Once a Courtesan (Once Wicked Book 2)

by Liana Lefey

  Jacqueline gritted her teeth and dug in her heels. “You think me fool enough to trust you to let them go? Even now, our people are closing in on those you sent to kill my girls. Even if we die here, they will live, and you will be identified and hunted until you are brought to justice. Your plan has failed!”

  A careless shrug lifted Boucher’s shoulders. “What is the testimony of a child against a kindly old woman like myself? By this time tomorrow, I’ll have a new name and a new life to go along with it.”

  Gathering her courage, Jacqueline spat at her. It fell far short, yet it was a satisfying gesture. “Your soul will still burn in Hell. Make no mistake, your punishment is coming. No one escapes death forever.”

  “No. But I’ll put it off for a while yet,” replied Boucher. “Now come quietly, or I’ll tell Fergus to shoot the big one and gut the little one.”

  Behind her, Will coughed.

  It was the signal Jacqueline had been waiting for. Releasing all her tension, she slumped between the two men holding her, as if in a faint. At the same time, Emma screamed and a shot rang out. But the shot came from behind rather than in front where Sally and Marian were being held.

  As soon as her bottom hit the floor, Jacqueline yanked up her skirt and grabbed her remaining pistol. Aiming for the nearest of the men bending toward her, she fired it pointblank in his face. Hot blood sprayed across her, blinding her for a moment as she dropped the spent weapon.

  Frantic, she reached for the knife concealed in her sleeve, but bruising hands grabbed her wrist, preventing it. Kicking with all her might, she tangled her legs with her assailant’s and, with all her strength, twisted, using her body as leverage.

  With a roar like that of a bear, the big brute came crashing down atop her.

  There were shouts as another shot rang out, followed by more screams, but she had no time to look. The air was being crushed from her lungs. A leer twisted her attacker’s mouth as she struggled beneath him, and the light of lust entered his eyes.

  Sparks clouded her vision as she raised her arms over her head. Triumph filled her as her fingertips edged beneath the lace cuff and touched her dagger’s flat, string-wrapped hilt. Pulling hard, she heard the sleeve tear as she unsheathed the blade. With all her might, she sent it slicing in an arc across her assailant’s face.

  His pained howl was followed by another as she rolled over with him and drove her dagger’s tip through the hands he held to his bleeding face. Grasping the haft with both hands, she threw her whole weight against it and heard a sickening crunch as the blade sank deep into his eye socket. The man shuddered and then lay still.

  Will’s voice cut through the haze. “Sally, behind you!”

  A woman’s scream was cut off by the crack of gunfire. Turning, Jacqueline stared in horror as Boucher tossed aside a pistol and grabbed Marian from the ruffian who held her captive. Sally lay crumpled at her feet.

  “Stop, or I’ll kill her!” shouted Boucher, pulling a knife from her bodice and holding it to Marian’s throat. Jacqueline began to slowly rise, but Boucher spied her and, grabbing the little girl’s hair, jerked her head back to expose her long, white neck. “I swear I will slit her from ear to ear if you move again!”

  Again, she heard Will’s voice from just behind her. “Let them go, and I’ll come peacefully. I’m the one who burned your brothels. I’m the one who hunted you. All she’s done is care for those I liberated. What can she, a woman alone, do to you?”

  “She knows my face,” snapped Boucher. “And I’ll thank you to remember that I am a woman alone.” She snorted. “As usual, you men always assume we women are helpless, harmless, and fragile. I promise you, I am none of those things. Neither, I suspect, is she,” she said, fixing Jacqueline with a cold stare.

  Boucher drew Marian closer, as if she were a shield. Glancing down to her left, she aimed a kick at one of her fallen comrades. A pained groan was the only response from the heap. “Gil, you fool,” she barked. “It missed, or you’d be dead already. Now get up, and earn your keep!” Still clutching Marian tight to her bosom, she turned to her other lackey. “Fergus, get him up.”

  But as Fergus moved to do her bidding, another voice spoke. “I think you had better tell him to stay where he is.”

  Jacqueline bit back a gasp. Tavistoke! She turned to see her school’s founder step from behind Will, who was shielding Emma with his body.

