The Thorndyke Trilogy 2: Dancing at Midnight

by Lynne Connolly

  “To be fair, Nathan, nobody expected weather this ferocious,” the other man said. “We only received the storm warning a couple of hours ago.”

  The man at her feet—Nathan—glanced up at her. A shadow passed over his eyes.

  On his passport, it would say he had hazel eyes. That was a mundane way of describing a changeable color impossible to describe adequately in a word or two. When he turned his head, they gleamed green, but when he looked at her, they were light brown. Golden—shocking in his high-cheekboned face with its strong, square jaw. He was impossibly handsome, like a Russian ballet dancer she’d once known. Maybe he was as vain, but that would be a difficult task to achieve. Mikel hogged every mirror he came across.

  Nathan seemed vaguely familiar, but she wasn’t sure where she’d seen him. Some celebrity magazine, most likely. Not in her world, for sure.

  When he stripped off her second pair of socks, his attention riveted to her bare feet. He paused, staring.

  Not proud of their condition, she tried to withdraw them. “I’m a dancer. We get calluses the same way blue-collar workers get them on their hands.”

  He smiled but in a reflexive, polite way. When he returned his attention to her face, his features revealed no humor, only a sardonic acceptance. “I see. Well, we’ll get you sorted out. Cora, my housekeeper, will find you somewhere to sleep.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean—” But she’d have to stay. It was that or die.

  “She could eat with us,” the other man said quickly, “if she doesn’t mind waiting.”

  Cora returned, bearing a large mug. “Here, drink this.”

  “We can stretch the meal to three, can’t we?” the man said.

  She glanced at Cora, who shook her head. “I’ve eaten already.”

  “No, I couldn’t possibly—” But she took a sip of the cocoa Cora had given her. It warmed her hands first, then her insides, heating all the way down to her stomach, restoring her to something resembling a human being. She gritted her teeth against the pain when her tingling extremities returned to normal.

  “Drink that, and then I’ll take you upstairs. You can have a hot bath and change while dinner’s cooking. We’ll find something for you to wear,” Cora said.

  The older woman glanced at Nathan, who nodded. He got to his feet and crossed to the empty chair by the fire, motioning to the other man. “This is Dalton Thorndyke.” He didn’t introduce himself.

  The name meant nothing to her, but she liked the man who smiled reassuringly at her. She smiled back, but she didn’t feel the same connection to Dalton as she did with the decidedly grumpy Nathan. She felt bad for intruding, which was ridiculous given the circumstances. And that made her mad with herself.

  “I was prepared for some snow,” she said. “Just not this much.” The pain was receding. “Is it still coming down?”

  This room had huge windows along one wall. The sofa she occupied was facing the big fire with its back to the big windows. She twisted around to see. And yes, the weather was still bad.

  Snow didn’t so much float as hurtle past the windows. Drifts were heaping against them, six inches at least.

  Her heart sank. Maybe she could call and rearrange her audition. Recalling that, she glanced to where her bag lay on the floor. “Do you mind if I charge my phone?”

  “Sure, go ahead.” Nathan flicked a glance at his friend. “But you won’t get a signal. It’s bad around here. The snow has probably blacked out my satellite reception.”

  She raised a brow. This was definitely the home of a wealthy man, so why didn’t he get his signal improved?

  As if he’d read her mind, he explained. “I come here for rest. I don’t want to be pestered.” For the first time, his expression held no bitterness. He smiled. And it melted her.

  Warmth exploded inside her, much more effective than any hot drink. Although she’d been sipping the cocoa since she’d received it, and it had done a good job, one smile from Nathan and she was toasty warm. Or maybe just toast.

  “Shall I wait dinner?” Cora asked.

  “Yes, please. Twenty minutes,” Nathan said, only sparing his housekeeper a glance. He went back to studying Kristen. He sat in one of the large armchairs by the fire, one arm draped along the armrest, the other propping up his chin. He crossed his ankle over his knee. He’d barely taken his disconcertingly perceptive gaze off her.

