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wasn't in the mood to even think about lovemaking, but
he doubted that Alex was offering the use of his body in
any case. The lad had been clear on that point the day
before, and Julian couldn't blame him.
"You don't need to do anything but keep your lips
sealed about how we met and be a credit to me if you do
end up working at the theater."
"I need to do more than that." Alex held up his hands,
his palms uppermost. "There must be balance."
True enough. Julian didn't believe a man's life ended
when perfect balance had been achieved, as some did,
nor did he feel that happiness had to be paid for with
sadness, but still, balance was desirable when it came to
obligation, most certainly. "What did you have in
mind?"
Alex turned his head to the side, not by much, but
Julian was trained to notice the smallest shift in
expression, the slightest of inflections. Something was
making Alex feel nervous. "I walked in your garden last
night. It's in need of some weeding."
"It's in need of a scythe or a bonfire setting." Julian
shrugged. "I don't go out there much."
"You should!" Alex straightened, his eyes bright with
enthusiasm now that his small trespass had been
confessed. "It's small, yes, but there's room for you to
plant some vegetables, and you have herbs growing and
roses --"
Julian laughed, taken aback by the emergence of a
confident, chatty Alex and unreasonably charmed by the
change. "Sweetheart, you can do anything you like to it,
but don't expect me to do more than admire it." He held
up his hands, well-shaped, carefully tended. "These
hands don't mix well with dirt."
Spoken from the Heart - 59
"Soil isn't dirty."
"A nice distinction. Now finish your food. It's
ridiculously early, and I had planned to take a bath, but
let's get you over to the theater and see if Duncan still
has need of you. We'll stop at the barber I use on the
way."
Alex's mouth drooped, a worried frown replacing his
animated smile. "And if he doesn't need me? No." He
shook his head. "It's my problem, not yours."
"True enough," Julian said, wondering why it didn't
feel that way, "but we'll find something for you to do.
And I could always pay you to tame my garden."
Alex's frown deepened. "Not when tending it is my
way of repaying you," he objected. "I'd be more in your
debt, not less. And I wish you would present me with an
accounting for how much you've spent so far."
Julian felt a decade older than his twenty-eight years.
When had doing a kindness become so difficult? He'd
acted in a score of plays where mysterious benefactors
rescued starving orphans and the like. He didn't recall a
single one where the orphan turned around and
demanded an itemized bill.
"We can settle up later. For now, allow me the
pleasure of showing you around the best theater in the
city, and tonight, if you like, you can watch the play
from the audience. I have a small role in it, as I told you,
so I can't join you, but afterward, we can go out for
supper and I'll introduce you to some of my friends."
Alex's eyes widened, bewilderment vying with
pleasure. "I -- it all sounds wonderful, but, sir, you can't
want me to meet your friends."
"Some actors have enough conceit they think the
earth sings a chorus of praise when their shadow falls on
it, but I'm not one of them. My friends aren't all actors,
Spoken from the Heart - 60
though most of them are connected to the theater in
some way. Duncan, the man I hope you'll be working for,
is most definitely one of them." He held up his hands
and let them fall gracefully. "We stick together. I know
when I walk out on that stage that I wouldn't be there if
not for the men and women who built the sets, made my
costume, wrote the lines, sold tickets to the
audience& you take my meaning?"
After a short pause, Alex nodded. "I'll wash the
dishes."
"Leave them to soak," Julian said. "We have better
things to do."
"We do?"
"Well, of course. There's always something better to
do than clean dishes," Julian said, and watched a half-
guilty smile blossom on Alex's face.
Lady, the boy was attractive when he smiled! With a
sense of trouble to come when people other than him
noticed that, Julian stood and brushed a few crumbs off
his robe.
"To the Pinnacle," he said, as grandly as if he was on
stage. "After I dress, anyway," he added.
***
"Well, I need another set of hands, to be sure, but& "
Duncan rubbed his hand over his bearded chin and gave
Alex a doubtful look. To spare Alex's feelings, Julian
had sent him over to gawk at the view from the stage,
and Alex was peering out at the rows of seats, cushioned
in deep green velvet, and the boxes high up, seemingly
suspended in space, ornate with gold and pale cream
paint, curtains ready to be drawn discreetly tight in the
intervals. His haircut had made him even more attractive,
Spoken from the Heart - 61
judging by the looks Alex had gathered as they'd walked
to the theater, but he still lacked polish.
"He's young, but he's a hard worker, and he tells me
he's used a hammer and nails. He's from the Westerlings,
and say what you like about them, no one ever accused
them of laziness."
"True enough." Duncan was a tall man, broad-
shouldered, his arms as thick as many a man's thighs.
Brown hair, cropped short, and dark gray eyes were
ordinary enough, but nothing about Duncan made him
fade into the backgrounds he built. The closest he'd
come was after the death of his wife some seven years
before. Mary had been a slender, smiling woman, so
much shorter than her husband that when he kissed her,
he put his hands around her waist and lifted her up.
She'd been the head seamstress, and even now, costumes
she'd designed and sewed were still in use. Julian felt a
pang of loss every time he wore one and he'd known her
only for a year or two. He couldn't imagine how
poignant it had to be for Duncan, but the theater offered
a refuge as well as a reminder, and Duncan had never
looked elsewhere for work.
Mary and the child she'd carried had both died.
Tragic, but not uncommon, and most people had
expected Duncan to remarry. Julian doubted it would
happen. Now and then, overcome by melancholy,
Duncan would get drunk and sometimes, to his shame
and grief the next day, end the night in the arms of a
nightworker, usually buxom, experienced, and, Julian
imagined, chosen for her complete lack of resemblance
to Mary.
Julian had been Duncan's companion in both tavern
and nighthouse on several occasions, never attempting
to dissuade Duncan from his path because the man
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