her throat, trying to forget that she carried his blood in her veins. Trying not to think of what it would be like to savor the sweetness of her lifeblood.
With a supreme effort of will, he forced such thoughts away and concentrated on the music, on the look of delight on Sara's face.
Sara leaned forward as the curtain went up on Act Two, fascinated as Giselle was transformed into a Wili, a spirit who haunted the woods at night, enticing men to dance until they expired of exhaustion. Tears stung her eyes as Hilarion was killed by the Wilis and Myrtha, Queen of the Wilis, forced Giselle to attempt to destroy Albrecht in the same way. But Albrecht was spared, first by taking shelter under the cross on Giselle's grave, and then by dancing with Giselle until dawn, when Giselle returned to her grave.
When it was over, Sara sat back in her chair, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "Thank you, Gabriel," she said, her voice tinged with awe.
"You're welcome, cara."
"Wasn't she wonderful? I don't think Grisi could have done it better. Do you think Albrecht was really in love with Giselle? How could a nobleman make a whole village believe he was a peasant?"
Gabriel shrugged. "People believe what they want to believe," he said, and sat back in the seat, content to listen as Sara spoke enthusiastically of the costumes, the music, and always the ballerina.
When the theater was empty, he lifted her into his arms and carried her down the stairs and out to the surrey. Removing a robe from under the seat, he placed it over her lap, picked up the reins, and clucked to the horses.
It was a clear night, cool, with a slight breeze. A full moon hung low in the sky.
As they rode through the moon-dappled darkness, Sara was again aware of the man beside her. Inside the theater, she had been caught up in the magic of the music and the dancing, but here, in the quiet of a late summer night, alone with Gabriel, the ballet seemed far distant.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, studying his profile, noting the way the moonlight turned his hair to silver. He was a handsome man, dark and mysterious. And lonely.
The thought struck her with the force of a blow, and she realized that loneliness surrounded him, that it was his aloneness that called out to her above all else.
Too soon, they reached the orphanage and he was carrying her into her room.
Gently, he placed her in her chair and suddenly the magic was gone. She was Sara again.
"The dress," she said, blinking back her tears. "I can't keep it."
He nodded his understanding. There was no way for her to explain to the nuns how she came to have such an expensive gown.
Keeping his face impassive, he carried her to the bed, quickly divested her of the elegant blue dress, and helped her into her night rail. Kneeling at her feet as if he played ladies' maid every day, he removed the satin slippers, drew the gloves from her hands.
"I had a wonderful time," Sara murmured. "Thank you."
"Until tomorrow night, then," he said. Taking her hand in his, he lifted it to his lips and kissed her palm. "Sleep well, cara."
She blinked back a tear, and he was gone.
PART One Chapter Six
He walked the streets for hours after he left the orphanage, his thoughts filled with Sara, her fragile beauty, her sweet innocence, her unwavering trust. She had accepted him into her life without question, and the knowledge cut him to the quick. He did not like deceiving her, did not like hiding the dark secret of what he was, nor did he like to think about how badly she would be hurt when his nighttime visits ceased, as they surely must.
He had loved her from the moment he first saw her, but always from a distance, worshiping her as the moon might worship the sun, basking in her heat, her light, but wisely staying away lest he be burned.
And now, foolishly, he had strayed too close. He had soothed her tears, held her in his arms, and now he was paying the price. He was burning, like a moth drawn to a flame. Burning with need. With desire.
With an unholy lust, not for her body, but for the very essence of her life.
It sickened him that he should want her that way, that he could even consider such a despicable thing.