Arun smiled and nodded before excusing himself. Probably more pleased to see his lady friend than out of concern for Miss Howard, Francis thought with a shake of his head. He couldn’t really blame the lad, not when he was in such a besotted state himself.

  Chapter 20

  The Scarlet Salon, London – two days later

  “You do realize that ignoring your problems won’t make them go away, don’t you, Izzy?”

  Isabelle frowned at Charlotte who was currently rifling through her wardrobe. The actress-turned-courtesan was constantly raiding the other ladies’ clothing looking for what she deemed as “inspiration.”

  “Charlotte, you will not find anything that remotely resembles an uptight governess’s dress in my wardrobe, I do assure you. Besides, we don’t even wear the same size clothing.”

  The shorter woman narrowed her eyes at her. “You were in the country for two weeks; surely you didn’t go around wearing your regular gowns,” she exclaimed, gesturing to the low-cut yellow ensemble Isabelle had on that day.

  Isabelle shrugged. “More or less.”

  “Knowing you, I think you mean less,” her companion said with a wink.

  To her utter mortification, Isabelle felt herself blushing. This was not good; since her return to London, she’d been unable to slip back into her familiar role of La Belle Beaumont.

  “Are you all right?” Charlotte asked, looking at her curiously.

  Isabelle opened her mouth to respond with a ready yes but paused. There was no point in lying, especially when Charlotte would see right through her. “Not really, but I’m not ignoring things. It may seem like I’m doing nothing, but a plan of this size needs time to pull together.”

  “Oh? And what plan is that?”

  “A mass exodus.”

  That got Charlotte’s attention; she turned away from her rifling and sat next to Isabelle on the large four-poster bed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what you think I do.”

  “That man…Lucifer?”

  Isabelle nodded.

  “I heard the servants whispering about him,” Charlotte admitted. “He’s come by the Salon twice to see you, and you turned him away.”

  “I’m not obliged to entertain men if I have no wish to do so.”

  The courtesan snorted. “That’s all good and well, except that Lucifer is no ordinary client.”

  Charlotte was unfortunately correct, Isabelle thought with a grimace. For the first time in her acquaintance with Gabriel, she’d refused to sleep with him. On his first visit, the morning after her return from Dorset, she’d told him that she felt weary from traveling and wasn’t feeling up to it. On his second attempt, she’d blamed her courses and sent him away. Isabelle doubted she’d be able to come up with a good excuse a third time.

  She couldn’t do it, though—she couldn’t stomach the idea of sleeping with another man. The very idea made her feel ill, and she cursed her stupid heart for the tenth time that day. Never had she felt such loyalty to a man before. Francis had effectively ruined her for all other men. Refusing Gabriel was a dangerous move, however.

  “You’re right, Lottie. I can’t afford to make any mistakes. There are several people at risk, and I need to ensure their safety, as well as mine.”

  Charlotte’s face fell. “You’re going to leave us then? The Salon won’t be the same without you.”

  Isabelle smiled gratefully at her companion, touched by her words. She’d always found it difficult to make close female friends. The courtesans in the Salon shared a kinship of sorts, but they also viewed each other as competition. Charlotte never felt like competition, though. She was always ready to lend a helping hand and to offer support whenever the other ladies needed it. Quite a rarity in their profession!

  “None of us stays here forever, you know; we all leave the Salon sooner or later. It just so happens that my time has come before yours.”

  “Does Madam Sophie know?”

  “Of course, in fact she’s been helping me,” Isabelle replied.

  When Isabelle had broken the news of her departure to Madam Sophie, the proprietress of the Salon hadn’t bothered masking her disapproval.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she’d practically spat out. “You’re the envy of many women in London, and any girl in this Salon would kill to be in your shoes. To throw it all away…for what? A man!”

  Isabelle had smiled at the brothel owner who’d been more of a mentor than an employer. “I’m not throwing anything away. I’m merely exploring a different path for myself. It’s not like I’ve been entertaining many clients here in the past year.”

