if I’m not mistaken, the trio that has been taking Rio de Janeiro by storm. They’re from Africa and I understand they’re quite a success. I suppose they’re on their way to Manaus to play at the opera house.”
    â€œShhh,” came a command from behind Mrs. Quince. A woman gestured with her hand and turned Royall’s attention toward the dance floor.
    The dancer began to move, swaying her hips in rhythm to the music; the man followed her lead. The drummer beat a slow rhythm, which became imperceptibly faster as the dance continued. The music took flight, the flutist now reaching low, mellow notes and then soaring to unbelievably clear, high-pitched tones.
    The dancers followed the rhythm, swaying, rocking, becoming faster till they were swirling together, holding each other close.
    Royall had never seen anything like this. She had been to New York once with her father, to the opera and the ballet, but somehow she could not imagine even the sophisticated New York society of the year 1877 accepting these dancers at their ballet or opera house.
    Her attention was attracted to the woman dancer. Tall and lithe, she was now arching herself backward, her expression one of ecstasy. The light of the few candles remaining was caught by the beads of perspiration on her arms and throat, creating miniature diamonds.
    The melody and rhythm became heavy, surging to a rapid crescendo. The music stopped; the dancers remained absolutely still, a dramatic tableau. The diners were hushed. Royall glanced around and saw men pulling at their collars and women fanning themselves rapidly. Within herself, Royall felt a remembered excitement. She returned her attention to her own table. Mrs. Quince appeared mesmerized by the dancers; she was staring fixedly at them. Sebastian Rivera was staring at Royall. His gaze was penetrating, probing. Royall returned his look boldly. She felt beautiful under his gaze, warm and sensuous. He was remembering the same as she was. This man made her aware of herself, of her beauty, of her womanliness.
    Their eyes locked. Deep, deeper. He gazed, she felt, into her soul and she welcomed him. How well she remembered.
    Minutes later, Mrs. Quince retired to her cabin with the aid of a steward. Royall and Sebastian spoke of inconsequential things and shared the enjoyment of each other’s company. Along toward midnight, Sebastian acquiesced to the lateness of the hour and suggested a stroll around the deck before escorting Royall back to her cabin.
    Royall felt drained. Why was he playing this charade? Not one mention of the Mardi Gras. He was behaving the perfect gentleman. Acting as though he had just met her. It was damn insulting. She should get angry and do something, say something to shake his manly composure.