Once a Courtesan (Once Wicked Book 2)

by Liana Lefey

  Eyes like twilight just before full dark pierced her. “I’m truly sorry for having forced you to disclose the truth in this manner. I grew suspicious after seeing that carriage here last night, and my curiosity would not grant me peace until I satisfied it.” His lips slanted in a rueful half smile. “I’m afraid patience is not my greatest strength. Please forgive me, and know that I shall do everything in my power to help you.”

  His words slipped through the chinks in her internal defenses and wormed their way into her heart. If that wasn’t bad enough, his proximity was wreaking havoc with her senses. Tingles erupted across her flesh as his gaze meandered over her face. He was so close. Being near any man, even Tavistoke, usually caused her unease bordering on panic. But, though her heart pounded away inside her chest, this was different.

  Strangely, she didn’t fear Woodson. Indeed, part of her delighted in the intimacy of the moment, reveling in the warm, gravelly rasp of his voice in the quiet little room, in the way he looked at her with such earnestness and admiration.

  Admiration? A lightning thrill ran through her even as, in her mind, warning bells clamored, urging her to put more space between them. Her feet, however, seemed not to be paying any attention to the frantic commands.

  “You are patient with the girls,” she said. “That is what matters. As for helping, you found a way to acquire the books we need, and I know you have been guarding the school’s back gate.”

  His brow pinched for a moment, but then smoothed. “After what happened, I could not rest easy until I knew for certain no one could get in and cause further mischief.”

  “Yes, but that was weeks ago. You have since then without fail waited every evening until the gate is locked before going home. I just wanted you to know your kindness did not go unnoticed.”

  His eyes lit with sudden comprehension. “Is that why you’ve been bringing me tea every day?”

  Jacqueline knew her face must be beet red. “You’ve stood in the cold and the rain, put yourself in danger when you could have gone home and rested in comfort. I thought only to thank you in some small way.”

  One corner of his mouth tilted. “You could have simply told me.”

  Her insides fluttered, and she tried not to fidget. “I was concerned it might make you uncomfortable if you knew you had been observed.”

  A breath of laughter escaped him. “You’re probably right.” His amusement faded into solemnity. “I know that message might have been nothing more than some idiotic prank, but it frightened you and, well, I had to be sure you were safe.”

  You…not the school, not the children—you. Shock stole speech from her lips as he went on.

  “I hope knowing I was there gave you some comfort, that it made you feel safer.” His face colored under her stunned gaze. “I don’t suppose it’s necessary now, really. It’s been weeks, and nothing untoward has happened, so I’ll just—”

  Jacqueline tried to no avail to blink away the tears welling in her eyes. On impulse, she leaned up and kissed him first on one cheek and then the other. “Thank you,” she whispered at his ear before retreating to find a kerchief.

  A small, strangled sound issued from Woodson, and she looked up to see complete astonishment written on his face. Laughing a little, she dabbed at her brimming eyes. “Forgive me; I sometimes forget I am no longer in France.” Heat suffused her cheeks. “Your compassion overwhelms me. I’m unused to people inconveniencing themselves on my behalf.”

  His features softened. “It saddens me to hear you say it.” Blinking, he cleared his throat and looked away. “Anyway, I’ll stand down now that the matter appears to be resolved.”

  “Of course,” she replied at once, embarrassed to have breached English propriety and mortified to find her lips still tingling with the memory of his stubble against them. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew her ring of keys, detached one, and proffered it to him.

  “What’s this?” he asked, his eyes wary.

  “You won’t need to break in again,” she said, extending the key toward him. “Now you may enter whenever you wish to look at the students’ files—with your word that you will without fail lock this door when finished and say nothing of what you learn here to anyone save me.”

  His eyes widened for a moment, incredulous, but then he seemed to accept that she’d actually said it. “But don’t you need this?” he asked, taking the key.