  Madam had sniffed. “Your exclusive clientele list has become somewhat of a legend—a challenge that has driven many curious gentleman to the Salon. The betting books are filled with wagers, speculating as to who would earn a spot on your coveted list. La Belle Beaumont draws countless patrons to my establishment…you are good for business.”

  Isabelle had squeezed the older woman’s hand. “Be glad for me. Life is too fleeting to allow any chance of happiness to slip by. I shall never forget you, and what you’ve done for me.”

  Eyes glistening, Madam Sophie had clasped her hand in return. “I do wish you the best, my dear. You’ve always stood apart—in a class of your own, I would say. If ever there were a courtesan to break the mold, it would be you Isabelle Beaumont. ”

  Isabelle smiled at the memory and promptly turned her attention back to her companion.

  “Now, don’t look so glum, Lottie. You can always come visit me, you know, and Genevieve is only a two-hour drive from my property. She may have been the most skilled French courtesan in London, but she’s taken to country life exceedingly well. She’s fat with child and says that she’s gotten along very well with the women in the village. Some go to her to learn French, but they mostly go to be instructed on bed sport,” she added with a chuckle.

  Charlotte smiled wistfully, and Isabelle understood her feelings completely. The idea of a comfortable home with a family and a loving husband was a dream for most of the girls in the Salon. Some were lucky enough to end up as a wealthy lord’s mistress and save enough money to live the rest of their life in comfort. Most, however, would lose their looks and charm and end up poor and destitute. Isabelle had decided early on in her career that she would never be dependent on another person’s whims and had started saving money and investing in small schemes that felt right to her. She trusted her business sense and was pleased to find that they had not failed her.

  “Have you written to your clients?” Charlotte asked.

  “Yes, I’ve met with the ladies I’d already agreed to tutor. But all the new referrals I was thinking of sending your way. Would you be interested?”

  The courtesan looked stunned. “Me? You want to pass potential clients to me?”

  “I won’t be in town for a while,” Isabelle sensibly pointed out. “And since love matches are all the rage right now, the demand for instruction won’t be dissipating. The ladies of the ton are more determined than ever to keep their husbands happy and in their beds. In fact, you can teach them far more about being creative between the sheets than I can.”

  Charlotte laughed. “It would be a treat to instruct prim ladies on the art of dressing up and playacting.”

  Isabelle snorted. “You’d have half of London dressed up as nuns or maids in their bedrooms.”

  “Oh dear, we might not have any clients left in the Salon that way.”

  “Trust me, The Scarlet Salon will never go out of business.”

  ***

  Two hours later, Rebecca poked her head through the door to inform her mistress that Lucifer was downstairs waiting to speak to her.

  Isabelle cursed softly under her breath. She’d been hoping she had another few days at least. Grimly, she nodded to Rebecca and told her to send him up.

  The large and imposing figure of Gabriel stalked in, closing the door firmly behind him. Before she could speak, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her roughly.

  “My aisling, how I’ve missed ye,” he whispered in her ear.

  Isabelle felt her eyes sting, and she swallowed back tears, forcing a smile on her face. “Humbug! I know you’ve been visiting Sally quite a lot recently,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “You can’t have missed me that much when you’re so frequently under her roof.”

  Gabriel grunted as he began undressing her. “Did Sally neglect to mention that I haven’t been near any of her girls the last few months?”

  Isabelle grabbed his hands, forcing him to pause his movements. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” he said kissing her neck, “that you’re the only woman for me. I have no desire to bed another; it’s only you I want to be with. Marry me, aisling.”

  Isabelle’s head reeled. Oh, no, no, no…this could not be happening. He’d never let her go now!

  “Gabe,” she said softly, cupping his face. “You know that I love you in my own way. You’ve been a dear friend and a fierce protector for years.”