  Lord Percival Falloure, Marquess of Tavistoke, sauntered forth, looking for all the world as if he’d stopped by on his way to a masque ball at the palace. In his gold-embroidered lavender silk jacket, he would’ve been laughable save for the gun in his hand, the bloodstains on his cravat, and the cold fury in his eyes. “I’ve waited a long time for this.”

  Surprise flickered across Boucher’s haggard features, followed by doubt and suspicion. “And you are?”

  “The real Archangel,” said Tavistoke softly. Without taking his eyes off the enemy, he addressed Jacqueline. “Miss Trouvère, my apologies for my late arrival. I wish this meeting was under more pleasant circumstances, but it’s good to see you alive and whole.”

  “How did you even know where to find us?”

  “I told Loxdon yesterday I’d keep an eye on the school. By the time I and a few of my friends arrived, Boucher already had it surrounded. I sent for reinforcements. They arrived just before I followed the carriage here. The school is being secured even now.” His voice hardened. “It’s over, Boucher.” He took a step forward.

  “Stay where you are!” Boucher again tightened her hold on the little girl, Marian, who wriggled and whined in protest. “Shut up!” hissed her captor, pressing the blade of her knife harder against her throat.

  A droplet of red snaked its way down the girl’s neck, and Jacqueline stopped breathing for a moment.

  Her enemy’s burning gaze swung to meet hers. “You played well, indeed, whore. I thought your beau was the man I sought—perhaps he is, and this is but a ruse. It makes no difference. I’ll see them both dead, and you as well, and that will be the end of it. You see, I never show all my cards at once, either.”

  Without taking her eyes off her, Boucher bellowed a command. A moment later, two more men entered, both armed with pistols, one aimed at Tavistoke and the other at Will. “Where are the others?” Boucher demanded, releasing Marian to Fergus and exchanging her knife for a fresh pistol.

  Jacqueline’s spirits sank as one of the newcomers handed Fergus a gun, as well, while the other answered his employer that Billy and George had gone to investigate a noise and should return any moment.

  This is it. Now we die.

  But then Tavistoke began to chuckle. “No one is coming. ‘Billy’ and ‘George’ are dead, and I’ve loosed the horses—from both carriages. You’ve no way to escape.”

  Boucher’s face darkened. “It won’t matter. I’ll still have you.” She raised her pistol, leveling it at him. Instead of pulling the trigger, however, she shifted her aim—toward Jacqueline. “But first, I think I’ll take care of the whore.” Fixing Jacqueline with eyes like ice, she sneered. “In truth, it’s you I wanted most. If not for you, none of this would have happened.”

  …

  Will’s heart all but stopped as Boucher took aim at his beloved. Taking the gun Tavistoke had shoved into the waist of his breeches before revealing himself, he raised it, aimed, and fired in one smooth motion borne of having done it countless times.

  Boucher’s body jerked, and her eyes widened in disbelief as a scarlet stain began to spread from her midsection down one side of her gown. But she didn’t fall, nor did her gun arm drop. “Kill them,” she gasped. Clutching her side with her free hand, she again took aim at Jacqueline.

  Several shots rang out, and Will felt a sharp sting in his left arm followed by burning fire. He watched Fergus stumble and fall, releasing Marian and bumping into Boucher so that her shot went wide. Cursing, the woman turned tail and fled even as another of her men toppled. The last man standing followed his mistress, whi
le Gil, bleeding from his side, began crawling away on all fours.

  After a glance back at Jacqueline to be certain she was uninjured, Will lit out after Boucher, pausing only to relieve the wounded Fergus of his gun. “Make sure this man lives—we’ll need him later!” he shouted over his shoulder at Tavistoke. His arm stung mightily, but he could tell it was nothing serious. He’d had far worse. And Boucher was wounded. She wouldn’t get far. His heart pounded with rage as he pelted after the two.

  I cannot let her escape.

  “Will, wait!” called Jacqueline.

  “Go back!” he yelled, not taking his eyes off the retreating pair. They turned a corner, and he dug in, putting on speed. He stopped, however, before following them around, and listened for footfalls. It was hard to distinguish with Jacqueline coming up behind, but he thought he heard two sets retreating ahead. Cursing, he again took off in pursuit.

