He eyed me. “Did you plan to limp the entire mile, then? Those poor feet. It’s a wonder they don’t apply for new ownership.”
A smile twitched my lips in spite of myself. He was amusing, at least. We drove through city streets in silence and pulled to stop beside tall, stylish buildings with clean squares of glass and colorful merchandise on display. Streetlamps extended from every building out over the paved walk to keep the bustling street alive after dark.
When he handed me down from the carriage, he looked me over as if evaluating my fitness. Apparently, I failed the exam. “I hope you’ll allow me to continue with you.”
I sighed, my feet throbbing now that they were back in use, and looked down the hectic block where the church sat. “Have I a choice?”
With a keen eye for weakness in others, the man managed to get his way more often than not. He smiled. “Come now, you’ve made me late to my engagement, so we might as well finish the deal. And please, you’ll be rescuing me. I beg you.”
I scrutinized him, aware that my only alternative was a warm foot bath and another night of mental anguish. It would be a week before I could get away again during daylight hours. I resented his intrusion even while thanking God he’d come along when he did.
“Very well, but you must promise not to ask a single question.” I wasn’t about to let the man charm a jot of information out of me. He’d already gotten enough for one day. “Not one.”
He flashed his signature smile. “You have my word as a gentleman. Shall we go in?”
We moved up the generous walk to the gate and passed under the arch, entering the churchyard bordered on either side of us by a short black iron fence. There was an instant thrum of peace amidst the muffled chaos, and I thought how fitting that was. Despite its reputation, this place felt sacred. “We’re notallowed past. Those are the rules.” I pointed at the sign nailed to the gate.
He gave a boyish shrug and hopped the short fence. “Mere suggestions. We aren’t ruffians throwing stones now, are we?” He rattled the rusted gate and opened it for me from the inside, ushering me in.
Incorrigible. With a deep breath, I grasped his arm and limped into the narrow churchyard protected on both sides by tall brick buildings and in the rear by the barn-style church.
With shadows from the sinking sun long and gray before us, I steeled myself for the shock of seeing his name, this man who had begun to haunt me against my will. Moss-covered headstones brought back rolling memories of theater legends, all the stories Mama had told me, and I paused to study a few.Ballet is the only art form that never outlives the artist. A dancer is only alive for as long as she can dance, then the world forgets.
“Have you someone in mind?”
I ignored his flagrant disregard for my one and only request. He couldn’t help himself, it seemed.
“You’re looking for de Silva, I suppose. I’ve made you curious.”
“Mr. Dorian. My rules.”
“Hang the rules, it wasn’t a question!”
“I don’t care for people who intrude.”
“You won’t find Marcus de Silva here. At least, not yet.”
I strained to see another stone in the settling dark. “Where is he?”
“Nowthat’sa question.”
“That rule only applies to you, Mr. Dorian.”
“Of course.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And for pity’s sake, call me Jack.”
“Do you plan to answer me, Mr. Dorian?”
“Jack.”
“Is he still involved in the theater?”
My companion quieted, his arm tensing under my hand. “In a manner. Though, not as a dancer. He’s too old for such things.”
“It should be easy to find him, then. If I wanted to, of course.”
“Not as easy as you believe. He had to change his name. No one knows he used to be called Marcus de Silva, except those of us who knew him before.”
“And why should I believe you?”