  “And the best lover you’ve had in your bed,” he added with a lopsided grin. “I’ve been patient, love, but after you were gone in the country for so long, I found that I missed ye very badly. I refuse to go on without you by my side. So, we shall marry, and you can decide whether you wish to stay in town or move us to the country.”

  She pulled away from him, attempting to put some distance between them. “You know I’ll always be grateful to you—for what you did for me all those years ago. I have repaid you though, over and over again. I’ve had your men acquitted, and some have even managed to avoid the hangman’s noose thanks to my connections. I just had young Andrew pardoned for thievery. You’ve also had free access to my body as no one before you has.”

  Isabelle paused and looked at him directly in the eye. “This thing between us is over. Let us part as friends and not tarnish our memories with feelings of bitterness and resentment. We’re not right for each other; our backgrounds and our lives are too different. If you’d stop to think about it, you’d know I’m right. You’d hate living in the country, and you’ve been so used to being in power that if you didn’t have half a dozen lackeys at your beck and call, you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. You don’t truly wish to be respectable.”

  His face was like stone, devoid of all expression. “Who is he, aisling?”

  Trying to hide her startled reaction, Isabelle raised her eyebrows feigning confusion. “Who is who?”

  He growled low in his throat and took one large step forward, yanking her to him. “The man who has claimed what is rightfully mine.”

  Anger flared in her chest, momentarily blocking out the fear. She struggled to free her arm, but he gripped her even harder. Biting back the angry retort on her lips, she forced herself to calm down and look coolly up at Gabriel.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t marry you. It’s not because of another man; I’ve told you before, I have no desire to become anyone’s wife.”

  “You’re lying, something is different—I know you, aisling. You’ve never turned me away from your bed before,” he snarled.

  “Because it’s no longer a quick tumble in the sheets for the sake of mutual pleasure. You want something from me that I won’t—nay, can’t give,” she cried in exasperation. “I want you to leave.”

  For a moment, she feared he’d throw her on the bed and force himself on her. God knew he looked like he was about to do so. Instead, he let her go and walked slowly to the door and called over his shoulder, “This isn’t over. My patience is done…consider yourself forewarned.”

  A chill ran down Isabelle’s spine as he walked out of her room, leaving the door wide open behind him. Angry tears rushed down her face, and she wiped at them impatiently. Crying wouldn’t help her, not when she had so much to do. Fear was like a cold hand pressing against her chest. She had to leave London—she had to get away from Gabriel and his network of spies. She knew it wouldn’t be easy; there were many loose ends, people who could direct him to her new home. That’s what she’d meant by an exodus when speaking to Charlotte earlier. She wasn’t removing just herself from London but all her dependents and confidantes as well. That included extracting Sally, Rebecca, and her parents from underneath Gabriel’s nose. A herculean feat!

  Rebecca appeared in the doorway, and when Isabelle nodded at her, she entered the room and shut the door behind her.

  “What news, Little Bird?” Isabelle asked as she began pacing nervously.

  “My mam and stepfather are ready to leave. They’re just waiting on you to give the word, m’lady. Auntie Sally is doing her best to get her affairs in order, but with Lucifer and his men in and out of her pleasure house everyday, it’s quite difficult.”

  Her mistress sighed. “I knew getting Sally out of the Devil’s Acre would be the hardest. She’ll just have to resign herself to leaving everything behind and starting anew in the country.”

  “Easier said than done. Would you be willing to part so easily with all this?” Rebecca asked, gesturing to the fine room’s furnishings.

  Isabelle snorted rudely. “There’s a vast difference between the quality of my belongings and Sally’s. But yes, I can appreciate the fact that it’s not easy. She’s being well compensated, I do assure you. If you recall, I always take care of my own.”

  Her maid nodded slowly. “When do you expect we’ll be ready to leave London?”

  “I think another week will be sufficient time to get everything in order. You will leave after your parents by stage, and I will travel on my own.”

  Isabelle’s tone was sure and confident, and when Rebecca left her room shortly after, she looked happy and reassured. If only Isabelle felt half as confident as she sounded.

