Page 80 of Dukes All Night Long

S ilas rang the bell at the townhouse and then turned his attention to his evening suit, tugging the waistcoat into place and adjusting the seams of his coat.

“Good evening, Silas.”

He lifted his eyes from his button placket and met Zara’s impish smile. His cheeks heated.

“Good evening, Zara.”

He wasn’t preening for her. He wasn’t . After weeks of difficult rehearsals, they both deserved a reward, and he’d found a suitable treat. Every detail needed to be perfect.

Zara seemed to share the sentiment. She was in purple this evening, the first colorful dress she’d worn that wasn’t a costume. Even her cloak matched.

Silas stepped aside so she could close and lock the door. He recognized the dress as one Daisy had been altering earlier in the week. She’d refused to let him help and even gone so far as to shoo him from the room when he’d glimpsed it on the mannequin.

She looked past him. “You’ve hired a coach?”

It was one thing for him to walk across the bridge and arrive with dirty shoes and wet hems; it should never happen to her. “Yes.”

They settled into their seats, him facing her and nothing else to look at, no other people to distract them. “I’m glad you agreed to come out,” he said.

The night out was meant to celebrate both the end of rehearsals and to distract themselves from tomorrow’s opening night. He’d expected her to refuse, so her quick acceptance had shocked him.

It shouldn’t have. During rehearsals she’d been unpredictable in the best ways, whether it was pressing Andrew to adjust arrangements or revising stage directions to better portray their characters’ relationship.

Her white gloves were stark against her purple cloak as she worried one edge between her fingers. “Sometimes it’s easy to forget I loved the opera long before I took the stage.”

Since she sang the way most people breathed, it was impossible that she’d forgotten her first love. “Did Edgar not take you?”

He heard his words and cursed himself for asking the question. For mentioning her dead husband and seeing her smile fade. “Forgive me, Zara. I know Edgar was—”

“Edgar was a dear man. He was a gifted performer and a talented teacher. He was also an honorable husband, but he was happiest at his house.” She glanced out the window as the horses clip-clopped across the cobbles. “Sometimes I forget there’s a whole city past my doors.”

As he did during rehearsals, Silas squashed any thrill of pleasure. Her excitement, her smiles—her touches—had little to do with him. He was simply awakening a sleeping princess.

London had yet to empty for the summer, so Bath’s streets weren’t yet crowded. It made opera tickets easier to purchase and coach trips far too quick. They slowed then stopped at the base of the grand entrance to the Bath Opera.

“I feel like a spy,” Zara whispered as she took his hand and stepped to the street. “Sitting in the audience at the competition’s house.”

They weren’t a patch on this opulent palace, and her impression of Edgar—at least how Silas remembered him—indicated she knew it. “Is that how he felt?” he asked.

Her smile was sweet, but sad. “Early on, we attended performances and sat in the shadows—me learning, him assessing every aspect of the production. But when it became clear we would never rival them, Edgar no longer wanted to attend. It also grew too expensive.” She glanced his way. “How did you arrange tickets?”

He could understand her question. Even early performances, which were almost dress rehearsals, were expensive on a working performer’s wages. Still, the inference stung. He may have lived in a caravan most of his life, but he’d saved a fair amount. “I had a client offer them.”

The man had decided it was time to leave Bath when his wife had danced too many times, at too many balls, with the same gentleman. Silas thought the lady was getting even for her husband’s indifference, but it would have been rude to suggest it—and he’d wanted these tickets in the worst way.

“Client?” Zara paused on the steps to stare at him. “You have another job?”

They all did. Ben lettered signs, Andrew gave private lessons, and William tended bar at his favorite pub. Aunt Daisy took in seamstress work between performances, and some of the maids took in laundry or mending.

Edgar had known, so Silas assumed Zara did as well. But he now realized that none of those with second jobs were lead performers. “Am I not allowed?”

He couldn’t be this close to a dream and lose it when he wasn’t even on stage.

They joined the queue at the door. “You’re not enslaved to sing,” Zara whispered. “And it isn’t any of my business what you do outside the opera, but I am…curious.”

Each day, with every rehearsal, the false trappings of age slipped from her shoulders like an ill-fitting dress, revealing the young lady she was. Now, as she blushed, she seemed far younger. And guilty about what she was thinking.

