Once a Courtesan (Once Wicked Book 2)

by Liana Lefey

  “Likewise, Mr. Danbury,” said Tavistoke, glancing at her as he emphasized Will’s true surname.

  “My apologies for the deception,” said Will, his face coloring. “I hope you’ll understand why it was necessary.”

  A faint smile twitched the corners of Tavistoke’s mouth. “I understand a good man was led to investigate our school due to an egregious falsehood. I’m grateful you remained after discovering the truth of the matter. Had you not, this day might have ended in tragedy.”

  Beside her, Will relaxed. “How is it that Gonson’s people are here and not Loxdon’s men?” He gestured to those who were now wrapping Boucher and her accomplice in sheets. “I thought they were to be stationed around The Dove’s Nest.”

  “They were,” answered Tavistoke. “Once Loxdon’s men secured the school, he and I rode to The Dove’s Nest by a faster route in the hope of arriving before you. It was a lucky thing we did, or we’d not have intersected the carriage after it turned north. As soon as we saw where it was headed, I sent Loxdon to fetch help. Come.” He held out his hand. “Sir Gonson is waiting with the others.”

  The color bled from Will’s face, leaving it ashen. “He’s here?”

  Tavistoke nodded. “Loxdon found him at The Nest. According to him, as soon as Gonson was informed of Boucher’s trickery, he ordered half his men to accompany him back here while the rest commenced the raid. Loxdon said he insisted on coming.”

  “A criminal like Boucher, he’d want to be present when she was caught,” murmured Will. He nodded at those passing with the sheet-wrapped bodies of Boucher and her accomplice. “I’m afraid he’s due for a disappointment.”

  Again, Jacqueline felt his upset as an almost tangible thing. Despite her own fears, she grasped his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “All will be well. I’ll help you explain—”

  His blue eyes finally found hers. “He already knows. I sent him a message last night and told him everything—with the exception of the Archangel’s involvement. As far as Gonson knows, the school is just a charity that takes in abandoned girls.” He nodded at Tavistoke. “And he’s merely its co-founder and your friend, which explains his interest.”

  Dropping her voice to a whisper, she spoke through the fear that threatened to paralyze her—fear not for herself, but for the good man who’d helped her and so many others. “But you pretended to be the Archangel to lure her out. And have you forgotten that the true Archangel revealed himself in front of that Fergus fellow?”

  “I’ll tell Gonson it was all part of the ruse—he’ll believe me,” assured Will. “I told him about Boucher’s letter demanding the Archangel’s name and explained that she thought you knew his identity because a child she’d sold to a client had escaped and been brought to you. Under those circumstances, my impersonating the man to draw her out was perfectly logical. As for Tavistoke claiming the title, we’ll say he did it only to save us and buy time until help could arrive. You did expunge all evidence of his involvement from the girls’ files?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then there is no need for concern. Your friend is safe—as long as the girls keep the secret and he lies low from now on,” he added, shooting the other man a meaningful glance.

  Tavistoke acquiesced with a sober nod, and murmured, “You may consider the Archangel unofficially retired.” His manner calm and assured, he then addressed her. “With Boucher dead, her top man in custody, and The Nest being raided as we speak, the need for such a personage is greatly lessened.” Again, his gaze moved to Will. “And now that Westminster has established a special constabulary, London has a means to fight back if anyone should attempt to follow Boucher’s example.”

  Will’s chin rose. “Indeed, it does.”

  “Danbury?” One of the men who’d been helping clear the bodies walked up and clasped Will’s uninjured arm. “Glad to see you alive and well. I’ve sent for the coroner to meet us at the slaughterhouse.”

  “Good, then that’s where we should go now,” answered Will. “Jacqueline? I must speak with my superiors, but you and I need to discuss—”

  “There will be plenty of time for that later,” she interrupted, glancing nervously at her benefactor and the men now joining them. “Right now, your arm needs a physician’s care, and there are other, more pressing matters.” She met his eyes. “Please.”

  For a moment, she thought he might object, but then he nodded. “Very well.”

  As he turned to beckon his fellows, she caught Tavistoke’s piercing look. Ignoring it, she followed Will.

  The slaughterhouse was like an anthill that had been kicked. Men were everywhere, all of whom appeared to know Will. Friendly greetings and congratulations were called out as they passed, and more than one man came over to shake his hand and offer to buy him a celebratory pint later that night.

  At the center of the storm stood a portly man in a fine suit of clothes. “Danbury!” he boomed on seeing them. “Excellent work. Pity you had to shoot Boucher, but we have her man. That Fergus fellow is already singing like a bird in the hope of avoiding the noose.” His eyes glinted as they fell on her and Tavistoke. “But please, introduce me to your friends.”

  Jacqueline couldn’t help trembling inside as Will did so and proceeded to coolly explain their part in the event. The tension that should have bled away as Sir Gonson appeared to accept his story didn’t, and she realized it was more than concern for Tavistoke and herself that made her so uneasy.

  This was Will’s world. He’d clearly known and worked with many of these people for a long time. How easy his manner had become, how comfortable he was amongst them! They treated one another almost like extended family.

  Family.

