Once a Courtesan (Once Wicked Book 2)

by Liana Lefey

  Jacqueline peered at her for a moment and then nodded. “Yes. I believe you would. Go now—don’t tell her about our going to see Boucher yet. We will be along in a moment, and you can tell us what you think.”

  Emma disappeared around the corner.

  “I’m sorry,” said Will. “I know you want to protect her, but we cannot push Boucher too far. The death of one is believable, but both?”

  “I know. I like it not, but I, too, see the logic in having her accompany us.” She steeled herself. “If Emma should be hurt or, heaven forbid, die, at least it will be while attempting to protect her family.” It was immediately apparent that this answer was unexpected. “Emma knows what Boucher will do to her sister if we don’t stop her. She has a right to try to prevent that from happening.”

  He took a step forward, narrowing the gap between them. “We will stop her.”

  She hoped so. Because if they didn’t, everything she’d built and everyone she’d come to love would suffer the consequences.

  When they returned to the dining hall a few minutes later, Emma came up to them and nodded. “I believe she’s telling the truth about her sister. But I’d be careful. Don’t tell her anything besides that we’re going to lie about Abi.”

  “Thank you,” said Will. “Did she ask why you wanted to know about her sister?”

  “I asked her why she betrayed us,” answered Emma. “She told me about Marian and said she was sorry for having made a deal with the devil, but that she’d had no choice.”

  “There is always a choice,” Jacqueline said, looking over Emma’s head to where Sally sat staring at them. “Thank you, Emma.”

  With Will at her side, she gathered everyone and explained about the letter, omitting for the moment the names of those who would accompany herself and Will. There was no point in causing the girls any more upset than was already warranted.

  “Another attack is imminent,” she warned. “Trust that Boucher will not honor her promise to spare you. Therefore, each and every one of you must be prepared to fight and…” She swallowed, her throat suddenly bone-dry. “And, if necessary, kill.”

  Will stepped forward and took up her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Understand now that it will be necessary,” he said firmly to those listening. “Your lives mean nothing to these murderers beyond the gold they’re being paid to end them. If you have a chance to kill one of them, you must do it.”

  He gestured for Loxdon, Richards, Thomas, Gerald, and Peg to join him at the front. “These people are my good friends. More may come to help during the attack. Unless one of these people is able to identify them, you must assume they are the enemy.”

  “Richards,” he said, ushering him forth. “I want every child above the age of ten to be given a knife from the kitchen. Show them some basics and make certain they know how not to accidentally wound themselves. Peg, you will instruct teachers and older girls in how to handle and fire a pistol. Thomas, Gerald, and Loxdon will prepare the room for…”

  A sea of ashen faces lay before Jacqueline as her staff and students absorbed his instructions, as the reality of the danger sank in. Fierce love for them mingled with her hatred of Boucher, leaving in its wake a potent, savage desire to watch the light die out of the woman’s eyes as it had from Fairford’s.

  She’d let Will think her compliant for the sake of keeping the peace between them. Though years had passed between the present and the events that had shaped her into what she was now, Jacqueline couldn’t forgive Boucher. The woman’s continued atrocities against helpless children and vulnerable young women would not allow it.

  Will had justified her killing Fairford as a crime of passion, but if she killed Boucher—and she would, at the first opportunity—he’d be unable to deny the truth. That the woman he thinks he wants to marry is a cold-blooded murderer…

  Though her heart railed at the thought of losing Will’s love, she resigned herself to it. The odds were stacked against them anyway, and some things were more important than personal happiness. Whatever the cost and by whatever means, Boucher must die before she could hurt or kill anyone else.

  …

  Will let his gaze roam the room, meeting the eyes of every man, woman, and child briefly. The teachers, though frightened, would die defending their charges. The girls themselves showed a mix of terror, uncertainty, and determination.

  He stepped back as everyone began separating into groups and the men started shifting the trestle tables, tipping them onto their sides to act as walls behind which the defenders could shelter.