  “Have you finished your drink, honey?” Cora said.

  To her surprise, Kristen found she had. She smiled and gave the cup to the housekeeper with a word of thanks.

  “I’ll take you upstairs.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Take off your wet things and put on a robe. I’ll launder them for you,” Cora said.

  Unused to anyone doing her washing for her, Kristen shook her head. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly let you do that.”

  “Don’t be silly. Everything’s automated. All I have to do is spin a few dials and press a button or two.”

  Although tingles still attacked her hands and feet, she’d improved enormously from the shivering creature she’d been ten minutes ago. A hot shower, and she’d be fine. She’d prefer a bath, but she wanted a soak, not the short dip a twenty-minute recess would afford her.

  Grabbing the handles of her large bag, she pushed herself to her feet. And fell over. Or she would have if Nathan hadn’t been there to catch her. He must’ve had the reflexes of a jungle cat to get there in time. With a thump, she landed heavily against his chest. She should have knocked the breath out of him, but he didn’t appear to notice. Lifting her into his arms, he continued to walk without pausing.

  With his arms banded around her, she should have felt trapped, scared even, but it was as if a soothing lullaby was calming her, humming through her body. She felt safe and cared for in this man’s arms, as never before. It didn’t make sense, but that was the nearest she could get to the sensation as he strode to the stairs at the end of the room and took them effortlessly.

  He shouldered his way into a room and kicked the door shut before taking her to the big bed and setting her on it.

  She choked back a laugh. “What made you do that?”

  He backed off. “You were hurting. You needed help.” He lifted his head, gazed at the ceiling. “Sorry. I couldn’t just watch you fall over, could I?”

  A good guy after all? She’d decide about that later, but the fact that he’d helped her so promptly went some way to making up her mind. Maybe broody and intimidating didn’t equal bad guy. And he’d held her so close, she couldn’t miss his potent allure, so dangerous. As he’d taken her upstairs, she’d have given a great deal to be able to curl her hand around his neck and discover what his finely cut lips tasted like. Impossible of course, but it didn’t stop her dreaming about it.

  Although this was a big bed in a spacious room, she felt closed-in—and she didn’t have claustrophobia. It was him. His presence. Some people called it charisma. She had no idea what it was, but she knew it now.

  It had to be her and her confused mind. She said the first thing that came into her head, the words coming out in a rush. “I could have died out there. Nobody expected a storm this bad. I heard the weather reports. I have a survival kit in the car, but even with a space blanket and extra clothes, I might not have made it once the engine died.”

  He raised a brow. “Sure.”

  Anger swelled inside her. “Don’t you believe me?”

  “Of course.” But he didn’t sound convincing. “There’s a robe on the back of the bathroom door and some slippers that you can use. If you need more time, we can hold dinner back for you.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Unable to look away she stared at him. He kept her attention, his gaze roaming over her, his eyes warming as he took in the curves of her body. Kristen moved just a little, the subtle wriggle emphasizing her curves. She was a dancer—she knew how to move her body.

  With a groan, he leaned forward, cupped her cheek in one hand, and kissed her. A swift kiss, over almos
t as soon as it had started, startling her with its intimacy.

  He stepped back and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Sorry. I swear you’re in no danger here, but I wanted— Never mind.”

  She licked her lips, claiming the last of his fleeting taste. “I didn’t feel in danger.” Maybe she should, but she didn’t. Instinctively she knew he would stop if she told him to, though how she knew defeated her. How could she tell what he was like?

  “You’re a dancer, and you stopped for shelter at my doorstep,” he said, as if that answered everything.

  She stared at him, bewildered.

  “I can’t do this.” He turned on his heel and left abruptly.

  “Awkward.” Spreading her hands, she shrugged. What was his problem? What was hers? How could she want this man so much after nearly dying in the snow? Surely she should be tired or recovering or some shit like that?

  Never mind. This was a gorgeous place, and she was here. Time she investigated the shower.

  After stamping her feet to ensure the pins and needles were gone, she cautiously stood and headed for the bathroom.

