A Dance of Forbidden Desires

Chapter 3

The majority of liqueurs were well-known to Paul. He had eaten in every restaurant in London and had drinks with people who loved crème de menthe. But he was unaware of this. Could it be that he had heard of Tokay—Imperial Tokay? Where did she obtain it, too? Who the hell was the woman in the first place?

She gently peeled the nectarine and appeared to prefer it over the rest of her meal. And what would her facial expression be trying to say? unclear—was it cynical? No—absorbed. She was as completely unaware of herself and other people as if she had been by herself in the space. Why would she think to tell you not to worry about her?

He could see her throat through the thin black substance; it was rounded and extremely white. Unless—yes, that was a large sapphire sparkling from the folds of gauze on her neck—she had no strings of pearls or diamonds on. Instead of being surrounded by diamonds like typical brooches, this large stone was so dark and magnificent that it appeared almost black.

Another was on her wrist, and there were even more in her ears.

Her ears weren't particularly amazing. Not at all! The idea that Isabella's were equally as good gave him some solace. Beyond the roses and the table, he could only make out that she was a skinny woman; he had missed her height on the way in. There were no lines or wrinkles on her face, not even a little nip under the chin or a telltale strain beside the ears, which is why he assumed she must be well over thirty.

She was most definitely not attractive. As far as he could tell, well-shaped and graceful; however, beautiful a thousand times over. No!

Then, people started to speculate about her nationality. Definitely not French. English? What a joke! German is the same.

Italian? Possibly. Russian? Perhaps. Most likely Hungarian.

Paul was starting his fourth glass of port after finishing his third. This was much in excess of his customary cap. Paul was typically a sober young man. He never understood why he should have chosen to sit and drink that evening. His dinner had been moderate—definitely moderate—and he had observed a woman just tasting each plate of Lucullus' elegant feast!

He wondered to himself, "I wonder what she will have to pay for it all." "But I won't see, and she'll probably sign the bill."

The woman did not smoke, so she could not have been Russian when she got up after finishing her nectarine and dipping her thin fingers in the rosewater. arose and made his way out the door without paying any gold or signing any bills.

Paul rudely glared as she passed him; when he realized what he had done, he felt embarrassed. He was oblivious of the color or expression of the lady's eyes when she ultimately vanished because she never even glanced his way or raised them.

What a figure, though! Round, flexible, sinuous, and yet incredibly light.

Paul thought to himself, "She must have the smallest bones conceivable because it seems all curved and soft, but she is as slim as a gazelle.

She was also tall, but not as tall as Isabella at six feet!

She walked out the door with her elderly, dignified, silver-haired servant, and the waiters and maître d'hotel all bowed and moved aside.

Of course, Paul could have easily learned her name and everything there was to know about her. He would have merely needed to call Monsieur Jacques and ask whatever question he wanted. But he refused to do this for an unknown reason.

Instead, he frowned in front of him and drank the last of his fourth port. His head began to swim a little after that, and he left into the night. The rain had ceased, and the sky was a brilliant blue color with many stars spread throughout. Under the trimmed trees, it was warm as well. Paul hoped he wasn't intoxicated—such a monstrous thing to do! Even the port wasn't excellent.

He smoked a cigar while relaxing on a bench. He experienced an odd sense of loneliness. He appeared to be extremely far from everyone he had ever known. He experienced a hazy sense of oppression and impending disaster, but he was really still too material and utterly English to indulge it or any other subtle mental emotion for longer than a minute. But tonight, he surely felt unusual; it wasn't anything he had ever done before. If he could have thought of the word, he would have said "weird". The woman took up the entire field of his mental vision, with her sinuous, sensual black form. Black eyes, of course, and black hair, hat, and outfit. Oh, how I wish he knew their true color!

He sat on the moist bench that was directly beneath the ivy that was draping from the balustrade of the tiny patio that belonged to the ground-floor suite at the far end.

There was silence, and not many people passed, maybe scared from the previous downpour. He appeared to be all by himself.

His senses were now being awakened by the liquor. Why should he stay by himself? He was young, wealthy, and undoubtedly present even in Lucerne. He then sensed a beast and turned to face the lake.

A slight aroma of tuberoses permeated the air, his heart appeared to flutter with emotion, and just above his head a soft, sweet sigh could be heard.

He abruptly began, turned around, and glanced up. He could see the woman's face in the thick shadow, almost indistinct. It appeared to appear out of a cloud of black gauze. And a set of eyes—a pair of eyes—were peering down into his. Paul experienced a brief moment of heart palpitations due to how fantastic of an impact they had on him. They appeared to attract him, draw something from him, euphoria him, and paralyze him. The woman went silently back onto the patio as he continued to look up, and all he could see was the starry night sky.

Had he been having dreams? She had actually stooped over the ivy. Was he crazy? Yes—or inebriated, as he had now seen the eyes but did not yet know what color they were! Were they green, blue, grey, or black? He had no idea and was unable to think because all he could see was eyes.

That evening, the letter to Isabella Waring was not finished. The following morning, Paul's head hurt quite a bit, and he was reluctant to get out of bed. But a bird was singing in a tree, and the sun was beaming in through his windows.

His demeanor was indicative of the following day: sodden, sulky, and humiliated. He was angry even with the sun.

But when he later entered a boat to paddle on the lake, what a gorgeous creature he appeared to be! The Lady Henrietta, his mother, had every right to be pleased with him. So straight, fair, powerful, and tall. He undoubtedly wore silk stockings and was "beautifully groomed," too, as all young Englishmen of his class and age are, I must say at the risk of setting off a second fit among some of the critics. How flexible his lean physique appeared as he knelt over the oars as the boat sailed out into the azure lake.

Even though he hadn't eaten breakfast and was still feeling somewhat stingy, he was glad he had gone out because the mountains were actually very fun and it wasn't too hot. Oh, I'm very glad.

He rested on his oars after moving a few hundred yards and turned to face the hotel. Then the question of where the lady with the eyes was today returned to his mind. Or was there no lady at all, or had he only dreamed it?

He decided that it shouldn't disturb him in any case and continued to row.

When he arrived for lunch, the first thing he did was complete his letter to Isabella.

Monday, he added, "P. S." "Today is nicer, and I did some workout. After the mist cleared, the view wasn't too horrible. I'll probably go rock climbing. Dear girl, take care of yourself. Good-bye.

"With love, "PAUL."

He entered the café for déjeuner with a sense of anticipation. Will she be present? How would she appear in the sunlight?

However, the small table where she had sat the previous evening was empty. There were the typical fabric, glass, and silver items there, but there were no special arrangements made for any expected guests. Paul's heart dropped, making him angry with himself. Had she left? Or did she solely eat in view of others? He had seen her gaze the previous evening in the sitting room beyond the patio, so perhaps she had lunch there.