  Chapter 21

  “So you’re suggesting that I…use my mouth on his—um…you know?” the young lady asked as she blushed and gestured awkwardly to the skirt of her green muslin gown.

  Isabelle bit back a smile, trying to keep her demeanor as stoic as possible. Some of the ladies she tutored were so innocent and naïve she couldn’t help pitying them a bit. Miss Maryann Crawford was exactly what every debutante in high society aspired to be: fashionable, witty, well-connected, and — most importantly — able to snag a husband in her very first season. The seventeen-year-old bride was also driving her husband to distraction with her skittishness in the marital bed.

  “His sex?” Isabelle prompted. “Yes, that’s precisely what I mean. With just a few swirls of your tongue, you can bring your husband to his knees.”

  She reached over to a bowl on a side table next to her and pulled out a cucumber. A live demonstration would’ve been ideal, but Lord Crawford would not approve of such a spectacle, and since he was the one paying for the lessons, she’d have to make do with the phallus-shaped vegetable.

  When she started demonstrating what to do with her mouth, Maryann moaned and covered her face with her hands, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

  This time Isabelle did chuckle. “Take heart, Maryann, you’ve come a long way in the last month. You’ve finally allowed your husband to leave the candles lit, and you even admitted to enjoying his attentions last week. Soon you’ll be craving his touch, I promise you.”

  The young woman looked at her doubtfully but dutifully listened and watched the instructions, promising to practice the technique later that night.

  Half an hour later, Isabelle left the Crawfords’ fashionable residence in Mayfair and stepped into her hired carriage. She was confident that Charlotte would be able take up where she’d left off with Maryann. When she’d first started tutoring young married ladies of the ton, she wasn’t sure that she’d enjoy it. She’d been wary of how they’d receive her, a courtesan who was born into the upper class but lived on the fringes of respectability. Once the lessons began, however, she soon realized that the ladies didn’t look down on her at all, but, in fact, they respected her and were eager to learn from her. It had even taken her aback the first few times she saw them in public, when they openly acknowledged her and spoke to her.

  Yes, Isabelle thought with a wistful smile, she would miss her eager pupils.

  She directed the driver to the London docks where she had an appointment with a Captain Joseph Robinson who owned a small fleet of ships. She’d told no one of this appointment; in fact, not another soul knew that the docks were where her furniture and belongings had been slowly disappearing to. Carts and carriages could be easily followed, but a ship…well, that was an entirely different matter, and one she was sure that Gabriel wouldn’t even consider. As an added measure, furniture from one of the unoccupied rooms in the Salon had been moved into her bedchamber and Madam Sophie had purchased new pieces, discreetly shuffling the furniture between the two rooms.

  The captain greeted her amiably and took her out on the docks to show her the ship that was being prepared to sail the following morning. The very last item in her room at The Scarlet Salon, her bed, had been delivered at dawn. So far, everything was going according to plan.

  “She’s all ready to go,” Captain Robinson said, proudly surveying the vessel. “We’ll be making a couple of stops along the way, but we should be arriving at Poole Harbor in Dorset within two days of sailing.”

  “Excellent, Captain. And you know your instructions once you reach Dorset?”

  He nodded empathetically. “Aye, you can count on me, Miss Beaumont. All your belongings will be delivered in prime condition to your man of business.”

  Isabelle was paying a small fortune for the Captain’s expedited services and his discretion. “Has anyone been asking about your cargo or shown any unusual interest in this voyage?”

  He thought for a minute then slowly shook his head.

  “Not that I recall, but I’ll ask my men—make sure no one’s been approached by any strangers.”

  Satisfied, Isabelle bid the captain a safe journey and climbed into the carriage directing it to Marlborough Street. She was determined to enjoy her last evening in London. She’d met with Madam Sophie earlier that morning and had insisted on paying for Charlotte and Piers’s tabs for the night, wanting her friends to be free to spend the evening in her company without the worry of missing wages.

 

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