Chapter Three
Fitz calculated he had four, maybe five, seconds to close the distance between himself and Gigi before she made a break for the exit. He’d lost her once. He wouldn’t let her get away again.
As he continued holding her stare, moving purposefully toward her, something inside Fitz shifted, softened, and then resettled in a way that made him regret what he’d come here to do.
He swallowed back the uncomfortable sensation and kept striding in Gigi’s direction.
Moving closer, ever closer, he took in the straight spine, the square shoulders, the soft quiver of her chin before she firmed it. She was afraid. Of him? Or that her lies and deceit had come to an end?
He would find out soon enough.
With grim determination, Fitz kept his gaze locked with Gigi’s, willing her to understand he wasn’t here to hurt her. He didn’t want explanations or details of her ruin, and he certainly didn’t want an apology. What he wanted was far more tangible.
Hoping to ease her fears, he splayed his hands at his sides in a nonthreatening manner.
Her eyes widened. She looked at him the way a rabbit stared at a hawk swooping in for the kill. Evidently, he was to be cast in the role of villain yet again.
So be it.
Jaw tight, Fitz looked pointedly to the exit, then back to Gigi and gave a slow shake of his head. Try it, he silently challenged. See how far you get.
That impertinent chin lifted a fraction higher.
There she was. Same stubborn girl he’d always known. The spoiled heiress who took what she wanted, whether it belonged to her or not.
For months, Fitz had searched for her. He’d redoubled his efforts the morning after the official announcement of his cousin Connor’s engagement to Gigi’s sister. Fitz owed Connor a debt that could never be repaid.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. Gigi held the key to Fitz’s success.
He came to a stop at a respectable distance from her, only then realizing the wardrobe mistress stood with her.
Patience, he told himself. He would get Gigi alone soon enough.
“Good day, ladies.” He divided a smile between the two women, his eyes lingering on Gigi a shade longer than polite.
Her flinch was nearly imperceptible, one he would have missed if he hadn’t been looking closely. When she didn’t quite meet his gaze, he felt oddly vindicated. Though she hid her reaction behind a benign smile, Fitz knew Gigi was nervous in his company. Good. He liked knowing he wasn’t alone in his struggle to remain indifferent.
Affecting a bland expression of his own, he gave her a short nod. Her shoulders grew unnaturally stiff. Fitz knew he was the cause of her tension, and he told himself he didn’t care. He wasn’t here to smooth away her anxiety.
He opened his mouth to speak, not sure what he meant to say. Mrs. Llewellyn broke the silence first. “Mr. Fitzpatrick, are you enjoying the rehearsal?”
Adopting a relaxed demeanor he didn’t quite feel, Fitz gave the older woman a short nod. “I am, very much.”
He was surprised to discover he meant every word. He rarely attended the theater. There simply wasn’t time, especially of late. Now that he’d seen behind the curtain, so to speak, he regretted skipping so many performances. Watching Esmeralda and the other cast members had kindled his interest. He found himself fascinated and somehow transported momentarily from the weight of his burdens.
Most who knew him would find this surprising, Gigi included. How many times had she accused him of lacking imagination? Too many to count.
“I find the process of putting together a production utterly captivating,” he admitted. “I had no idea how much went into preparing for opening night.”
Mrs. Llewellyn beamed at him. “Then it was fortunate you accepted Mr. Everett’s invitation to look around the theater this afternoon.”
For the next few minutes, the wardrobe mistress engaged Fitz in a conversation about what he found most intriguing (the staging) and the least (the creative arguments).
He glanced in Gigi’s direction, this time taking in the changes. He hardly recognized the woman she’d become. The high cheekbones and alabaster skin were the same. Her eyes were still a pale blue, the color of rain clouds shot through with threads of silver. But the pretty frocks were gone, as were the ready smiles and charming manner. And what had she done to her glorious, lush hair? She must have tried to bleach out the rich auburn that had once gleamed a pretty shade of red in the sun. The stringy, faded yellow ends were nearly colorless and clashed with her skin tone.
The drab black dress she wore now only added to the impression that she’d endured great suffering. The light had left her. Fitz detected the sadness. The wistfulness. As though she wanted for something so far out of reach she could no longer feel joy. Fury slithered through Fitz’s calm, making him burn with guilt and unexpected resolve. Nathanial Dixon would answer for what he’d done, once the investigator located the cad.