Silas turned his head to hide his smile. It made sense for her to think he had a patroness. Divas had patrons—or rather, their gifts—by the handful. For all he knew, she’d had them as well.

“Now I must apologize,” Zara said as she squeezed his arm. “It’s none of my—”

He covered her hand with his and leaned close as they entered the lobby of the hall. “It’s so scandalous I hesitate to say it aloud to a lady.” He paused until her eyes met his. “I’m a… tailor .”

Her mouth fell open, and he burst into laughter. Several of the attendees cast frowns over their shoulders, but they vanished as soon as they recognized her.

Silas mentally kicked himself as the whispers began. He should have expected an opera-loving audience to recognize her. She might not perform in this house, but she did perform, and anyone who had seen her on stage would never forget her.

“A tailor?” Zara asked. “How…” Her smile widened. “Daisy.”

If she noticed the stares, she didn’t focus on them.

Silas followed suit as he guided her through the crowd.

“In part, yes. But I learned to sew from my mother. She made the costumes for Father’s troupe, and I helped with the more routine work.

” Many were the times he’d shoved a needle into his finger while the caravan had rocked along the road to a new town.

“It’s easier work than most, and Jenkins—my employer—enjoys the opera, so he isn’t too demanding about my time. ”

Her eyes sparkled. “You make your own suits.”

He did, though he wasn’t fond of scavenging for scraps and cast-offs. And he was grateful Daisy could mark the alterations he couldn’t do himself. “I do.”

The crowd parted on its own now, making way for them to reach the stairs and the thick red carpet. It coordinated with the ornate gilt trim and creamy white walls, which led to a mural-covered ceiling.

“It’s stunning, isn’t it?” Zara asked, staring. Her hand slid into his as the candlelight flickered across the ceiling and glittered in the large mirrors hung about the room.

It was a beautiful room, but Silas wondered what happened when the crowds disappeared. Was there a caretaker who knew every squeak in the floor? And he thought Benjamin could do a more striking mural.

Was this house as loved as theirs?

Her hand was warm in his as she stared, awestruck, at the ceiling as though she’d never seen it before. Audrey would have batted her lashes at any passing man and made certain her breasts grazed his arm. Anything for attention, even if it wasn’t the man who’d brought her.

Zara wasn’t flirting. She simply wasn’t falling.

But what if she did? What would it be like if the love they pretended to share on stage spilled over into real life?

Silas wasn’t daft. He felt the tug of attraction whenever they sang together, and he’d left rehearsals with desire thrumming beneath his skin. He also knew his steps grew lighter with each trip to the opera house. Aunt Daisy teased him about singing under his breath.

He was falling in love, but was he falling alone?

Silas laced his fingers with Zara’s. “Shall we find our seats?”

*

“That was beautiful,” Zara said as they exited the theatre into the spring night.

“It was a fine performance,” Silas agreed as he offered his arm.

She accepted without overthinking, which hadn’t been the case before he’d arrived at her door. Eventually common sense had won out. He was being a gentleman, not courting her.

“Thank you again for escorting me.” Zara worked to keep her voice even. She hadn’t set aside her widow’s weeds in the hopes of attracting him. The colorful costumes Daisy had crafted just made it easier to eschew black altogether.

It was hypocritical, after all. She couldn’t stand on stage and sing of love while claiming to grieve her husband.

She also couldn’t grieve while admiring the shape of Silas’s shoulders and arms. Zara made sure to keep her fingers on his forearm, rather than curved around his bicep. But that hardly mattered. Wherever she touched him, his thick bones and rippling muscles teased her imagination.

“I didn’t expect people to be so curious,” he said as he raised his free hand to hail another cab. “I hope you weren’t uncomfortable.”

At first, it reminded her of the first time she’d attended after her stage debut. Keep your chin level and smile, darling girl, Edgar had counseled her.

“I have grown accustomed to it.” She repeated Edgar’s second piece of advice without thinking. “You should as well.”

“No one pays me any heed.”

They would. The man’s voice promised romance and his face inspired fantasies. When he smiled, every woman believed he was smiling at her. “Being center stage is much different from being a supporting player, Silas.”

A carriage slowed as it approached. It would carry them back over the river in comfort. She would go back to an empty, quiet house next to a theatre full of memories. “Could we walk for a little while? The moon is bright, and the air is pleasant.”

Silas checked the sky before nodding. “If you wish.”