Shana Galen - [A Lord & Lady Spy Novella] Read Online Free Page B

on stage. “He has the most stunning blue eyes.”
    Helena froze.
    “There. See for yourself.” Carolina threw her arms out. “The new accompanist.”
    Helena did not want to look. She already knew who was sitting behind the pianoforte at the far end of the stage. But it was like an awful carriage accident, where one sees the blood and hears the screams of the horse and knows there is no saving anyone. And yet one is drawn anyway, to look, if nothing else. Helena had always thought there was something about being faced with her own mortality that drew her to the very brink of death itself. She could not stop herself from looking.
    And so she turned and stared at the smiling face of her husband.
    ***
    He’d been playing, and that was the only reason he had not spoken to her. But she’d read his expression well enough. He did not want her to reveal his true identity. She did not know if she could be quite so accommodating, and so she made some excuse and rushed backstage. Now, she sat in the dressing room she shared with Carolina and Giuliana, one of the understudies, and stared at herself in the mirror.
    “You knew this day would come,” she said to the pale, thin woman staring back at her. “You knew you’d cross paths again eventually.”
    A knock sounded on the door, and she sat straight. It was time for rehearsal, and she had not even warmed up. She sang a quick scale and then called, still singing, “Come in!”
    The door opened and a thin, scraggly boy of perhaps fifteen poked his head in. He had a brush of dirt on one cheek, soot in his mop of brown hair, and he gave her a crooked smile. “Sorry to interrupt, Signora Giles. Signor Andre says they will formally begin in a few moments.”
    “Grazie, Luca. I will be there.”
    Luca was Pacca’s nephew—more likely his illegitimate son—and Pacca hired him to clean, fetch, build sets, or anything else that needed to be done. Luca stepped back and made to close the door, then opened it again and held out a red rose. Helena raised her brows, and Luca lowered his head to hide his flaming face. “This was one of the roses thrown on stage last night. I thought you might like it for your dressing room.”
    Helena smiled. Luca was a sweet boy. “I would. Grazie.”
    He closed the door, and she placed the rose in an old vase on her dressing table. She hummed a few bars from her first aria and tried to loosen her shoulders. Perhaps she would take the flower home tonight and give it some water. It might live a few days.
    There was a knock on the door again. “Yes, Luca?” she sang.
    “It’s not Luca.”
    She whirled to face Blue, who stood in her door. Leaned, actually. He leaned with one shoulder propped against the casement, arms crossed over his chest. Her heart thudded.
    “Who is Luca?”
    “My lover.”
    “That skinny boy? I don’t think so.” He smiled. It was annoyingly charming.
    She glared at him. “If you knew who he was, why did you ask?”
    “To see what you’d say.” He was speaking in English, which few of those rehearsing at the theater tonight understood, but he closed the door anyway. She supposed one could never be too careful in his line of work, but she would have preferred he leave the door open. The room felt tiny and cramped with only the two of them in it. He had changed clothing, and now he wore black wool trousers, a white shirt, a simple cravat, and a black coat. His hair was pulled into a queue. He looked the very picture of a pianist, artistic but not overly showy. She could hardly fault Carolina for fawning over his good looks. When he didn’t wear his silk and lace, he looked handsome and virile. “I tried to tell you about my position here earlier,” he said.
    “But it slipped your mind.” She sat in her chair and faced him. From the corner of one eye, she could see her reflection in the mirror. She looked haughty and pretentious. She hated herself like this. She hated him for always bringing out the worst in