“Please continue,” he offered and began unbuttoning his waistcoat without taking his eyes off her.
“You should stretch too,” she told him tersely, blinking her gaze at him, “since you’ll be the one dancing.”
He watched her reactions to him, no matter how subtle. It was a lesson his…his…he couldn’t remember who taught him to study people, but it was a lesson that had helped him gauge a person’s intentions. He tossed his waistcoat and coat away and rolled up his ruffled sleeves, then walked toward her. When he reached her, he lifted his left leg and rested his ankle on the barre in front of her. She smiled. He offered her a slight smile in return and then leaned down and took hold of his ankle, flattening his torso against his outstretched leg.
She followed suit and then turned her hips and curled one arm over her head, holding the barre with the other hand. They stretched together until the violinist appeared in the doorway.
Gray instructed the musician to play Beethoven’sViolin Sonata in A majorand not to speak of what he saw tonight, or it would cost him his head. Of course, Gray had no intentions of taking the musician’s head, in fact, he promised to supply food for his family for an entire month for his service tonight.
“Alright,” Miss Darling said, slapping her hands together the way his childhood teacher, Philip D’var used to do before he got to teaching before he was accused of being a spy and ran for his life. “I’ll teach you the dance I taught at home. You’re dancing to the part of Shakespeare’s Romeo.”
What was this ridiculous rumbling of his bones? He had danced Romeo’s part before. Why should it make him happy that she should think him good enough to portray such a passionate character?
“I’ll have to tweak the dance a bit since there’s no Juliet and you’ll be dancing alone.”
“There’s you,” he said in a gruff voice.
“No, there isn’t.”
He didn’t respond, either to agree with her or beg her to dance. He wasn’t about to beg. If she loved dancing as much as he did, she wouldn’t be able to resist for too long. When she tried to teach him about “hinge” and “hinge variation”, he didn’t catch on until she demonstrated it for him. He watched in awe of the strength in her belly and buttocks, not to mention her thighs and perhaps mostly in her toes as she pushed up on them, tightening her other muscles all at the same time to lower herself backward to the floor, then back in one fluid movement.
“You’re starting with something physically difficult,” he pouted.
“You can try holding the barre if you need to,” she said with a little smirk. “We’ll take it in steps.”
He gave her his own succinct half-grin and folded backwards, using his stomach and inner thigh muscles to keep his torso in a straight line while descending. Tightening his abdominals, he lifted his torso in opposition of his descent. As his upper back approached the ground, he pressed his knees forward and stretched his torso and then bounded back up like a snake uncoiling and about to strike.
“Who taught you how to perform a hinge? It wasn’t even a dance move until 1930 by Lester Horton.”
“You taught me, Miss Darling.” He gave her a curious look. “Just now.”
“Just…now,” she repeated, sounding stunned. “That was the first time you tried a hinge?”
He nodded. “As long as I can see a move, I can perform it. My mother took me to many theater houses when I was a boy. The more I watched a performance, the easier it became for me to dance it.”
His pretty instructor gaped at him. “You have photogenicandmovement memory! I’ve heard of people like you, but I’ve never met them. Still, it’s one thing knowinghowto execute the move, it’s another to be able to do it.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Your ‘hinge’ requires great muscle strength, which I possess.” He lifted his shirt to show her his whipcord belly. Then let the shirt fall again and stepped back. “What’s next?”
She blushed and turned away from him. Madly, it made him want to smile at her for blushing over a glimpse of his belly.
“Don’t you want to practice the hinge anymore?”
He gave her an earnest look. “Do you think I need to?”
She shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t. It was perfect.”
He felt his pulse quicken through his veins as if he’d been dancing for a long period of time. “I was just doing what I saw you do.”
She set her icy blue gaze on him, but her smile was anything but cold. “Wow, talentedandmodest. A first.”
He stared at her for a moment while Beethoven’sViolin Sonata in A majorplayed across his ears. Then he drew in a deep breath as if he hoped to gather his wits. He did, but only enough to keep from smiling like a fool.
She taught him moves over the next hour, such as “barrel jumping”, which was a series of turns, low jumps, and steps. When she demonstrated contorting her body in different ways like “roll downs” and “body waves”, he followed along: shoulders back, chest in, stomach and hips out, then reverse, employing muscles all along his back and in his abdomen. Hips and stomach in, chest out, shoulders straight. He loved it and smiled in delight. He took what he learned and let himself move to the beautiful sound in his ears. He couldn’t help it. The more he danced, the more at home he began to feel at home with the new style of dancing and incorporating what he already knew in classic and comic ballet into his moves. His burst of movement across the floor and in the air came to an end with him bubbling up with laughter.
“I love contemporary dancing. Teach me more.”
“I can tell you love it,” she said, a bit breathless as if she had danced with him. “You’re very expressive when you dance.”