Mr. Watson’s assistant froze for a moment. He realized he’d let something slip and quickly covered for himself. “Oh, I found it online,” he said, nonchalantly.

Zavier offered a faint smile and let it go, not prying further.

Relieved, the assistant’s eyes drifted toward Scarlett—

He’d heard tales of the fabled Miss Brooks, how she was supposedly a paragon of raw talent, but no one had ever mentioned her limp. And her outfit? Best left ...