Devil in Spring (The Ravenels #3) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,73

of an even one-two-three count, the third step will be a long glide, like this.”

Stiffly Pandora tried to move with him. She stumbled, stepped on his foot and made an exasperated sound. “Now I’ve maimed you.”

“Let’s try again.”

Gabriel led her through the pattern of the waltz, which was indeed different from the usual repetitive circles. In the first measure, they completed only three-quarters of a turn, followed by a closed change in the next measure, and then three-quarters of a turn in the other direction. It was a beautiful gliding pattern, and no doubt it was very graceful when executed correctly. But as soon as they went into a turn, Pandora lost all sense of up and down, and the room spun. She clutched at him in panic.

Gabriel stopped and held her steady.

“You see?” Pandora asked breathlessly. “Everything tilts, and I start to fall.”

“You weren’t falling. You only felt like you were.” He reached over to press her palm more firmly against his shoulder. “Feel how sturdy that is? Feel my hand on your back, and my arms around you? Forget your sense of balance and use mine. I’m rock-solid. I won’t let you fall.”

“It’s impossible to ignore what my own senses are telling me, even when they’re wrong.”

Gabriel led her through another few measures. He was the only steady thing in a world that swayed and careened. Even though this variation of the waltz was much smoother and more controlled than the one she’d been taught, her inner gyroscope couldn’t manage even three-quarter turns. Soon she felt herself break out in a cold sweat, a queasy feeling coming over her.

“I’m going to be sick,” she panted.

Gabriel halted immediately and pulled her against him. He was blessedly solid and still, holding her, while she struggled to bring the nausea under control. Slowly the sickness retreated.

“To put it in terms you would understand,” Pandora finally said, blotting her damp forehead against his shoulder, “waltzing is my carrots.”

“If you’ll bear with this a little longer,” Gabriel said, “I’ll eat an entire carrot in front of you.”

She slitted a glance up at him. “Would I be able to choose the carrot?”

His chest vibrated with his low laugh. “Yes.”

“This might be worth it, for that.” Easing apart from him, she put her hand back on his shoulder and doggedly resumed the waltz position.

“If you choose a fixed point somewhere in the room,” Gabriel said, “and stare at it as long as possible during the turn—”

“No, I’ve tried that. It doesn’t work for me.”

“Then look straight at me and let the surroundings rush by you without trying to focus on them. I’ll be your fixed point.”

As he guided her into the pattern once more, Pandora had to admit grudgingly that when she stopped trying to orient herself to her surroundings, and focused only on Gabriel’s face, she didn’t feel quite so sick. He was relentlessly patient, leading her through turns, glides, and change steps, paying attention to every detail of what she said and did. “Don’t lift so high on the balls of your feet,” he advised at one point. And when she wobbled dangerously at the end of a turn, he said, “When that happens, let me adjust your balance.”

The problem was fighting her instincts, which screamed at her to lean in precisely the wrong direction whenever her balance was off, which was most of the time. At the end of the next turn, she tensed and tried to stabilize herself when it felt like she was pitching forward. She ended up tripping over Gabriel’s foot. Just as the floor began to rush up toward her, he caught her easily and held her close.

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I have you.”

“Bollocks,” she said in frustration.

“You didn’t trust me.”

“But it felt like I was going to—”

“You have to let me do it.” One of his hands moved up and down her back. “I can read your body. I can feel just before your balance falters, and I can tell how to compensate.” His face lowered over hers, and his free hand came up to caress her cheek. “Move with me,” he said softly. “Feel the signals I’m giving you. It’s a matter of letting our bodies communicate. Will you try to relax and do that for me?”

His touch on her skin . . . that low, velvety voice . . . it seemed to ease every tight place inside her. The knots of fear and resentment melted into fluid warmth. As they took up the