  “I have another, as do Mrs. Sloane and Dr. Horton. That one belonged to Mrs. Farrow. I would like you to be its keeper now.”

  …

  Well, I’ll be damned. Will’s mouth worked, but nothing came out. He’d broken into a locked room, rifled through forbidden files, and now she was handing him the key and giving him permission to read everything in it at his leisure.

  And she kissed me.

  Above everything else, that fact loomed large. He’d been kissed plenty of times, but never before had a kiss—especially one on the bloody cheeks—turned him inside out. That, more than anything else today, unsettled him. Deeply.

  The warmth of her skin as her soft cheek had pressed against his, the silken texture of her lips as they’d brushed his jaw, her clean lemony scent, and the light pressure of her body against his were enough to inspire wildly inappropriate thoughts. But learning the truth of her had transformed his perception, intensifying an already dangerous attraction.

  “Beautiful” didn’t even begin to describe this woman. The soul that shone in her hazel eyes was infinitely gentle, yet fierce as fire. When it came to this school and these children, she was like a tigress protecting her cubs. She genuinely cared for—no, loved—them. Like a mother.

  He realized she was looking at him expectantly. “I—I’m not sure what—thank you,” he finished lamely, pocketing the still-warm key. “I don’t feel I deserve such faith, considering my conduct. I ought to have asked you directly rather than coming in here uninvited.”

  A tiny smile curled the corners of her perfect mouth. “I doubt I would have told you what you wanted to know—not all of it. I admit to having considered it, but my fear was too great.”

  “And now?”

  “I’m no longer afraid. You’ve proven yourself worthy, Monsieur Woodson. Welcome to our family.”

  Worthy. He’d always thought himself a good man, but despite knowing he’d come here with an honorable purpose, Will now felt soiled and undeserving of such praise. He longed to tell her the truth, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he watched her straighten the papers he’d displaced.

  “The students will be returning to their classrooms soon,” she said without looking up.

  Guilt pressed down on his shoulders. “Best I go then and be sure all is ready.” He turned to go, but stopped at the threshold. “I want you to know I’m honored by your trust,” he said softly. “I won’t disappoint you.” Before she could answer, he fled, wondering what mad impulse had driven him to say such a thing.

  A few minutes later as he was wiping the children’s slates clean, he knew what he had to do. I could not have been more wrong—about everything. Gonson had to be told this had been a false lead.

  His employer would pull him out and assign him a new case, of course. The idea of leaving pained Will, but better that than for him to bring down destruction on all here. He decided to keep quiet regarding the Archangel’s involvement with the school, as well. If indeed it was the Archangel. A child’s whisper and an ambiguous seal weren’t proof absolute.

  Sins of omission, Danbury?

  He let out a snort. Until today, he’d thought those who followed the law were in the right, while those who broke it were in the wrong. Now he realized it wasn’t that simple.

  If the Archangel was indeed the man who’d written that letter and brought Penny—and he suspected many more—to this place, then he was clearly fighting on the side of the right. But if he was the one killing those brothel proprietors, then he was also guilty of murder. No matter how terrible their crimes had been, no matter how m
uch they’d deserved to die, they should’ve done so at the end of a rope after facing a trial and not at the hands of a vengeful citizen.

  Will massaged his aching temples. What had previously been crisp black and white was now a blurry gray muddle. It didn’t help that he felt a surge of some unnamed and unpleasant emotion whenever he thought of the connection between Trouvère and the author of that letter. She’d rubbed her wrist when she’d talked of him. Somehow, the man was linked to her scars.

  He wanted to know how.

  Curiosity demanded answers, but it would have to wait. Right now, he needed to work out what he would tell Gonson. The children were easy—orphans brought in by kindly people. As for the anonymous benefactors, his employer would want to know who was supporting this place. Will decided to again ask Trouvère to tell him whatever she could about the school’s funding, but not today. He didn’t want to press his luck.

