Itry not to show just how elated I am to be left alone with Edwina tonight. And in that fucking dress. Bless my luck. Bless Zane. Maybe bless Monty too. I’m starting to suspect they conspired against us yet again. Or are they conspiringforus? Whatever the case, it takes all my restraint not to outright stare as we ride the elevator down to the lobby, but I still manage to drink my fill whenever she isn’t looking.
Blooming hell, this is the first time I’ve seen her in anything like this. Even the dress she wore to Somerton House was in the human style, modest compared to the expanse of flesh on display behind her, the way the cream lace hugs the curve of her ass before flaring slightly at the knee. Don’t get me started on the front. The sides. I’m equally as turned on by what the lace hides as by what it reveals. Peaks, valleys, the barest curve of her outer breasts.
She cuts a glower my way, and I realize I’ve been staring. “What?”
I resist the urge to avert my gaze and instead assess her while she’s looking this time. Her hair is styled in its usual updo, loose wild tendrils already escaping to brush her shoulders. I reach for one of the strands and tuck it behind her ear. “You look nice.”
Her eyes widen behind her lenses, and a flush creeps from her neck to her cheeks. She nudges her spectacles and quickly fixes her attention on the closed door of the elevator. “Thank you.”
I tuck my hands in my pockets to keep from touching her again. What I wouldn’t give to reach for that tie at the back of her neck and tug it loose. My trousers tighten at the thought, and it’s all I can do to remind myself we have plans. Important ones.
Outside the apartment, the noise of Halley Street crashes around us. Horse hooves, carriage wheels, chatter, music. We immediately get swept up in the flow of the crowd. I clasp Edwina’s gloved hand as a figure tries to step between us, tugging her close to my side and forcing the pedestrian to go around. “Let’s stay together,” I say over the noise.
I keep her hand in mine as we navigate Halley to the next corner. As we turn down the cross street, the chaos is cut in half. It’s still loud and crowded and packed with pedestrians and performers, but it’s easier to walk without getting separated.
Yet I don’t give Edwina back her hand.
She doesn’t seem to mind, as her attention is more on our surroundings. Her eyes constantly bounce from the buildings to the storefronts, jugglers, musicians, sword-swallowers—there’s so much to see and she marvels at every sight. I’m almost certain my hand around hers is all that keeps her from getting swept away and stolen by her own awe.
After a few more blocks, the bustle dies down further, and I catch sight of the sign I’ve been looking for: Orion Street.
“We’re almost there,” I say, giving her palm a squeeze as we turn down Orion.
She finally pulls her gaze from our surroundings to look up at me. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”
“That’s because it’s a surprise. But trust me. You’ll like it.”
She’s back to staring at lights and people, which is good because I don’t want her to see the small A-frame sign outside the building just ahead. I shift so I’m in front of her, blocking the sign as we stop outside the midnight blue façade of a theater called Vulture’s Prose.
“We’re here.” I release her hand and open the door for her. As she enters ahead of me, I’m graced with another delicious view of her bare back. Blooming hell.
We enter the narrow foyer and are greeted by a ticket taker. I retrieve two tickets from my waistcoat pocket and hand them over. The young man bows and gestures for us to proceed. The theater is small and quaint, so there’s no grand lobby, no extravagant auditorium. Instead, we enter a wide space with several rows of chairs and a modest stage at the far end.
An usher guides us to our seats—front row, thanks to Zane. Most of the seats have already been claimed, as we’re only minutes away from curtain. We’re cutting it close, but I didn’t want to arrive too early lest Edwina overhear what play we’re about to see. I really do want this to be a surprise.
The stragglers fill the remaining seats in the audience, and whispers of excitement spread as we wait for the curtain to rise. Nostalgia falls over me. Vulture’s Prose reminds me of the kinds of theaters I spent my youth in. The kinds of theaters my mother, Lydia, preferred to perform in, often in this very city. I preferred them too, as a child, for everyone seemed like family. The actors would let Cassie and me try on costumes and wigs. It’s where I fell in love with acting myself.
If only I’d stayed in settings like these. With Lydia. With Cassie. If only I hadn’t strayed so far to attend university.
Then maybe Lydia would still be alive.
The curtain finally shifts, and a fae male with aqua hair and a top hat emerges. With a flourish of his hand, he says, “Vulture’s Prose proudly presentsThe Governess and the Rake.”
Edwina sucks in a breath, sitting forward in her seat. As the curtain parts, she swivels to face me. Her eyes glisten beneath the glittering stage lights. “Will.”
My heart cracks at the sound of my name. The name only those closest to me use. Does she even know? Is she so overwhelmed that she hasn’t realized she’s shortened my name? Does she have any idea how much it makes me want to fucking kiss her and taste that name on her lips? My truest identity. The stripped-down version of me that isn’t playing a part.
I give her a taste of what she gave me—her truest name without games, without teasing. “Edwina,” I say back.
“Is this really what I think it is?” she whispers.
I shift in my seat, angling myself closer to her. “It is. And more.”
She turns her gaze back to the stage as a young woman with short black hair is lowered on an aerial hoop. She’s dressed in a white leotard with a short silk skirt. The first strains of music begin, and a blonde woman in a bland gray gown steps onto the stage beneath the aerialist. Her trilling voice sings the opening lines ofThe Governess and the Rake, while the aerialist moves and sways on her lyra, her languid motions evoking the somber tone of the first chapter.
Edwina glances at me again. “It’s a musical.”
“A burlesque musical.”