  Desperation spurred him on. If Boucher got away, she would go back into hiding, from where she would strike out at Jacqueline, the girls, and now the real Archangel, until she finally won.

  Amazement filled him at the revelation of the Archangel’s true identity. Prior to Tavistoke’s recent nuptials, he’d had the blackest of reputations. Apparently, his bad behavior had all been a clever ruse.

  Will’s arm burned, and exhaustion dragged at his feet, but he refused to give in. His quarry turned another corner.

  Bollocks!

  This time, however, he could clearly hear their shuffling footsteps echoing back. He careened around the corner in time to see them come to an abrupt halt. When he saw why, his stomach clenched.

  In their path stood Jacqueline, a pistol in her hand. She’d gone the other way around to meet them head on.

  Boucher’s man lifted his gun, and Will shouted, raising his own.

  “No, you fool!” shouted Boucher, stopping her man from firing at Jacqueline. “If we kill her, we’ve nothing to bargain with!” She moved, placing the fellow between herself and Jacqueline, and addressed Will. “If you kill me, he’ll shoot your whore right between the eyes,” she gasped, holding a red-stained hand to her side.

  “Go ahead,” Will taunted, affecting nonchalance. “She served her purpose. She led me to you. Sorry, love,” he said, directing the offhand apology at Jacqueline as he shifted slightly to the left. The look on her face smote him to the heart. It couldn’t be helped. This had to be played a certain way or they were both dead.

  “You’re lying,” sneered Boucher. “Sally told me all about your midnight trysts and longing looks. Good work, whore,” she called out to Jacqueline. “Not only did you escape Fairford, but you managed to seduce your rescuer. Sally seems to think he’s in love with you. If so, it’s a testament to your talent. In retrospect, I should have saved you for better than Fairford. Together, we might have made a fortune. Pity. But there will be others.”

  Fairford. He recalled the letter F seared into Jacqueline’s skin. Rage crystallized, hardening him, giving him the strength to do what he must. He let out what he hoped was a convincingly derisive chuckle. “I, in love with that creature? I won’t deny it was fun swiving her—she learned well how to please a man while a harlot—but let us not have any illusions as to my ‘feelings’ for her. She was a link to you, and a willing means of release for me, nothing more.”

  The confusion and hurt on Jacqueline’s face made him want to take back the words that instant, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Again, he shifted another few inches to the left. Almost. Jacqueline was almost out of his line of fire.

  “Do you take me for a fool?” said Boucher, her tone laden with contempt. “I saw the way you looked at her!”

  “You saw what I wanted you to see,” he threw back at her. “At the time, it served my purpose to have you think the whore mattered. Now, I’ve no need. I have what I really wanted—you. Now, let us finish this business so that I may finally return home to my family.”

  “Family?” asked Boucher, squinting.

  “Yes. I’ve an affectionate wife and several children awaiting my return. I’d like to be home in time for dinner.”

  “Ha! Lord Huxton is unmarried,” crowed Boucher, triumphant. “Did you think I would fail to learn all I could about my enemy before confronting him?”

  “But I’m not ‘Lord Huxton,’ am I?” He smiled grimly and shuffled a little more to the left. “Go on and ask Raquel who I really am. She’s known all along. She played her part well, and for that she has my thanks—and her royal pardon, should she live, for having perpetrated a public fraud.”

  Doubt crept into Boucher’s eyes. “Who are you?”

  He moved another inch to the left and raised his gun a little higher, hoping Jacqueline interpreted the motion correctly as be ready. “William Danbury, Officer of the Crown, Westminster Special Constabulary. You may have heard us referred to as ‘Gonson’s Boys.’”

  All the color leached from the woman’s cheeks. “I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ve money, more than you’ll ever see in a lifetime working for Westminster. You can have it all, only let me go.”

  His answer was to squeeze the trigger. Two more shots rang out a split second later, almost in unison.

  Boucher’s eyes widened with incredulity as she slumped against her employee and slid to the ground, shortly followed by her support.

  Will’s gaze flew to where Jacqueline stood, her smoking gun still upraised. “Are you hurt?”

  She lowered her arm but didn’t acknowledge the question. Her eyes were fixed on the two people sprawled on the ground.