  “What hope have they?” whispered Jacqueline once they were out of earshot. “If those brutes get inside…”

  “With all good fortune, Loxdon’s people and my friends will see they don’t get past the doors. We must leave them to it and focus on our own task.” Bending, he placed a kiss upon her brow. “Trust me. They’re in good hands.”

  “I do trust you,” she said softly. “And I pray you are right.”

  Together they helped with the preparations. When the clock showed half past one, he nodded to Jacqueline and went to fetch Sally while she took care of spiriting Emma away.

  When he took Sally aside and showed her the letter, however, she began to cry. “If she’s sent for me, then she knows,” she sobbed. “She knows I betrayed her! Marian…”

  It took him the majority of ten minutes to calm her down enough to listen. “You cannot tell her about Abigail. Swear you will keep silent. Otherwise, Emma’s sacrifice will mean nothing.”

  One sodden vow and a short walk later, they were at the front with the others.

  Just before two o’clock, Mrs. Orson, who’d been sent up to spy on the street below, came running into the foyer. “A carriage has come and is waiting out front.”

  “Are there others about?” he asked the out-of-breath woman.

  She nodded. “People have begun coming out of their homes. I saw Mrs. Tinsley and Mr. Dibbs from across the street. They were walking together as if they were old friends.”

  Beside him, Jacqueline stiffened. “If those two are walking as a pair, then something is definitely wrong. They may be neighbors, but there is no love lost between them.”

  “I would not blame them for being nervous,” he replied. “They cannot have missed the noise and commotion. The good news is they felt safe enough to leave their homes.”

  Jacqueline raised a brow. “Or perhaps they were told to leave.”

  “I doubt Boucher’s hired killers would be so indiscreet as to allow anyone who has seen them to walk away. I’ll take it as a good sign that it’s safe to open the door.” Nodding to Thomas, Gerald, and Peg, he helped Jacqueline raise the bar and unlock the door.

  There were no ruffians, just a carriage with a liveried man waiting patiently beside it.

  “One would think we are to be taken to a ball,” muttered Jacqueline.

  But his sharp eyes saw the truth. The “footman” was far too much of a ham-fisted brute, and the odd bulges beneath the skirts of his jacket told him there were weapons hiding under it. The way the driver stared boldly at them was another giveaway.

  “Only two of you?” Will murmured as he approached.

  The other man’s lip curled in a sneer. “Make no mistake, sir, there are many eyes watching. Breathe wrong, and you’re dead. Do yourself a favor—come quietly and live a little longer.” His pale blue eyes scoured him from head to toe. “I assume you’ve done as you were told and are unarmed?”

  Will slowly lifted his arms. He’d chosen his clothing with care, opting to leave off wearing a jacket. He wore only a shirt, waistcoat, and a pair of breeches with boots. To the average eye, there were no places in which to conceal a weapon. “I’m happy to subject myself to a search if you feel the need.”

  With a snort, the footman jerked his chin toward the carriage.

  It was Jacqueline’s turn to run the gauntlet. Taking her cloak from around her shoulders, she held it out while the man examined it. Her face tightened w
ith annoyance as he poked about her skirts and searched her pockets.

  “Where is the other one?” the footman asked her. “There are supposed to be two children. I see only one.”

  She relayed the story of young Abigail’s cruel death by poisoning. As she did, Emma’s face crumpled, and she began to cry piteously. The man eyed them both for a moment, and then gave Jacqueline a nudge toward the carriage.

  By contrast, he grunted a familiar greeting to Sally, whose face colored. Though it was obvious the pair knew each other, he still made her relinquish her cloak so he could check it. Handing it back, he nodded approval and motioned for her to pass.

  Will let out the breath he’d been holding when tearful Emma was given a cursory glance and dismissed to enter the carriage without any invasion whatsoever.

  People always overlooked children when it came to threat assessment. Though Emma was fourteen, she was quite small for her age and looked several years younger, thanks to having suffered privation. She’d offered to carry several blades as well as a small pistol similar to those Jacqueline had concealed under her skirts. Like her headmistress, she wore the firearm strapped to one of her legs, along with an assortment of small, sheathed blades.