  That evening as he was preparing to leave, he was surprised to find her at his door, tea tray in hand. “I thought we agreed there was no further need,” he said, unable to help the way his spirits rose.

  “We did.”

  “Then why the tea? Not that it’s unwelcome, of course,” he added, hastening to pull a chair around for her.

  “I thought you might have more questions. If not, then there is no prohibition against friends taking a respite over a plate of fresh crumpets, is there?”

  Friends. Is that what we’re becoming? Though her manner was light, he marked the roses in her cheeks. The sight brought a flush of corresponding warmth to his neck—and other places. He couldn’t help wondering if she felt the same pull inside every time they got close to each other. Perhaps there’d been more to her bringing him tea every day than mere gratitude. “None at all,” he answered at last, a smile tugging at his mouth that no amount of willpower could stop.

  They talked of the students briefly, and she showed him a letter she’d received from Suzette. Though he already knew the girl was happily settled, he read it anyway. “I’m pleased she’s doing so well.”

  “Indeed,” she replied, sipping her tea. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about your family. Mrs. Hayton told me you have seven sisters.”

  Thus was broached a subject he’d been dreading since coming here. “Only five are still living,” he answered, setting down his cup. “Two died when I was still a child. I’m the youngest of the brood.”

  “Mon Dieu,” she murmured. “I’m the oldest of three, all girls. That was hard enough in our tiny house—I cannot imagine eight living together in such close quarters.”

  He laughed. “Well, I don’t mind telling you it was cozy.”

  “Did you grow up here in London?”

  “My parents had a home on the outskirts—or, rather, what used to be the outskirts,” he said carefully. “London has grown by leaps and bounds and has long since swallowed our little hamlet. Were you born in Paris?”

  “Oh, no. I was born in a tiny village near Limoges and spent most of my youth there. My family moved to Paris when I was twelve.”

  “What brought you to England?”

  A crease briefly marred her brow. “My father was a skilled painter of porcelain. We moved to Paris when his work came under the auspices of a wealthy family close to the king. It was good for several years, but then Papa’s patron fell out of favor. Hélène married before the decline. My other sister, Adorée, was taken by a fever along with Papa soon after fortune deserted us. Then it was just me and Maman. We made our way sewing for a little while, but Maman was heartbroken. She succumbed to grief, and then I was alone.”

  Behind her simple words, he knew there lived a deep pain. She’d watched most of her family die in hardship. “What of your sister, Hélène? Why are you not with her?”

  The hardening of her lips didn’t go unmarked. “She said she had not the means to take in a spinster with no income.” In an instant, all traces of bitterness vanished in favor of an over-bright smile. “So I took what money I had and came to England to seek my fortune.”

  “With no plan, no references—by yourself?” he asked, incredulous.

  Though she nodded, her smile turned rueful. “When I was a girl, I had heard it said many times that well-mannered, French-speaking young ladies were highly prized as lady’s maids in England. I came expecting to earn a good wage and start life anew.”

  It was hard enough to be a man alone in this world, but a woman? And to leave the country of her birth for a foreign land with no safe place to go, too. It was an insane move—a desperate move. “So tell me, how did a lady’s maid get involved in all of this?” he asked, gesturing to their surroundings.

  Her hesitation spoke volumes. “I never became a lady’s maid.” She set down the remains of her crumpet. “When I arrived here, I had very little money, and it was quickly taken by those with neither compassion nor scruples.”

  Here it comes… It was with the greatest restraint that he kept his attention on her face and off her wrists.

  “I won’t bore you with an account of my year spent in poverty,” she said, her manner wry. “Instead, I will tell you of my triumph. When I was at my lowest and had lost all hope, kindness saved me. Someone saw my potential, plucked me from the ruins of my life, and gifted me with this chance to help others. And here I am, trying to repay that kindness by passing it on to others.”

  He blinked. Her talent for glossing over details was astounding.

  “Do you visit your family very often?” she asked, reclaiming her crumpet and taking a bite.

