But that only intensified his look. “Nothing, you say? Then why isn’t he at Drury Lane today? His meeting with that Vestris bloke is, apparently, not as important as this, yet he isnothingto you. How glad I am to hear it.”
I caught my breath. “He had a meeting with Vestris today?ArmandVestris?”
“He was fairly well singing about it. Not an easy connection to come by, from what I understand.”
No, it wasn’t. Nearly impossible, actually. The famed choreographer kept to himself and his work, shunning any potential protégés that happened along.
I looked the man square in the face. “I never would have lethim do this if I’d known. And for what it’s worth, I have come to see Jack Dorian as a remarkable and delightful man. I’d never do anything to hurt him, no matter how he vexes, nor would I stand in the way of sincere love.”
With that, I separated from Paul and ran to catch Jack as he strode out to help with the horses. When I reached him in the path of lantern light just outside the stables, I simply stood, staring up at him like a little fool. How did one thank the man who’d quietly made such a sacrifice, especially after treating him to weeks of pure condescension?
“I could writeyou a flying part. Wouldn’t that be something? I’d do that for you, in a flash, I would.”
He smiled down at me and it was tender. Kind.
“Why today, Jack? Why not put me off when I asked for help?”
He shrugged, pulling a bit from the horse’s mouth and lifting the reins over its head. “It was now, or let you kill yourself through the whole next show. Besides, you’re as skittish as a colt. You’d have changed your mind.”
The horse shook out its mane and Jack leaped astride her, bareback. He held out a hand with a most irresistible smile of challenge. “Care to join me?”
I smiled. That question, from Jack Dorian, always seemed to lead to something remarkable. I gave him my hand and he pulled me up before him, bracing me sidesaddle with his lean body. “Hold on tight.”
He nudged the mount, and we flew, skimming over the dark wildflower fields and sending up a spray of fireflies into the night sky. He was showing me his world, this great moonlit expanse, and it inspired awe just like the sound of a full orchestra or the great gilded theater.
We galloped beside a stone fence, over hills, and along a creek, then he brought me back, slipping off the horse and turning to hand me down too. With one hand on the creature’s neck, he led her into the barn with a natural magnetism that extended, apparently, to the animal world.
He passed the horse off and took my hand, bowing over it. “I shall see about your accommodations, my lady.”
When he turned, I touched his arm with an overfull heart. “Jack.” He pivoted to me. “My mother.”
His eyebrows shot up.
I shrugged. “The answer to what you wanted to know, back in the cemetery. About how I was involved with...” I ducked my face. “She was my mother.”
He took my hand as if thanking me for a most exquisite gift, tracing his thumb over every knuckle. Oh, how his face prismed! Tiny, expressive movements from his lips, those memorable eyes. “I shan’t tell a soul.”
“There’s one other thing.” I breathed long and deep. “She didn’t die in the fire.”
His hand paused. “What?”
“She was burned quite badly.” Tears budded. “I shall never forget the feel of those scars on her hands ... her face. Her career died, her romance died, her outer beauty died, but her body did not.”
His face was frantic. “Why did you hide this from me? All that’s needed to clear de Silva’s name is for her to appear, alive. Scars or no, her presence will change—”
“Nothing. It’ll change nothing, because now she truly is dead.” The tears leaked out. “For several years. We cannot prove she lived beyond the fire.”
“Surely people saw her who—”
“No one. After the fire, she never left our flat. Never saw anyone, save an old woman who’d never testify to any of it. My sister and I were the only ones who knew who she was, the only ones who ever saw her. Come to think of it, she had one friend—my sister Lily’s real mother, but she’s long dead as well. I’m afraid they won’t take our word for it, two lowborn women.”
He stared at me. Just stared.
“But now you have all the information I can give. There’s nothing left but to find out who did this.”
“We most certainly will. De Silva didn’t kill her, and he shouldn’t have to live under the weight of it a moment longer.”
He was quiet after that, and the silence was potent. I looked long and hard into his face and found surprising things—deep worries and pains. Vulnerability. Raw, authentic beauty of soul. I had known his type, known what he was from the start. Yet this underlying passion for justice and honesty surprised me. Confused me. More than anything, after the night we’d had, I wanted a glimpse into who Jack Dorian truly was.