  Dread cast its shadow over her like a funeral pall, and in its darkness Jacqueline tasted such bitterness as rivaled any she’d ever known. Being beaten to within an inch of her life had been easier to endure than the pain that squeezed her heart now.

  He was lost to her. Utterly. Even if the wife and children he’d told Boucher about were indeed fictitious, still she could not dare to hope for herself. The words he’d spoken echoed inside her mind.

  Creature.

  Harlot.

  Whore.

  He deserved to marry a woman of good name and irreproachable virtue who could do him honor and bear him children.

  “Jacqueline?”

  Flinching, she looked up at Will with chagrin, and realized Sir Gonson and Tavistoke had gone. They were several paces away, talking quietly. “Forgive me—I-I fear I became lost in my own thoughts. I did not mean to be rude to your superior.”

  “You were not. I asked him to give us a moment of privacy.” His blue eyes shone with remorse. “The things I said today in that alley—you know I meant none of it—not one word. I beg you to forgive me for saying them. I had to convince her—to buy time so I could reposition before firing. I was afraid of hitting you… I love you, Jacqueline,” he said fiercely. “More than life itself. Please say I have not committed an irreparable offense?”

  Tears stung her eyes. Unashamed, she let them fall as she laid her head against his shoulder. “There is nothing to forgive,” she choked out, holding him tight. The pain in her heart eased as his uninjured arm came up around her, but only a little. This was temporary, ephemeral. He loved her, but it could not last.

  “My God, if anything had gone wrong, if I’d lost you…” He buried his face in the curve of her neck. “I don’t ever want to lose you.” Leaning back, he fixed her with his deep blue gaze. “Say you’ll marry me, Mademoiselle Trouvère, and become my Mrs. Danbury.”

  Though her heart leaped for a brief instant, Jacqueline maintained self-discipline. “But what of your work with Sir Gonson? What of my past? And…” She hesitated and lowered her voice. “What of children? Do you truly mean to give up all hope of fatherhood?”

  His answering smile was the embodiment of tenderness. “Did you give up all hope of motherhood when your ability to conceive was taken from you? No. You
built your school and made a family for yourself.” He brushed a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. “What’s to prevent me doing the same?”

  Even if she’d had the words to counter his question with good sense, she was certain her mutinous mouth would’ve refused to utter them.

  And he wasn’t done yet. “Your past matters to me not one whit, other than the fact that it led us both to that school. I love the woman I see before me, the soul in her eyes.” His own brimmed bright with emotion. “That’s who I love, more than anyone or anything on this earth. I cannot imagine myself marrying anyone else. Not ever.”

  Fresh tears spilled unchecked down her cheeks, and he gently thumbed them away. “As for my profession, you’ve shown me there is more than one way to save lives and make a difference. I’m weary of chasing criminals and looking for the worst in people, tired of disguises and subterfuge. I’m a good constable, but my heart tells me I make a much better teacher. I’d like to stay on—forever, if you’re willing to have me.” He caught her hands and raised them to his lips. “Will you have me for your husband, Headmistress?”

  She bit back a sob as all her objections died away in the face of his unrelenting love. A heavy weight lifted from her heart. “I will.”

  His lips parted on a grin that radiated pure joy. Turning his head, he called out to Sir Gonson and Tavistoke, who’d been joined by Loxdon, “She says she’ll marry me!”

  Her face flooded with heat as congratulatory shouts rang out on every side. Tremors of trepidation ran through her as Will’s friends and colleagues gathered around to be introduced. But with him there beside her, standing as proud as if he’d just announced he was marrying a royal, her fears soon subsided. If he wasn’t concerned about her past, then neither was she.

  Concealed within the folds of her skirts, Will’s fingers threaded hers, pressing their hands palm to palm. As always, his touch kindled in her a fierce desire. It no longer came as a shock, but rather something to be anticipated, even enjoyed. She glanced up and saw he was smiling at her, his heart in his eyes.

  Never again would she have to confront the dark alone. Will would be there for her. His love and his strength were now hers to lean upon. Whatever the future held, they’d face it together.

  Epilogue

  Jacqueline turned before the looking glass in a state of pure delight, admiring the rich mint silk, creamy lace, and delicate embroidery.

  “It is perfection!” she sighed, meeting Sabrina’s eyes in the mirror’s reflection. Tears threatened. “I cannot thank you enough.” Having a wedding gown made had necessitated precise measurements—and in her case, unimpeachable discretion.

  “It was my pleasure,” replied Sabrina. A sly grin stole over her face just before a small, white satin bag slid over one of Jacqueline’s shoulders. “Open it.”

  Taking it, Jacqueline untied the cord and upended the bag over her other palm. A gasp broke from her at the sight of the fat, creamy pearl that fell into her hand. “I cannot possibly—”

  “You can,” her friend responded firmly. Plucking the pearl from Jacqueline’s palm, she unfastened the fine gold chain on which it was suspended and refastened it around her throat. “Besides, you are about to become Lady Danbury. You must look the part.”

  Indeed. Jacqueline didn’t wish to shame her newly knighted groom. Will had been recognized by the king himself for his years of service and heroic efforts on behalf of the crown, and was now a member of The Most Honourable Order of the Bath.

