PHANTOM IN TIME (26 page)

Bella
turned and hurried off for her dressing room, pleased that at least she and
Jacques would begin the dress rehearsal on civil terms, but feeling guilty over
the disappointment she had spotted in his eyes as she'd left him.

Bella
had little additional time to devote to remorse as she and Helene rushed to
prepare. Moments later, wearing their Victorian frocks, the two women joined
the other members of the chorus onstage, behind the drawn curtains and in front
of the painted backdrop. When Jacques escorted Maria onstage, he slanted Bella
a wistful look before taking his place beside the diva at center stage front.

Bella
sighed, wishing things could be different between her and Jacques. He had never
looked more handsome, even though his costume—striped sack coat, light-colored
trousers, spats, and straw hat—was not the type of apparel she would have
chosen for him. Certainly, he was dapper in such attire—but he was deadly in
formal black!

Seconds
later, Bella heard the orchestra's lilting intro and watched the red velvet curtains
sweep open. She caught a brief glimpse of the auditorium, the elegant velvet
seats and private boxes half filled with handsomely dressed guests at the dress
rehearsal.

On
cue, Jacques and Maria launched into “After the Ball,” their voices surging and
blending amid the bright lights and Victorian backdrop. Listening to the
exquisitely beautiful song, Bella felt new twinges of longing and regret,
wishing in her heart that she could be at center stage singing with Jacques

The
performance proceeded wonderfully and the audience responded with great
enthusiasm. The only glitch Bella noted was that Teresa Obregón’s voice seemed
rough tonight, particularly when she and Andre sang their duet of “The Last
Rose of Summer.” Andre performed his role with passion and eloquence, while
Teresa appeared stiff and uncomfortable in his arms, her voice croaky and even
off-key. They duo garnered only tepid applause.

By
contrast, when Bella and Andre performed their vignette of “She Is More to Be
Pitied Than Censured,” several men in the audience howled over the campy
spectacle of Andre serenading Bella in her “spoiled dove” costume, a sleazy red
gown accented with sequins and a feather boa. Bella held up her rose and played
her maudlin role to the hilt. To her delight, she found she even enjoyed posing
at center stage, especially since she didn't have to sing.

However,
a tense moment did ensue for Bella when she, Helene, and Tess gathered onstage
to perform “Three Little Maids” for the first time in front of an audience.
While the kaleidoscope was still spinning, Helene squeezed Bella's hand and
whispered, “Good luck, doll!”

“Thanks!”
Bella replied gratefully. “You, too!”

But
once again, to Bella's relief, she found she began to relax as soon as the
lights went up to scattered applause, especially when some of the spectators
chuckled at their costumes. All three women wore straw hats with bright yellow
yarn pigtails attached, short gingham dresses with pinafores, and lacy
pantaloons; all had exaggerated brown freckles painted on their rouged cheeks.

At
the orchestra's cue, the three began their well-rehearsed routine of singing
the jaunty tune while holding hands and dancing in time to the music.
Afterward, Bella found she thrilled to the audience's applause as she, Helene,
and Tess took their bows.

As
the lights began to shift and the spooky music played, Helene gave Bella a
thumbs-up sign, then raced off to change. Bella exited through the dizzying
light-storm at a much more cautious pace. In the wings she came upon Jacques,
Etienne, Andre, and Teresa, all in a circle—arguing.

“Teresa,
you must not sing your solo tonight,” Andre was pleading. “You already strained
your voice badly enough during our duet.”

“What
business is it of yours what I do?” Teresa countered hoarsely.

“Andre
is right,” contended Etienne. “If you sing your solo, you'll ruin your voice.
Let your understudy replace you for the remainder of tonight's performance.
After all, this is only dress rehearsal. Why risk missing the premiere?”

Teresa
was scowling, clearly wavering, when Jacques noted Bella's presence. He smiled,
his passionate gaze impaling her, and she felt new pangs of longing and regret.

“No,
Etienne,” Jacques said adamantly. “Let Bella sing for Teresa tonight.”

A
gasp rippled over the small group, and everyone turned to stare at Bella, who
felt her face heating at all the attention. A giddy blend of confusion, fear,
and excitement warred within her. Her confidence had definitely been bolstered
by performing with Andre and in the trio—but a solo! That was some quantum
leap!

