Page 17 of Once a Courtesan (Once Wicked 2)

Oh, mon Dieu… “Tell me.” Relief flooded her as she listened. It wasn’t as bad as she’d imagined, but it certainly explained why he was questioning things. I should never have hired a man to work here! But at this point, it was too late. If she dismissed him, he’d cause trouble. She was sure of it.

“Now that I’m aware,” he continued, “I shall endeavor to be more careful. Given their reactions, I can only assume they have good reason to be afraid of me.”

She tried hard not to show the depth of her upset. “Not all of them are wary of men, monsieur. Some are simply unaccustomed to males. They will overcome their reticence in time.” If he does not worry them to death first. Tonight, after he left, she would call a general assembly. In retrospect, she ought to have done so before his arrival. Instead, warnings had been issued from each teacher individually. My girls need to know they are safe.

“I’ll do all I can to ease their fears,” he promised quietly, echoing her thoughts.

It was spoken with all the solemnity of a vow. Inside Jacqueline, the tension that had been coiling relaxed a little. There was no lie in his eyes.

Fool! That means nothing! The last time she’d trusted a man—other than Tavistoke and Lady Montgomery’s husband—she’d nearly died for her mistake. Stiffening her spine, she gave him a curt nod. “I appreciate your understanding and discretion.” Moving to the door, she paused. “Until tomorrow, Monsieur Woodson.”

The back of her neck stung as she strode out and down the silent hallway. Heart racing, she hastened away as quickly as possible without actually breaking into a run. The clack of her heels on the floor echoed eerily, sounding for a moment like the footsteps of a pursuer. Dread filled her at the thought.

No. Taking a deep breath, she slowed her pace and reinstated calm. Mr. Woodson wasn’t Fairford. His references had spoken highly of him, especially Lord Mulgrave. She’d visited the man herself, and he’d been effusive in his praise.

Her office was dim, its window pelted by the torrential downpour outside. The sky flared white for an instant, and thunder rumbled. A shiver wracked her body, one that had nothing to do with the cold. Don’t think about it. Just freshen up and go down to dinner. Focus on the girls, on allaying their fears.

Going to her desk, she penned a note summoning Dr. Horton at his earliest possible convenience. She must speak with him and adjure him not to reveal too much to his old friend.

Tying on her apron, she grimaced. She’d wait until everyone was finished eating and then address them. It was more important than ever that every single person at this school guard her tongue.

Chapter Six

September 21

Terror paralyzed her. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks as she awaited the next humiliation. Fairford lay pressed against her back, panting, sated—she hoped. Her wrists were raw, her arms already beginning to color where his fingers had dug into the flesh, and her innards ached.

He’d been particularly vicious tonight. She’d have a hell of a time tomorrow.

A shudder of revulsion ran through her as a hot, sweaty hand ran down her flank, the flesh stinging where his cruel fingers brushed across livid welts. “I’ve been a bit more severe than was perhaps warranted,” Fairford’s hated voice murmured at her ear. “I shall make a special apology. Roll onto your back, mignon, and let me see your beautiful face.”

Suppressing a sob, Raquel obeyed, forcing herself not to close her lids against the sight of her tormentor. The devil himself dwelt behind his eyes.

His pale gaze sent a shard of ice into her heart. A terrible smile tilted his mouth as he ran a thumb along her bruised lower lip. “Truly, you have the face of an angel,” he whispered. “Worth every penny. Spread your legs again, my dear, and allow me to apologize properly.”

A scream rent the air—her own.

Jacqueline sat up with a jerk, gasping for breath.

Alone. She was alone in her bedroom at the school. Relief pushed a sob past the knot in her throat. Sagging against the pillows, she gave in and let herself cry, muffling the sound lest anyone walk by her door and hear.

Like the tempest raging outside her window, her tears ran unabated, fueled by regret for what was forever lost, fear that refused to be extinguished by logic, and rage that hadn’t yet died despite her tormentor’s demise. By her own hand she’d slain Fairford. She’d watched the light die in the bastard’s eyes as his soul had been consigned to eternal damnation.

Yet still he haunted her.

Fury settled like a cold stone in her gut. Woodson brought this on. It’s his fault.

Reason fought back against irrational blame. No. It’s my fault. How could she have allowed herself to be charmed into letting him past the door a second time? She was no starry-eyed waif to be cozened by a handsome face or an endearing smile. Evil was all too easily concealed by such masks.

But is he evil? Every instinct told her he wasn’t. And rationally, she couldn’t blame him for her nightmares.

Lightning flickered outside her window, illuminating her wrapper where it hung on the corner of the wardrobe door, for an instant making the pale pink silk appear white.

A white gown…

Her throat closed, and she forced the intrusive memory away. Rising, she turned up the lamp until it shone brightly, a bulwark against the darkness inside and out. The clock told her it was nearly time to get dressed. At least she’d managed to sleep through most of the night. Rain continued to spatter the window. At this rate, the courtyard and garden would flood.

The girls had responded well to her speech last night. They now knew everything she knew concerning Mr. Woodson. She’d withheld nothing. Her apology for not having spoken with them sooner had been met with equanimity and instant forgiveness. In addition, Janet and Suzette had chosen to share their encounter with the others, casting him in a surprisingly positive light.

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