  And she left no room for further questions. “Yes, two of my sisters live in London. My mother, as well. They all complain I don’t visit them often enough.”

  “If you have family, you should see them whenever you can,” she said, frowning. “You have but to ask, and I or one of the others can certainly take your place for a day to allow it.”

  “I don’t wish to cause any difficulty—”

  “It’s no trouble at all,” she said, stopping him. “Had I family here, I would visit them as often as possible. Even Hélène.”

  “Do you write to each other?”

  “I did when I first arrived, but after that I had no money to spare for it.”

  “And now?”

  “I wrote to her of my changed fortunes a year ago. Her reply was brief, and though she stated she was glad for me, she left no question as to her desire to be left in peace. There is no room in her life for me.”

  “Not even in the form of correspondence?”

  Looking down, she gave a weak laugh. “Hélène’s husband, a minor baron, has achieved some success at court, and she has no wish to jeopardize his position by consorting with an unpatriotic, unwed relation settled in a rival country. I’m a source of shame to her.”

  For once, he was content with his sometimes overwhelming family. They might not always see eye to eye, but there was love among them, and whenever they needed one another there was no question of support. “She sounds very selfish.”

  “I don’t blame Hélène,” she replied with a little shrug. “She married well during a time of feast and never experienced the famine. As such, she cannot comprehend what it means to suffer privation. In truth, I’m glad for her ignorance. I would not wish anyone I love to have walked my path.”

  Unbidden, his gaze dropped to her hands. When he looked up, he saw fear awakening in her eyes. Might as well speak openly now. “Does that path have anything to do with the marks on your wrists?” he asked softly. When she didn’t answer, he reached out and gently grasped her hand, turning it palm up. The lace on her cuff fell back as he did so, revealing a slim wrist encircled by a band of shiny, pale scar tissue. “You need not be afraid to tell me.”

  The words seemed to break the spell that had befallen her. Quick as lightning, she snatched back her hand and twitched the lace over the old wound. “How long have you known?”

  “Since the day we spoke to MacCallum.”

  Her throat worked for a moment before she fi
nally spoke. “I see. Of course it’s only natural you would be curious,” she murmured as if to herself. “As I said, when I first arrived in England, I thought to find opportunity. Instead, my naiveté was met with such cruelty as I had never imagined possible. I was deceived by a handsome face and the promise of devotion, but the man I married played me false.”

  “You were married?”

  She nodded, though her eyes remained downcast.

  “And he gave you those scars?”

  “Yes,” she said, the word forced out from between clenched teeth. Her whole body shook as she took a shuddering breath. “We were not together very long before he died, thankfully. Only a few months. When the nightmare was over, I swore to never again answer to his surname. Trouvère is my maiden name.”

  Rage pounded through Will’s veins, making it difficult to speak gently. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen when the events she’d described occurred. “What he did was unpardonable. Hell is not hot enough for such a monster.”

  She gave a weak laugh and swiped the heel of her hand across her cheek, wiping away tears. “Be that as it may, the thought of him being there brings me a measure of peace.” A look of chagrin crossed her features. “Not a very Christian thing to say, but—”

  “You don’t need to justify yourself to me. You’ve every right to hate the b—to hate him,” he corrected quickly. Hazel eyes pierced him for a long moment, searching his soul. The ensuing silence weighed heavily, so he broke it. “Death was too quick and merciful a punishment, if you ask me.”

  “I thought so, too,” she replied quietly. “For a long time I wondered at the unfairness of it, that he should be free of all earthly travails while I continued to struggle. But had I not experienced hardship and cruelty, I might not now be in a position to help girls like Suzette and Janet.” She looked down at her hands. “Because of my scars, they know I understand their pain—that I know what they suffered. Because of my scars, they are willing to unburden their hearts and begin healing. If I must forever bear these ugly things, I’ve at least given them a worthy purpose.”