Mrs. Llewellyn paused. Fitz took advantage of the moment and addressed Gigi directly. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
She opened her mouth, looking a little disconcerted, as if she’d expected him to reveal her identity right then and there. He was far savvier than that.
“Oh, where are my manners?” Mrs. Llewellyn’s hands fluttered at her face. “This is Miss Sally Smith. Sally, this is Mr. Christopher Fitzpatrick of Boston.”
Sally Smith. Fitz couldn’t stop himself from grimacing. The most sought-after debutante in Boston was masquerading as Sally Smith. Why that name?
The report had been unclear on that point.
The report had been unclear on many points, leaving Fitz with more questions than answers. Fitz would unravel the mystery of Gigi’s new life eventually.
For now, he schooled his features into a bland, nonthreatening expression. Unfortunately, his composure evaporated the moment Gigi’s gaze met his.
His heart slammed against his ribs; his breath hitched in his lungs. Even with the dramatic changes to her appearance, Gigi still held the power to make him a tongue-tied schoolboy.
He cleared his throat, twice. “A pleasure, Miss . . . Smith. I am—”
“Silenzio!” Esmeralda clapped her hands over her ears and howled, “I cannot hear the music with all the chatter offstage.”
Duly chastised, Fitz closed his mouth.
Nose in the air as if she’d just gotten a whiff of something unpleasant, Mrs. Llewellyn snapped her back ramrod straight. “That’s my cue to get back to work.”
“I’ll join you,” Gigi said.
Mrs. Llewellyn lifted a hand. “No, dear, I’m not ready for you yet. I must take inventory of the costumes before I put you to work.”
“Oh, I . . .” Gigi’s gaze tracked to Fitz, then quickly away. “I can help you with that.”
“You will only be in my way. Stay.” The wardrobe mistress took Gigi’s shoulders and turned her in the direction of the stage. “Watch Esmeralda’s rehearsal. I know you have a fondness for the music.”
Gigi made a soft sound of protest in her throat, barely audible, but Fitz caught it. And so, it appeared, had Mrs. Llewellyn. “You don’t enjoy the music?”
Fitz waited to hear how Gigi would answer. The fact that she’d attempted to flee with the wardrobe mistress didn’t surprise him. No, what threw him off guard was the way she spoke in that bland Midwestern accent.
The changes in her appearance were disturbing enough, but to conceal her lovely, melodic voice in such an odd manner was, quite frankly, dumbfounding.
“No,” Gigi finally replied.
Mrs. Llewellyn lifted a skeptical eyebrow.
“That is to say . . .” Still speaking in that ludicrous voice, Gigi blessed the other woman with a sweet, sweet smile, all politeness and easygoing manner, a small glimpse of the woman she’d once been. “I do, just not this particular aria. It makes me sad.”
With the faintest trace of amusement, the older woman patted Gigi’s arm in a motherly gesture. “That is rather the point, dear. Stay, enjoy. I will send for you when I’m ready for your assistance.”
Having issued her command, Mrs. Llewellyn set out toward her part of the theater.
Gigi attempted another, less subtle escape. She stepped back, practically falling over her own two feet in her haste to get away from Fitz.
“Oh, no you don’t.” He moved directly in her path and took her hand. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Ah, but I have much to say to you.”
She tugged her hand. Fitz held on tight.
He didn’t know what he meant to do or what he planned to say. All he knew was that he didn’t want to let Gigi go.
Not yet.
Gigi reached the end of her endurance, all because Fitz had her hand wrapped inside his. This was the first time in nearly a year that she’d seen him. So much had occurred in the months since. Yet he’d reached for her with such ease. There’d been no hesitation, no pretense.
The unexpected familiarity of the gesture put her immediately on guard. Fitz had never been this forward with her, or this calm and casual. He was up to something.
Of course he was up to something. The man had not earned his ruthless reputation without reason.
She yanked her hand again.
He pulled her a step closer, looking as if he had much to say, none of which she cared to hear. Unless he had news of her family.
Blinking hard as her throat cinched closed, Gigi struggled to contain her conflicting emotions. Fitz’s touch felt so . . . so . . . safe. That had never been the case before, at least not since they were children. There had been nothing easy between them as adults.