  Still sobbing, she climbed aboard after Sally and Jacqueline, and then Will followed. He remained silent until the carriage lurched into motion. “You know him, our footman,” he said to Sally over the sound of Emma’s sniffles.

  Without looking up, Sally answered, “Yes. I’ve met him at the marketplace several times. He’s also the one with whom I communicated using the lamp.” Her cheeks were pink with embarrassment. “He’s not a bad sort, really. This is just what he has to do to feed his family.”

  Jacqueline spoke before he could get a word out. “There are better ways to provide for one’s family than being a party to murder.”

  The girl’s color deepened. “He might look like the sort of man who would do such a thing, but he’s not. His name is Samson, and he’s father to two young children, a girl and a boy. Their mother died a year ago. He told me working for Boucher these last few months has earned him more income than a year’s hard labor at the mill.”

  “He is aware of his income’s ultimate source, is he not?” asked Jacqueline.

  “He knows Boucher owns some brothels.” Her gaze slid away.

  Jacqueline’s hazel eyes burned. “Did you tell him your Marian might be working in one of them soon, along with many other little girls, in order to feed him and his children?”

  Sally’s chin wobbled. “No,” she at last managed.

  “Rest assured your Samson knows his wages come from vice and misery,” snapped Jacqueline without mercy. “Any man who willingly works for a monster like Boucher has sold his eternal soul for tainted coin. You should have more care in whom you place your faith.”

  The girl bowed her head and didn’t speak again.

  Black panels of opaque cloth had been nailed all around the windows, making it impossible to look outside and see where they were going, but Will didn’t need to see to know where they were headed. Listening to the sounds outside and counting each turn and its direction told him they were on their way to the east side of Covent Garden. The Dove’s Nest wasn’t far now. Just a few more streets…

  But instead of maintaining a straight course, the carriage slowed and made an unexpected turn to the left.

  His gut tightened. Perhaps I counted wrong?

  Another turn, and another.

  Bloody hell. They weren’t heading for The Dove’s Nest at all, but someplace farther north. Glancing at Jacqueline, he marked her placid expression. She had no idea anything was wrong. He prayed God some of Gonson’s men had the wits to realize they’d deviated from their course and start searching for them.

  Boucher was indeed as crafty as Jacqueline had warned. There would be no outside help now. It was entirely up to the four people in this carriage to find a way to defeat the enemy.

  He looked at Sally with deep misgiving. Whether she would fight with or against them was something he couldn’t predict. I suppose I’ll find out when the time comes.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jacqueline could tell something was wrong. Will’s whole body had gone stiff. She frowned and looked askance.

  He responded with an infinitesimal shake of his head and a glance to his left, where sat Sally, who appeared oblivious to the rising tension. “I’m not sure where we’re being taken,” he said aloud. “But it seems a long way away.”

  Now she understood. Somehow, he knew they weren’t heading where he’d predicted. Her stomach knotted. That meant Gonson’s men were waiting in position to close in on…no one.

  Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself. The stiffness of the long, thin blades concealed in her bodice and left sleeve were a comfort, as were the skin-warmed pistols strapped to her thighs.

  A silent prayer winged its way to heaven. If I am to die, let me die fighting and take Boucher with me so she can do no further injury. Let my girls be saved!

  Everyone sat up as the carriage slowed, turned, and came to a halt.

  Jacqueline’s frayed nerves made her jump when the door opened and a face appeared.

  “You’re to come out one at a time and slowly,” said the unfamiliar man. “Any sudden move and you won’t have time to regret it.” He gestured to Sally. “You first. Mistress wants to talk to you.”

  He was right. Boucher really is here to see it done.

  Sally shot her one last terrified glance before doing as she was told.

  A gasp of shock erupted from the girl as she descended, and Jacqueline strained to hear. Before she could catch anything beyond a soft cry of “Marian!” the man came back, this time to fetch Emma down.