  * * * *

  She managed ten minutes. Although the shower tempted her to linger under its enveloping spray, she only waited until she was warmed through, then scrubbed a towel over her hair and body and scrambled into the robe. If it weren’t full-length and so thick and fluffy it covered every hint of her shape, she’d have been embarrassed to go down dressed in it and nothing else. But sugar-pink fluffiness appealed to her inner girly side, and the slippers matched. So she forgot any misgivings and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Voices drifted to her from the floor below. “You are an arrogant fuck, Nathan. You think she nearly killed herself trying to get in here?”

  “Why not?” Nathan’s cool, clear voice sounded as if she were standing next to him. “Are you trying to tell me it’s a coincidence? Here she is, a dancer, and here I am, one of the people who can guarantee her a job. She could’ve persuaded somebody to drop her off close by. It’s not so bad outside that an all-weather vehicle couldn’t cope.”

  Dalton gave a sound of disgust. “You are kidding me. That woman could have died out there. Nobody would risk that just to get to you.”

  “You haven’t met the kind of dancers I have.”

  Boiling with fury, Kirsten spun around and headed for her room, where she grabbed her phone from the charger. She had plenty of juice now but still no signal. It didn’t matter. It would serve her needs.

  This time, she slammed the door, making sure they heard, and held the phone to her ear. “Yes, sure. Look, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She paused, as if listening. “Yeah. Can you ask them not to recognize me? Call me by my real name, Kristen Lowe, and not Isadora Bennett? Yes, give me a place at the back of the corps de ballet. I want to watch for a week or two. Then I’ll decide if the Chicago Ballet is a place I want to be. Tell the London Ballet I might be available. But let me take care of this first.”

  Then, as if caught out, she touched the End button and dropped the useless piece of junk in the pocket of her robe. “Oh!” Effortlessly, she tripped down the stairs, demonstrating the movements of a born dancer. “You didn’t hear any of that, did you?”

  The two men, fallen silent, gazed at her. Dalton nodded. They were both on their feet, but she refused to let their superior height intimidate her.

  She shrugged. “So you know my secret. Yes, I’m a dancer, but I’m not as well-known here as I am in Europe.”

  How dare this arrogant bastard assume she was willing to risk her life for the chance of an audition? She wished her phone did work so she could check his details. Although she didn’t know his surname, she bet if she put Nathan, dance, Chicago into a search engine, she’d find something. Maybe he had a small-time company, she thought spitefully. Although from the look of this place, he wasn’t short of money.

  He wasn’t a dancer currently on the circuit. She’d have seen him or heard of him. Nobody as striking as this man could stay hidden for long. The media would pounce on him, and he’d be at the big red-carpet events. Perhaps he was in another capacity, but with the myopia of a dedicated artist, she rarely took notice of anything outside her sphere.

  Now she had to take her bluff forward. “I’d really appreciate it if you said nothing to anyone outside this house. Would you, please?” She forced a winsome pleading into her expression, adding a dash of humor.

  At least it worked on Dalton, who grinned. “I wouldn’t dream of saying anything.” It was a sexy, attractive smile, but it didn’t move her one iota.

  With a shaded glance at her, Nathan nodded.

  She pushed every possibility out of her mind except the one she’d chosen. She was a famous dancer on her way to Chicago for an incognito assignment. No other reality existed. She didn’t lie because she was no good at it, but her temper had urged her into making a massive falsehood—one she had to sustain.

  Nathan exchanged a glance with Dalton, and this time the corner of his mouth quirked. That was nearly a smile. She almost fainted from shock. “Your secret is safe with us,” he said.

  Coolly, she thanked him, stuck up her chin, and went to sit on the sofa.

  The food was hot and delicious, though afterward Kristen couldn’t remember what they’d had. Except that they’d eaten apple pie, her favorite indulgence. She did refuse the cream that accompanied it, her last shield against the calories that plagued her existence. When she was working, she burned off enough to keep her weight steady, but she still had to stick to a rigorous diet. Dancers, especially ballet dancers, had no fat on their bodies. None.