Time seemed to slow as past overlaid present. Fitz looked as uneasy as Gigi felt. Yet, still, he held on to her hand.
“Please,” she said, the word barely a whisper. “Please,” she repeated more fervently. “Let me go.”
His eyes narrowed, and she knew better than to look away from the portrait of upright perfection he made. He was tall and inflexible, with a handsome face and an air of complete assurance. A man confident about his place in the world. A man who owned his place in the world.
Why wasn’t he speaking?
Why wasn’t she?
“Say what you’ve come to say and then leave me in peace.”
“You wish to do this here?” He made a point of looking around them, his gaze pausing over a group of dancers who watched them intently and made no attempt to hide their curiosity. “Now?”
Gigi shrugged one shoulder, remaining silent in an attempt to gain some bit of advantage over him. On the surface, Fitz’s words were calm and controlled. Yet she heard the warning in them. The man might not prefer an audience for this conversation, but he wouldn’t let a few nosy dancers deter him from his goal.
Whatever goal that might be.
“Let me go,” she hissed.
“Not yet.”
Feeling trapped and needing to lash out, she did what any wise woman would do in her circumstances. She went on the offensive. “We both know why you’re here.”
His eyebrows lifted in silent challenge. “Do we?”
“You have no interest in buying this theater.”
His brows moved a shade higher. “Don’t I?”
“You are here for me.” She held his gaze, daring him to object. When he continued staring at her with that unreadable expression, she issued her own challenge. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re not wrong.” He leaned in then and raked her with one long look, taking in her face and plain black dress.
Gigi had never felt more unworthy. Or confused. “What do you want from me?”
One side of his mouth twitched in what she imagined was displeasure, perhaps disdain. “You have to ask?”
Her shoulders bunched in irritation. He was toying with her, drawing out this moment for some cruel purpose.
“Give it your best guess,” he said. “Contemplate the possibilities long and hard before you respond.”
Fitz wouldn’t relent until he got what he’d come for. He never accepted defeat. In that, he was just like Gigi’s father. Too much. The two had plotted out her future as if she were just another one of their business deals. That cold, impersonal lack of consideration had left her vulnerable. Easy prey for Nathanial to swoop in and win her affection, and . . .
Gigi wasn’t being fair to Fitz. Or her father.
Her decision to run away with Nathanial had been hers. It was no one’s fault but her own that she’d been desperate for romance. She’d wanted—needed—to be treasured and admired and, yes, loved.
Marriages in her world provided none of those things. Gigi had been full of romantic illusions. She’d wanted something grander than an arranged marriage. That stubborn desperation had made her the ideal target for a fortune hunter.
She’d been such a fool, believing God had brought Nathanial into her life at just the right time for the Lord’s perfect purpose. How utterly fanciful. Gigi had left all she knew, all the people she loved, for empty promises whispered under the moon and stars.
Fitz had been right to warn her about Nathanial. So why wasn’t he demanding an explanation?
Because they had a captive audience, leaning in, straining to hear their exchange. Fitz was not the sort of man to indulge in unnecessary drama. Then why did he still hold her hand cupped in his?
Surely he would say something, anything to put a halt to this endless moment.
Gigi searched for words to fill the void, but nothing came to mind. She and Fitz hadn’t spoken directly to one another since the night he’d confronted her about Nathanial. All she could do now was force herself to breathe. Even that simple task proved nearly impossible.
At last, he let go of her hand and stepped back.
The lack of contact left her feeling oddly alone. She turned to go. He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Try to run from me,” he warned. “Give it your best effort, but know that I’ll find you again.”
She glanced down at his hand on her arm, back up to his face. “Is that a threat?”
“A promise.” His green gaze swept over her as he spoke, his features still unreadable.
The embroidered waistcoat he wore highlighted the unusual color of his eyes. Why had she never noticed how the irises were rimmed with a thin band of gold?
Gigi wondered at the direction of her thoughts. At the same moment, Fitz’s glance flicked to a spot just over her right shoulder. Only then did she become aware the music had stopped.
“Fitz, darling, I fear your attention has wavered.” Stepping beside them, Esmeralda gave Gigi a sidelong glance, frowned, then returned her full attention to Fitz. “You will come with me now. I wish for you to hear my rendition of Carmen’s signature aria.”