  “Very well, then,” she said, embracing Sabrina with heartfelt gratitude. “Thank you, dear friend!”

  As they made their way downstairs, Jacqueline smiled in the silence that had befallen the school. Her girls were already at the church, and the only sound that permeated the halls now was that of busy hammers and an occasional muffled shout from one of MacCallum’s men.

  The repairs and renovations were almost complete. Even now, the new wing was receiving the final touches. In just a few more weeks, it would be ready to house another forty young ladies-in-the-making. Tavistoke had already signed off on the order for furnishings and other necessary supplies, and Mrs. Hayton had her ladies’ circle sewing like mad to make more dolls.

  Including her staff, over one hundred souls would be in her care.

  Our care.

  Will had indeed resigned from Gonson’s Boys to take on the task of not only continuing to teach, but helping her manage the growing school. Though disappointed to lose “one of his best men on the ground,” Sir Gonson, who’d recommended him for the knighthood, had blessed their union. He’d also surprised Will by requesting that he act as special advisor for the new branch office he planned to open in Piccadilly. It was a request Will had happily accepted.

  The carriage ride was spent in cheerful conversation with Sabrina and Tavistoke’s new wife, Eden, with whom she was fast becoming friends. On arriving, the pair bustled her into the vestibule to don her veil.

  Her stomach fluttered with sudden nerves. I’m getting married. Me! I’m going to be Mrs.—no, Lady Danbury. From orphaned pauper to Lady Danbury…

  “A pity your family could not be here,” said Eden, handing her a spray of fragrant pink roses.

  Jacqueline barely refrained from pulling a wry face. Eager to be reunited with her only living kin, she’d written Hélène concerning her impending nuptials within moments of the date being set. The letter of felicitations she’d received last week in return had contained her sister’s polite regrets, its stiff formality making it clear Hélène had no desire to renew ties. In retrospect, Jacqueline supposed it was a blessing. Had her sister come, there would have been questions for which she wouldn’t have wanted to provide answers.

  In any case, her real family wasn’t in France. It was right here.

  “Are you ready?” whispered Tavistoke, who was to stand in for her deceased papa. He’d made her his ward years ago after claiming her as a distant relation through the French branch of his family, but few had known of it until recently. Now that Boucher was gone and it was safe to acknowledge their connection, he’d made it common knowledge. No one would dare question her legitimacy now.

  “I am,” she said, her heart light as she took his arm.

  The moment she stepped out into the aisle, pride and love swelled in her breast. Lining it were her girls, all forty-seven of them, dressed to match the bride in a paler shade of mint and bearing baskets of pink rose petals. As she approached, they tossed handfuls of these before her.

  Her cheeks tingled at the ostentation of it all. Tavistoke hadn’t been jesting when he’d announced that hers would be one of the grandest weddings London had ever seen. So lavish was it that a passerby might think members of the peerage were being joined here today.

  The pews were mostly full of people she didn’t know, people her husband had helped in some way; however, there were a few familiar faces among them.

  Will’s family, who’d accepted her with warm hearts and open arms. Doctor and Mrs. Whitehall. Everyone from Mrs. Hayton’s. Suzette and Coralline. Janet waved furtively from her spot at the end of Suzette’s pew.

  Jacqueline looked with gratitude and affection on those who’d helped her in her direst hour of need: Loxdon, Thomas, Gerald, and, finally, Peg and Richards, who’d announced their engagement last week. Sir Gonson was also present, along with several of Will’s former colleagues to “see him put on the leg irons” as one had laughingly put it.

  Her staff were all present. Even Sally, though she was still recovering from her wound. Her sister Marian beamed as Jacqueline passed.

  In fact, everyone was smiling, including her husband-to-be.

  Tears sprang into Jacqueline’s eyes at the sight of him. The last vestiges of her painful past melted away as she came up and they knelt before the altar to repeat the words of the sacred rite she’d not thought to ever utter. She smiled through her tears as he slipped a warm circle of gold onto her left hand and then pulled back her veil.

  His blue eyes sh
one with love as he gave her a kiss that, though chaste, nonetheless stirred to life the embers of desire.

  Unable to contain her joy, she smiled against her husband’s lips.

  Some fairy tales do come true.

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  Acknowledgments

  My loving family, for their continued tolerance and support of my writing addiction.

  My incredible agent Lane Heymont, for his tenacity and sheer awesomeness.

  Erin Molta, Senior Editor at Entangled Publishing, for helping me give Raquel/Jacqueline her much-deserved happily ever after.

  My brilliant ARWA chapter mates, for their relentless encouragement and unwavering solidarity.

  About the Author

  Liana LeFey delights in crafting incendiary tales that capture the heart and the imagination, taking the reader out of the now and into another world. Liana lives in Central Texas with her dashing husband/hero, their beautiful daughter, and one spoiled rotten feline overlord. She’s been devouring romances since she was fourteen and is now thrilled to be writing them for fellow enthusiasts.

  To learn more, visit lianalefey.com or connect with Liana via social media—she’d love to hear from you!

  Facebook: facebook.com/writerliana

  Twitter: @LianaLeFey

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