  They didn’t talk to her about her career, something that relieved her and made it possible for her to eat.

  Concerned about her masquerade, she excused herself shortly after dinner, pleading exhaustion.

  “Get in the tub before you sleep,” Cora told her. “You’ll ease any aches.”

  That sounded like a good idea.

  Chapter Two

  Dalton kept his voice low this time, even though he and Nathan had remained in the dining room after eating, and closed the door. “She’s a famous dancer?”

  “Like I’m a famous actor. In other words, not a chance.” Nathan poured two glasses of Scotch and handed one to Dalton. “There’s nothing like good single malt to warm you from the inside out.”

  “Whatever did we do before Scotch existed?”

  Nathan raised a brow. “We drank brandy.”

  Dalton’s easy laughter coursed through the room, but he spoke in quieter tones. “She moves like a dancer.”

  Nathan took a sip of the warming spirit. A Scotch of this quality would do anything but burn, but it heated his insides nicely. “There are any number of good failed dancers. Too many dancers, too few stages. In any case, you forgot something.” He leaned forward. “I turned off the satellite signal to the house.”

  “Does that mean we can’t watch TV?”

  “Yep.”

  Dalton gave an exaggerated sigh. “I daresay the game was cancelled if the weather was bad.”

  “I have the emergency phone in the office.” He grinned. “That masquerade livened the evening nicely. I was tempted to send Cora away and get some more lies out of Kristen.”

  He couldn’t deny he liked Kristen’s spirit. In the face of his obvious boredom and—he had to admit—his arrogance, she’d come back fighting. But it was true. Women had thrown themselves at him, not because of who he was but what he represented. They wanted a job, in short. And maybe an introduction to some of the richest people in town.

  After over two hundred years of that shit, he was ready to give up and get a blue-collar job. Living in obscurity for a while appealed. He’d always enjoyed his wealth, ensured it went with him from life to life. He’d been born into riches, and while he’d never taken it for granted, it had only increased over the years. Except once in 1929, when he’d been wiped out. But starting again had been an exhilarating challenge, and
he’d ended the thirties richer than ever.

  Baiting her would serve well to keep her at a distance. Even though her lies had amused rather than angered him. Her reaction to his suspicions had put them all to rest. He’d skimmed her mind and found her furious.

  “Maybe she is a dancer,” he said. “You heard her talk about the corps de ballet. Ballet’s a field I don’t work in. And her feet told their own story.” He shrugged. “We might be harboring a prima ballerina in our midst. We should ask about her in Chicago. Maybe someone’s seen her.”

  Dalton brightened. “I should. Maybe I’ll take a visit to the ballet. It’d make a change.”

  “It would, that.” Nathan finished his drink and got to his feet. “And what you said earlier? You are so right. I’m going for a flight. It’s time I did.”

  “Ice on the wings no problem?”

  He gave his friend a pitying look. “Never heard of ice dragons?” Not that he was one, but he knew a few.

  With the Scotch coursing merrily through his veins, he climbed the stairs and went into his room, leaving Dalton to return to the great room and dream by the fire.

  After stripping and dropping his clothes in untidy piles on the floor, Nathan unlatched the big door and strolled out to the balcony stark naked. Almost noiselessly, the door slid closed behind him. Snow fell in soft kisses on his bare body, and he shivered before he took a leap into the air.

  He loved this part. Not every shape-shifter could do it, shift while in midair, but Nathan had always found it effortless. His limbs changed, scales spread over him, and his skull lengthened as his human body gave way to his dragon. He spread his wings and flew. Snow surrounded him, fell over him, but in this form, he didn’t feel the cold, only featherlight touches.

  Immediately his mood relaxed as his body eased into its new form. He’d been too busy to take even the shortest flight recently, and his dragon had grown restless.

  He soared toward the moon, or where it should be, but the cloud cover was heavy and he couldn’t see it, only sense its presence. Every shifter knew the moon and its phases. The knowledge was built in to them, part of their natures.