The husky command was followed by a short pause as the diva turned to glance at Gigi. Her eyes were not quite hard, but neither were they soft. “The crimson satin gown I wear in the final act has acquired a stain at the hem. I require it gone before my next fitting.”
Though stain removal was not her forte, or her job as Sophie’s maid—and since Mrs. Llewellyn didn’t need her assistance—Gigi couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do more. “I’ll see to the matter at once.”
“Yes. Well, then. Off you go.” Esmeralda made a shooing motion with her hands.
Happy to oblige, Gigi spun in the direction of the wardrobe closet. In her haste, she moved too quickly, and her skirts tangled around her ankles. She stumbled back a step.
Fitz’s hands clasped her shoulders from behind as he supported her against him. “Easy now,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ve got you.”
Gigi should have been frightened by the underlying meaning in his declaration. Instead, his low voice steadied her and brought to mind a time when life had been simpler, a time when she and Fitz had been friends.
A time when her head had been filled with nothing more complicated than a stain on the hem of one of her own dresses. She closed her eyes a moment, only briefly, and reveled in the feeling of security that washed through her.
So much had changed. She’d done things that couldn’t be taken back. Gigi had lost the woman she’d once been and barely recognized the woman she was now. What was real and what was fantasy?
I’ve got you.
Did Fitz know how terrifying those words sounded? He was so stable, so predictable, so . . . familiar. There’d been a season in her life when she’d scorned him for his steadfast ways. She’d accused him of being boring, as if that were the greatest crime a man could commit.
How ridiculous she’d been. How silly and naïve and utterly horrid.
“Sally, are you unwell?” The suspicion in the diva’s voice nearly, but not quite, matched the concern in her eyes.
Gigi pulled herself together.
“I’m perfectly well, thank you.” Readjusting her collar, Gigi stepped away from Fitz, away from the burst of emotions and memories and impossible wave of hope that had no place in her new, pragmatic life. “I merely lost my balance.”
Esmeralda tilted her head at a curious angle. “It was fortunate Mr. Fitzpatrick was here to catch you.”
Gigi gave a humming response that could be interpreted as agreement.
Fitz gave an equally dispassionate response. They shared an awkward glance and then, as if they’d practiced the move, looked away from each other.
Eyes widening, as though suddenly realizing the oddity of their familiar manner, Esmeralda looked from one to the other and back again. Her gaze filled with questions.
Gigi willed the diva to keep them to herself, at least until Fitz was out of earshot.
Of all the people Gigi had met in New York, Esmeralda asked the most pointed questions about Gigi’s past, never quite believing her answers. No wonder, that. The woman made her living inside a character, taking on a role that had little to do with reality. Of course she would recognize that Gigi wasn’t who she pretended to be.
“I believe you wanted me to listen to your rehearsal?” Fitz spoke to Esmeralda with the sort of gentle patience he’d used with Gigi all those years ago. “I find myself quite enamored with your talent.”
“You are a man of discerning taste.”
He cast a brief glance in Gigi’s direction. “Some in my acquaintance would disagree.”
Esmeralda sniffed delicately, the sound almost musical. “Then they aren’t worth knowing.”
“Indeed.” A small smile played across his lips as he offered his arm to the singer. “Shall we?”
“But of course.” Adopting a queenly posture, Esmeralda allowed Fitz to escort her back to center stage.
Neither acknowledged Gigi again.
Relief weakening her knees, Gigi went to do Esmeralda’s bidding. She hurried her steps. The more distance between her and Fitz, the better. But the drama unfolding onstage had her pausing in the wings a moment longer. The story of two young lovers desperate to be together, doing what they must to avoid discovery, hit too close to home.
Gigi couldn’t help but look back at Fitz. Distance and dim lighting couldn’t hide the way he pressed his lips in a flat line, or how his gaze bore into her.
Her first instinct was to run. From Fitz, from the theater, from New York and the life she’d created for herself out of necessity and shame. So much shame. Unfortunately, Esmeralda paid her too well. If Gigi was to redeem her great-grandmother’s pearls, she had to endure her circumstances a while longer.
At last, Fitz turned away and focused on Esmeralda. Gigi should have been thankful. But as she watched him give his undivided attention to the beautiful singer, the sensation running through her blood felt like . . .
God help her, the sensation felt like longing.