  “I’m not afraid anymore,” said the little girl, laying a hand on her knee as she passed. “I know Abi’s safe.”

  “Come on,” growled the man, glaring.

  Jacqueline watched her brave pupil exit the carriage, and then it was her turn. She paused a moment to look into Will’s eyes and made a decision. “I love you,” she said quickly. “With all my heart. No matter what happens, I want you to know.”

  Stretching up, he kissed her hard on the mouth as he took the pistol concealed in her hand.

  Their guard made a derisive noise. “You’re going to make me cry in a minute,” he taunted. “Get moving. Mistress is waiting.”

  He did not say it back. The absence of his reply stung, and her mind struggled to rationalize it as she disembarked.

  There was no time. But even a quick “And I love you” would have sufficed.

  Perhaps he was reluctant to speak in front of our captors? Men often shied away from declaring love for a woman in front of others for fear of being perceived as weak. He’d kissed her with great passion after she’d spoken, but that kiss had been a preplanned distraction to mask the transfer of her pistol.

  A gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach made her suddenly queasy as she approached the nearby building. Does he truly love me, or is he merely using me to achieve his ends? Have I been an utter fool again?

  Stop it. Now was not the time. She’d verify his feelings for her later, when their lives were not in jeopardy.

  The sight that greeted her eyes upon entering the building was something straight out of a nightmare. They’d been brought to a slaughterhouse. Hooks hung everywhere from thick chains, many bearing a flank or haunch of fresh pork, as if the place had only just been deserted. A pile of severed hogs’ heads rested beside a gore-covered wooden block to her right. Deep gouges marked the block’s center, a testament to the axe that lay propped against it. Flies buzzed all around, and the sour stench of raw meat and old blood saturated the air, making her want to gag.

  As she walked, she spied Emma standing to the side, a hank of her long hair held tightly in the fist of their erstwhile driver, a naked blade at her throat. Tears slid down the child’s cheeks, but her eyes were full of fire.

  “It’s been a long
time since last we saw each other, has it not?” said a distressingly familiar voice. At the end of the row stood the woman who’d once sold her in bondage to a soulless murderer.

  Jacqueline forced herself not to flinch as she met Boucher’s cold gaze.

  She’d aged badly. Her face, once matronly and full-fleshed with prosperity, was now thin and sallow. Wrathful eyes squinted from between puffy lids above and shadowed bags beneath. Her once-plump figure had melted away.

  Only Boucher’s voice remained unchanged. “You’ve caused me a great deal of inconvenience, you and your friend. But no more, thanks to Sally, here.” Turning, she gestured to someone standing out of sight.

  A gasp tore free of Jacqueline’s throat as Sally crept forth from the shadows. Holding her hand was a sobbing little girl. Marian. So she was telling the truth.

  Right behind them was the “footman” who’d ushered them here. In his hand was a pistol—aimed at Sally’s head.

  The girl’s welling eyes implored Jacqueline.

  Boucher chuckled. “As you can see, I have the upper hand. Do as I say, and I’ll have Fergus let them go. Disobey, and you will watch them both die. Their blood will be on your hands.”

  “No, it will be on yours,” Jacqueline replied, lifting her chin in defiance. “Tell them the truth—that you leave no witnesses.”

  Another humorless chuckle. “True enough. But you cannot blame me for wanting to punish you after all you’ve done. You nearly ruined my life, girl. Now you’ll pay the price.”

  “Leave her be, Boucher,” said Will from behind her. “Your argument is with me. I’m the one you want.”

  “You are indeed,” agreed Boucher with a sly smile. “But as Raquel said, I don’t leave witnesses.”

  She nodded, and the two men flanking Jacqueline grasped her elbows and began to propel her forward.

  “Resistance is pointless, girl,” said Boucher. “You’ve come to sacrifice yourself on behalf of your brats, so keep your end of the bargain, and come quietly, or I’ll give the order for my men to take action against your school.”