“Mademoiselle Fitt, I absolutely insist you leave this young man and you come with me. Why, simply consider what the gossip mongrels will say if you leave with—”
“Gossip be damned,” Daniel snarled, pushing past Madame Marineaux. “She’s comin’ with me, and that’s final.” He yanked me onward.
As I stumbled past, I opened my mouth to offer Madame Marineaux an apology. But her eyes blazed so brightly that their golden sheen was almost yellow—and I was so startled, I forgot my words.
Daniel towed me down to the first floor with the bronze statues and their glowing candelabras. He guided me around a bend and farther down. At the stairs’ lowest landing, we passed a small fountain before hurrying into a round room with a velvet sofa at the center. It was a waiting room beside the theater’s back entrance. Daniel hauled me to the sofa and forced me to sit down.
He crouched on the floor before me, his face barely visible in the dim candlelight. “What is going on, Empress?”
“I do not know. You are the one who led me here.” I batted my lashes at him, hoping he would find this attractive.
It would seem he didn’t, for he gave a low groan and shot back to his feet. “Something’s not right.
You’re actin’ like a lunatic, and you have no memory of what happened earlier—”
“What happened earlier?” I puffed out my lips.
“That’s exactly what I mean. Something’s not right.” He stared down at me. “I’m gonna go grab our things and find Joseph. You”—he pointed his finger in my face—“are gonna stay right here. I don’t care who comes down here or who tries to talk to you. Tell them you’re waiting for the Spirit-
Hunters. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” I flipped at my curls. “I wait here.”
His jaw clenched, and his eyes ran anxiously over me. Then he lowered his hand. “I mean it, Empress. Don’t move.” Then he spun on his heel and marched off.
I watched him go until he passed the small fountain and I could no longer see him, then I smoothed my bodice, adjusted my skirts, and fingered the roses in my hair. I could hear the mazurka overhead, and I wanted to dance it. I wanted to glide over the dance floor with Daniel again—to feel the air on my shoulders and the men’s eyes on my face. . . .
With a sigh, I slouched back on the sofa—or I slouched as much as I could in my corset—and examined the elaborate floor beneath my slippers’ heels. Mosaic tiles spread out in wild designs, leading in all directions. That was when I noticed there were two hallways branching off this room. A wide hall to my right that must lead to the theater’s back exit . . . and then . . .
I twisted around to inspect the narrower hallway in the back corner. It slid off into shadows.
But then a shape materialized in the dark. Closer and closer it came into the room until I could finally see it completely.
It was a young man with dark hair and a perfect smile.
My stomach hitched, slamming against my corset. Memories came flooding back. Memories of an opera, of a handsome face, and of a night that ended in death. No—it’s not possible! It can’t be!
But it clearly could be, for I was absolutely certain that the young man smiling at me was none other than my old friend and suitor, Clarence Wilcox.
Chapter Twenty
I forced myself to stand. Forced my lungs to draw in air. Forced myself to move. “Clarence!” I shouted, and in half a breath I was tearing full speed after him.
Instantly, he lashed around and fled—away from me. Down the hallway.
I ran after him, speeding into the dim hall. I had tried to speak to Clarence Wilcox, hadn’t I?
Somewhere in the farthest corner of my mind, I remembered I’d tried to call him recently . . . and that there were so many things I wanted to say to him.
So faster and faster I went, my ribs slamming into my corset with each breath until, moments later, I found myself on a winding stairwell. I bolted forward just in time to see Clarence’s dark head vanishing down it.
I dove after him. My feet beat out a racing rhythm, and I descended as fast as I could. With each step, the strains of the mazurka faded.
It was as if something compelled me to keep chasing—to keep hoping that if I followed long enough, he would stop and let me see him.
He reached the end of the stairwell and slithered into a dark archway. The instant my foot hit the final landing, I darted into the darkness too. Candles flickered every twenty feet or so, illuminating the white bricks in the walls and low, curved ceiling. No mazurka hit my ears now, only the drumming of my feet on the flagstones.
“Clarence!” I shrieked. “Wait!” But he did not wait. I tried to push my legs harder, but the dress weighed a ton and the corset flattened my lungs. If he didn’t slow, then I would never catch up.