Strangers Under the Sun

After spending the better part of the day trailing through the city with Arkan, Cecilia had finally explained their situation to the hotel manager and secured a cheap room with two beds. The bill was put on a tab to be settled later, which meant that finding work before the due date had become her most urgent task.

She tore out every help-wanted advertisement she could find in the newspapers and laid them out in a neat row across the floor. Then she sat down cross-legged in the middle of them and pored over them for a long while.

"Arkan."

"Yes?"

Arkan, who was making tea in the small pantry, answered with his back still turned. A teaspoon clinked against the side of a cup.

"How about this one? They say it pays by the day."

Cecilia held up one of the advertisements from her feet and thrust it toward him.

Arkan came over, took the clipping from her, and pressed a glass into her empty hand in its place. It was chilled black tea sweetened with peach syrup.

The moment he'd read the contents, however, he frowned.

"Cleaning? That'll be hard on you. There's really no need to push yourself like this. I can get in touch with the estate and have money sent—"

"Excuse me, Mr. Arkangelo."

Cecilia fixed him with a frightening, dagger-sharp glare.

"If you're going to say spineless things like that, hand it over right now. Don't you dare make light of my resolve."

Arkan let out a long whine and dug in his heels, but in the end he surrendered the advertisement. Cecilia held his gaze a moment longer, then broke into a confident grin, borrowed the hotel's telephone downstairs in the lobby, and made the call.

And so the next morning, with Arkan seeing her off, she set out for her new place of work.

Sunfield Square Garden was the largest performance venue in the capital and one of its great landmarks. She had never attended a performance there, but she remembered stopping by a few times during her married life with Davion.

It seemed the interior had been remodeled recently, because it didn't quite match her memory of the place.

Was there a wooden staircase like that near the entrance? And I don't think the ceiling used to be a dome...

Cecilia had been studying her surroundings so intently that she nearly missed the woman's question.

"How old did you say you were?"

A middle-aged woman, apparently one of the venue's custodial supervisors, was walking ahead of her. Cecilia hurriedly composed herself and answered.

"Twenty-six—I haven't had my birthday yet this year. I came out of service in a grand manor, so I can guarantee I clean better than anyone."

"You're not sick with anything, are you? This is a place actors pass through. If you get caught in a lie, you could end up on the wrong side of a lawsuit."

The freckles that covered Cecilia's face sometimes stirred that kind of concern. It was a question she'd grown used to, and without so much as moistening her lips she lied with practiced ease.

"My face has been like this since I was born."

"What does your husband do?"

The woman had noticed the ring on her finger. That question, too, belonged to the familiar category.

"He was a soldier. He was deployed to Kalita two years ago and came back wounded. What the country pays isn't nearly enough, so I have to work if I want to afford even his medicine."

"Oh, you poor thing..."

Curiosity melted into pity in an instant. Cecilia offered the supervisor—who had turned to study her expression—an embarrassed smile and said nothing more. Then the woman suddenly bellowed at the top of her lungs, and Cecilia nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Hey! Get out of here, now!"

A vagrant who had been rummaging through a trash bin beneath the hall's staircase scurried off in a panic.

Guards who had heard the commotion spilled out of a nearby door and gave chase. Clearly this wasn't the woman's first rodeo; she calmly explained to the flustered Cecilia, "When the weather turns cold, homeless folk sneak in here all the time. It's dangerous, so don't ever go near them—just call for one of the guards. A while back, one of the girls yelled at a man to chase him off, and he got her with a rusty pair of scissors."

A rusty pair of scissors.

Cecilia swallowed dryly, staring in the direction the vagrant had vanished. Just then, the woman introduced another custodian standing near the stairs.

"Mr. Goodman here will show you to the break room. Most of the cleaners inside the venue are around your age. They're a well-connected bunch, all things considered—get friendly with them and plenty of good things will come your way."

"Will I be running into the actors often, working here?"