  Going over to Boucher, he nudged her over so that she lay faceup. Her hands were twitching, and her mouth was moving, but nothing issued forth save a thin, pink-tinged froth of spittle. He’d shot her in the chest. Pierced lung. Already lost a lot of blood from the gut wound. She won’t survive. Good.

  He moved to her fallen man. His glassy, lifeless stare and the crimson bloom spreading across his torso told Will Jacqueline’s shot had been true. Leaving them, he hurried over to her. “Are you hurt?” he repeated. He grasped her by the shoulders and looked her up and down, searching.

  “I’m uninjured,” she at last replied, her voice shaking. “He must have lost aim when she fell against him.”

  “Thank God for that,” he gasped. He would have pulled her into his arms, but a scraping, gurgling noise drew their attention. Boucher had rolled onto her side and was facing them, her hand outstretched toward a knife that lay on the ground about a foot away.

  It must have fallen during the confrontation. He could hardly believe the dying woman was struggling to reach it.

  Jacqueline turned from him and walked over to Boucher. “Long have I waited for this moment,” he heard her murmur as she knelt beside her fallen enemy. “I’ve dreamed of it, imagined it in moments of solitude. I thought it would satisfy me to watch you die, and I admit to being comforted by the certainty that you will never again trouble me or my girls. But I’m surprised to also find myself feeling pity. I want to continue hating you, but I cannot.”

  Boucher’s eyes burned with undisguised rage and loathing. Her mouth opened, but all that came out was a wet, strangled cough. Again, she clawed at the knife.

  Jacqueline picked it up and tossed it out of her reach. With that same hand, she then gently brushed the straggling locks of graying hair back from Boucher’s brow. “I feel such pity for you. No one who has ever been loved or treated with tenderness could do what you did to me and the others, especially the children.”

  To Will’s amazement, he saw tears glistening on his beloved’s cheek. He knew what Jacqueline had endured because of this remorseless creature. How can she shed tears for this monster? Such was his dismay that he had to bite his tongue to keep silent. This was her moment in which to try to find some peace.

  “I cannot, however, find it in myself to forgive you,” continued Jacqueline softly. “I’m only human, and I suffered greatly because of your evil. Therefore, I will ask God to place His forgiveness for you within
my heart.”

  This was too much for Boucher. Her feeble efforts to rise intensified, and she began to cough again. The action finally cleared enough of the bloody fluid from her lungs to allow for speech. “I don’t want your forgiveness or your pity,” she wheezed spitefully. “I want—” Another fit of coughing again stole speech.

  Will prayed she wouldn’t find it again and somehow wound Jacqueline any further. Reaching down, he put a hand on his beloved’s shoulder. “Don’t be bothered. She’s unworthy of your pity.”

  Jacqueline rose beside him and stared down at their enemy. “On the contrary, of all the people I have ever known, she is perhaps the worthiest of it. Whatever was done to her, it extinguished all the light in her soul, and with it, all capacity for love. She can only feel hate and see darkness. To live in such a world must be a torment beyond all imagining. So yes, I pity her. She is more broken than I ever was.”

  Turning from Boucher, she met his eyes even as the woman’s exertions ceased and silence fell in the alley. “She will trouble me no more. Come, let us go and see to the others and have your arm looked at.”

  Before they’d taken two steps, before he could even begin to explain to her that everything he’d said had been part of the ruse, shouts echoed up the alley along with the sound of many footsteps approaching, and then they were surrounded.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It’s over. They are gone. Both Fairford and Boucher are truly gone, and I am free.

  A strange sort of numbness spread throughout Jacqueline’s limbs as men swarmed around them. She stood, frozen, as Will answered their rapid-fire questions and directed them on to the two bodies. At last, only one remained to press them.

  It took what seemed an age to connect her thoughts with her tongue. “I’m perfectly well, my lord,” she finally responded to Tavistoke’s increasingly urgent inquiries regarding her health. “Monsieur Danbury, however, has been injured.”

  “It’s nothing,” insisted Will. “It’s hardly even bleeding.” He peered at Tavistoke. “So you’re the real Archangel. A pleasure to meet you, now that I know your true purpose.”