A Lady Under Siege(63)
“You’ll need to lure him close, ma’am,” Mabel counselled. “You’ll need to use all your charms to draw him to your bed. Honeyed words and gestures spin the loveliest of webs.”
“I’ll spread a deep colour over my lips. I’ll wear my golden belt low upon my hips,” Sylvanne murmured.
“Now you’re talking, ma’am,” Mabel praised her. “Make him as potter’s clay in your hands.”
AFTER DINNER THOMAS PAID his usual evening visit to Daphne’s chamber, and found Sylvanne dressed in the exotic costume of a gypsy woman, holding his daughter’s hand and guiding her through some intricate dance steps, while the servant girl Beth clapped time on a tambourine. Daphne was likewise dressed up for make-believe, in the shimmering clothes of a Moorish harem girl.
“Daddy, Sylvanne is teaching me how to dance,” she giggled excitedly. “Shall I show you?”
“I am all eyes,” Thomas replied. “Where on earth did you get these outfits?”
“Sylvanne’s been telling me tales from the Arabian nights,” Daphne replied. “I said I wished to go there, but she said why not bring Arabia to my bedroom? She gave specifications to the sewers and embroiderers, and they made all these just to please me. Aren’t they splendid?”
“They are. Almost too splendid. Too revealing, for a girl your age.”
“Oh don’t be a prude, and watch me dance,” she admonished him. Slipping tiny silver cymbals onto her fingers, she tapped out a faint beat for herself as she slid across the stone floor in beaded silk slippers like a wisp of cloud in a blue sky. Her movements, while graceful, showed her to be in that gawky phase of life when a girl is all boney limbs and large feet. Thomas, the doting father, was nonetheless entranced at the sight. But soon enough her concentration lapsed, her feet stuttered, and she lost her place in the dance. She stamped her feet in frustration, hung her head and pouted like a child.
“I never do it right,” she cried. “You show him, Sylvanne. You do it beautifully.”
“Me? No no,” Sylvanne demurred. “This dance is meant for a young girl to attract a husband, not for an old widow to perform in public.”
“It’s not public, it’s only Daddy and me,” Daphne insisted. “Besides, you’re almost family, you spend more time attending to me than anyone else, and you’re the best company. Daddy, tell her to perform. Don’t tell her, demand it!”
“I would like to see it,” Thomas said.
“Goody-good,” Daphne shouted. “Then you must. You must!”
The girl slid the cymbals from her fingers and handed them to Sylvanne, then retreated to give her space to move. Sylvanne took a deep breath, and began to tap a beat with the cymbals, softly at first, then building in strength as she gained confidence in the purity of her rhythm. She began to dance. With her hair loose and flowing, and her wrists describing small circles in the air like songbirds chasing their tails, she had never looked lovelier, Thomas thought. He glanced at Daphne, who looked thrilled and absolutely mesmerized. His eyes were drawn back to Sylvanne as the dance progressed and matured into a creation of extreme sensual enticement. Her hips swayed to the perfect beat of her fingers, and presented her body as an offering to him. He looked searchingly into her eyes, and was certain he saw desire reflected back at him.
32
Derek opened his door in the afternoon to find Meghan there, standing uneasily on the front step. He hadn’t seen her for two days. “I just have a minute,” she said. “I want to thank you for looking over those medical texts I lent you. Thomas says you did.”
He shrugged. “You said yourself I have a lot of time on my hands. Did he get anything out of it?”
“Some. The medical terminology mostly left him muddled. He said he found it a jumble.”
“So did I.”
“But at least you read it. Thanks. It did some good. He said she doesn’t suffer night sweats, so I’ve discounted tuberculosis. And Daphne actually seems to be getting better by the day, so maybe it was just down to the infection in her arm. I’m hopeful. Cleaning that up has made a big difference already.” She paused. “Now do you mind if I say something to him?”
“Never suppress a generous impulse. The motto of someone I used to know.”
She knew he was talking about the wife he had lost. There was kindness in his eyes, and she sensed a movement within him, something stirring in his heart, as if goodness were a hibernating bear awakening there.