At that, both supervisors turned to look at her with narrow, suspicious eyes.

"Why do you ask?"

The truth was that Cecilia's worn, faded looks had played no small part in her being hired at the theater. A few people in the past had worked here with the intention of approaching the actors for... personal encounters.

Oh, no. Realizing exactly what kind of misunderstanding she'd invited, Cecilia broke into a nervous sweat and hurried to add, "You see, when I was little, I wanted to be an actress. But with a face like this..."

Fortunately, the two supervisors exchanged a glance and quickly let their suspicion drop. The man called Goodman gestured for her to follow and answered.

"You'll hardly ever cross paths with them. And the actors performing here are all so high-and-mighty that even if you did, laborers like us wouldn't rate so much as a glance."

The theater's bulletin board was plastered with posters of every kind.

Strangers Under the Sun. Beneath the huge lettered title, Lady Esmerilda sat with a man on either side of her. Her clear amber eyes in the poster seized hold of Cecilia with startling force.

He's right. A theater this enormous—I'm hardly likely to run into anyone.

Cecilia looked away. A faint smile brushed the corner of her mouth as she followed the supervisor.

The Winterhall charity event began after eight in the evening.

Thanks to Liam and the servants' efforts, the manor that had been so dreary and lifeless had transformed overnight into a resplendent party venue. The small colored bulbs strung along the streetlamps and trees did the lion's share of the work in setting the mood.

Davion had chosen a black tie as well, arming himself in shades of gray from head to toe.

The invitation had specified that guests wear no black—but surely the host himself was under no obligation to obey. With Cecilia's very survival still uncertain, he hadn't the heart to dress in bright colors and smile.

He stood at the entrance like a statue beside Liam, greeting the guests as music began to drift down over his head. The atmosphere in the second-floor banquet hall had already reached a full simmer.

A black coupe blared its horn as it passed through the front gates. The car glided smoothly to a stop in front of Davion, the passenger door swung open, and out stepped a man with a handsomely tousled head of brown hair.

The man fished a gray wool coat out of the back seat, shrugged it on, and spread both arms wide toward Davion.

"Davion! My old friend!"

"Julian."

Davion smiled and embraced him gladly.

Julian Redwick was a national army officer recently promoted to Major. Technically, he now outranked Davion, who remained a Captain, but the two had been inseparable since their academy days, and their friendship had lost none of its ease.

"Thank you for coming all this way."

"Spare me the formalities. Where else would I be?"

Julian gripped Davion's shoulders and studied his face. "Forgot already? I'm a devoted admirer of Lady Esmerilda, you know."

He gave a sly wink, and Davion answered with a light laugh.

"Lady Esmerilda hasn't arrived yet."

The words were barely out of his mouth when another car roared through the gates in a theatrical cloud of dust. A red open-top roadster, roofless.

After handing the keys to the valet, Esmerilda stepped out, pulling off her sunglasses.

Deep golden hair, as if molten gold had been poured over it, rippled down past her waist. She stood over 175 centimeters tall, with sharply upturned eyes, immaculately shaped brows, and a small, proud nose.

Every inch the celebrated actress, Esmerilda possessed breathtaking beauty. Even the slight gap between her front teeth blended with her graceful air to become one of her most magnificent charms.

A two-piece suit in a vivid sapphire blue harmonized perfectly with her towering height. Leaving Julian standing there moonstruck, Davion stepped forward to receive her.

"Count Winterhall."

"Lady Esmerilda. Thank you for honoring us with your presence."

When Esmerilda extended her right hand, Davion bowed and pressed a light kiss to it.

"My, it seems the guest list has grown since the last event, hasn't it?"

"Much the same. More people simply accepted the invitation this year, that's all."

So many had come to offer comfort in the wake of Davion's recent ordeal. Esmerilda understood that as well as anyone, and without a word she wrapped her hand gently around his arm and sent him a look of quiet sympathy.

"It must be so hard on you."

A stranger's warmth spread across his arm.