In
the meantime, Etienne was waving hand in deprecation. “Don't be ridiculous,
Jacques. We all well know Bella cannot sing a lead role.”

“But
she just sang 'Three Little Maids' so well,” he argued.

Etienne
harrumphed. “A trio is a far cry from a solo.”

Jacques
walked over to Bella. He took her hand and stared soulfully into her eyes. “Is
what Etienne says true, Bella? Or is he a liar? Why don't you show us all what
you're truly made of? Will you sing for me,
chérie?”

Bella
was not sure what pushed her over the edge—the “high” she'd felt while
performing, or perhaps all the tension between her and Jacques, the longing in
his voice, his eyes, the yearning within herself to express something that both
frightened and compelled her. But for once she could not disappoint him. She
met his eye and confidently replied, “Yes, I will sing for you.”

Jacques's
smile seemed to light up Bella's very soul. Then he shocked and stirred her
when he leaned over and quickly, passionately kissed her.

They
pulled apart to see the others regarding them with amazement.

“Bella
will sing for Teresa,” Jacques informed Etienne. He turned to Teresa. “It is
all right, no? Just for tonight?”

Although
she appeared both perplexed and resentful, Teresa reluctantly nodded.        

“Well,
Etienne?” Jacques prodded.

He
glanced sharply at Bella. “You are familiar with 'Barcarolle'?”

Bella
restrained an ironic laugh; she had heard her mother sing it at least a
thousand times. “Yes, sir. I could sing it in my sleep.”

Etienne
turned to Jacques. “You are sure she can do this?”

Jacques
smiled at Bella. “She will do us proud.”

Etienne
snapped his fingers. “Very well, we've no time to waste. Teresa, kindly take
Bella to your dressing room and let her borrow your costume.”

The
two women hurried off to Teresa's dressing room. Removing her schoolgirl hat
and pigtails and cleansing away her freckles with cold cream, Bella shot Teresa
a conciliatory smile. “I hope you don't mind my singing for you tonight.”

Toying
with her coiffure as she gazed into the mirror, the Spanish beauty shrugged and
replied huskily, “No, Etienne is right, I must not further strain my voice and
risk missing the premiere.” Glancing at Bella, Teresa raised an eyebrow in
disdain. “I'm sure you'll be competent tonight—not up to my usual standards, of
course, but we must make do.”

Bella
merely smiled. Suddenly she was determined to be
much
more than
“competent.”

Teresa
helped Bella into the costume of a Venetian courtesan—a flowing blue velvet
robe and gold crown. Within moments Bella was rushing back through the wings
toward the stage entrance.

Jacques
was waiting for her, his eyes lighting with joy as he studied her in the
costume. He grabbed her and kissed her. “Set my soul on fire,
chérie.”

“I'll
try,” she replied tremulously.

Thundering
applause out in the audience halted further conversation. After finishing his
solo of “My Heart at Thy Sweet Voice,” Andre Delgado exited, ogling Bella in
her costume. As the kaleidoscope began to whirl, Jacques shot the other man a
heated glower, quickly kissed Bella again, then nudged her onto the stage.

Bella
entered the stage to find the kaleidoscope fully whirling. She fought dizziness
and battled her way toward center stage. As the spinning subsided and the
lights were raised, she stood there alone, staring frozenly out at the
half-filled auditorium.

Her
heart seemed to stop, then galloped like a stampeding pony. Bella knew a moment
of sheer panic and wondered what on earth she was doing. What had possessed her
to agree to this madness? Then she glanced toward the wings, saw Jacques
grinning at her in pride, watched him blow her a kiss. Suddenly she was at
peace, realizing the audience did not matter, that nothing else truly mattered.
For she was singing for Jacques,
only
for him!

Calmly
she nodded to the conductor. Following the intro to Offenbach’s “Barcarolle,”
her voice rose in brilliant song, a song intended for Jacques alone. Bella's
crescendos were brilliant and emotion-filled, her runs and trills impeccable. A
raw, blinding exultation filled her at knowing she was doing well, performing
at her best. Her eyes filled with tears of triumph and ecstasy. She finished to
wild applause and bravos from the audience. Wiping away tears, she took her
bows and walked toward the wings, passing Maria Fortune, who looked at Bella
dazedly before walking onstage to sing her next aria.

Offstage,
Bella practically collided with Jacques, who was staring at her as if he'd
never seen her before, his gaze so ardent and intent that she gasped.

He grabbed
her wrist, his fingers trembling. “Bella . . . I had no idea.”

“Did
you like my singing?” she asked.

He
shook his head incredulously. “Did I like it? But don't you understand? You are
the one, Bella.”

“What
one?” she asked, confused.

“The
one I have been waiting for!” he declared passionately. “You have made
my
soul sing, Bella.”

“Oh,
Jacques.” Joy welled in her at his words.

He
caught her close, his arms trembling about her, his lips pressed to her hair.
“You're coming with me.”

“Jacques,
no! We'll miss the finale and curtain call!”

“The
devil with curtain calls.”

Jacques
pulled Bella into the shadows, pushed her against the wall, and kissed her with
an all-consuming passion that curled her toes.

“You're
coming with me,” he repeated hoarsely, then began dragging her out of the
theater.

Chapter Twenty-four

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“Jacques,
what do you think you're doing?” Bella cried.

“Taking
you home with me,” came his firm response.

“But—Teresa's
costume!”

“We'll
take care, and besides, you won't be needing it.”

Outside
the stage door, Bella was reeling at Jacques's outlandish behavior as he tugged
her firmly toward his waiting coach. She couldn't believe he had dragged her
out of the theater before the curtain call. Etienne would be livid. And why,
when she had walked offstage, had Jacques looked at her that way, as if he
intended to devour her?

She
had her answer after Jacques flung open the door to his carriage and hoisted
her inside. Pausing only to shout an order to Luis to take them home, he joined
her on the seat and slammed shut the door—

In
the next instant she was pulled onto his lap, and his lips and tongue were
devouring her mouth.

“Jacques!”
Desperately fighting her own desires, she tried to push him away.

The
light of a streetlamp illuminated his intense, determined features. “You cannot
fight me any more, Bella,” he whispered vehemently. “You have tried, but
further resistance is futile. Tonight you made love to me with your glorious
voice—you proved you are the one I've been waiting for all my life. Have you
any idea how much that meant to me? There is no fighting destiny,
ma chérie.
Now we are going to consummate our glorious feelings and live out the future we
are meant to embrace together. You are going to be mine tonight—and you know
it.”

She
stared up at him, trembling and uncertain, very much fearing he had spoken the
truth. Then his lips passionately took hers again, and she was lost, curling
her arms about his neck, clinging to his heat and strength, kissing him back.
The truth was, she did want this as much as he did. They had been wooing each
other for weeks now with words, touches, and song. Even during their brief,
painful alienation, their passion had continued to build. Now their song was demanding
to be brought to its soaring climax.

Roving
his lips over her cheek, Jacques whispered, “I am going to take you to my bed,
undress you, kiss and make love to every inch of you—”

“Jacques!”
she protested breathlessly. “I'm scared.”

“Because
you are a virgin?” he murmured. “I'll be gentle with you,
ma belle,
arouse you until you will not even notice that sweet, fleeting pain—”

He
was arousing her every bit as much, even now! “I'm afraid because I don't know
what the future holds for you—for us,” she admitted in a small voice.

He
caught her face in his hands and stared soulfully into her eyes. “You in my
arms, Bella. The future holds you in my arms.”

“Oh,
Jacques.”

Bella
melted at his stirring words, his ardent kiss. His hand moved to her breast, the
fingers kneading, the palm sweetly abrading her nipple. She could not bear the
pleasure, the desire that radiated from his touch to scorch her in shocking
places. She had to wrench her mouth from his in order to catch her breath.

He
drew back and smiled at her. “Soon,
ma belle,
. . . Soon.”

Even
as he spoke, the carriage came to a halt and Jacques left her briefly, hopping
out and extending his hand to her. The intense look in his eyes made her gasp.
She eagerly placed her fingers in his, just as she had already placed her
heart, her body, under his control. They seemed to glide through the opened
gate and into the courtyard; she was conscious only of Jacques and the
sweetness of the moist, nectar-scented night.