Hortense nodded and gave the ceiling two sharp raps. The driver called out a “Whoa!” and the hackney slowed to a stop. “I’ll stay in London and work a few contacts. You know how to find me.”
Hortense pushed the door open, hopped down, and disappeared into the night. Bretagne shut the door and gave the ceiling another two raps. The hackney jerked into motion.
“Tilly?” he asked.
The girl’s gaze widened. “Milord?”
“Exchange seats with me.”
Once they’d maneuvered around each other in the cramped space, Tilly’s arm slid through Isabel’s and squeezed. Isabel met his gaze, intense and direct. Distance made him no less devastating or dangerous.
“I won’t take you by force,” he said.
That provoked a sharp laugh from her. “Haven’t you already?”
“You’re going to have to trust me.”
Another laugh emerged of its own will. “Trust you?”
“Your life will be safe with me.” He pointed at Tilly. “Hers, too.”
This time, the laugh died in Isabel’s throat. It defied all logic, but she believed him.
And the powerful man whose scheme she’d botched tonight?
Her life mattered not a whit to Montfort. Neither did her family. Her family . . . The reality of the situation hit her like a blast . . .
“I’ll go with you,” she said.
“Smart woman.”
“But, first, we must make a stop.”
Chapter 4
As the hackney slowed, the only sound was the fading clop-clop of the horses’ hooves. For a long moment, all was quiet, even Tilly. Bretagne leaned forward, peered through the carriage window, and read aloud, “Galante: Dressmakers Extraordinaire.” He lifted a curious eyebrow.
Isabel kept her mouth shut. Did the man have to be so observant? How she wished he didn’t know this about her, but there was no helping it. She wouldn’t leave London without coming here first.
She squeezed Tilly’s hand. “Stay here while I see to a few matters.”
Tilly jutted her chin toward Bretagne. “With ’im?”
Isabel addressed her next words to him. “I have your word that she will be safe?”
“Of course,” he retorted, his reply ripe with insult.
Isabel reached for the door handle, but his hand got there first. “You have five—”
“Ten,” she inserted.
“Five minutes before I follow.” His intense gaze probed hers for the space of three rapid heartbeats before he released the latch and pushed the door open.
Isabel’s feet met clackety cobblestones on a short hop. Before her stood the unassuming storefront that had grown so familiar over the last year and a half. She craned her neck and saw dim light shining orange through an upstairs curtain.
Keenly aware of that man’s eyes upon her back and the rapid tick of the five minute clock, she cupped her hands and peered through the front window, hoping to find Nell. Suddenly conscious of her appearance, she shrugged her shawl tighter about her, but there wasn’t any way of disguising the truth. She was dressed like a whore. In that man’s eyes, she was one.
She picked up a pebble off the sidewalk and tossed it, a single glassy tap against the upstairs window. The curtain moved, and a face appeared for the slip of a moment. In less than thirty seconds, a wisp of a girl was at the door, twisting the lock. “Miss Galante!” Nell exclaimed. “Oh, I been worried sick about you. Where’d you go?”
Isabel gave the girl a quick embrace, even as she evaded the question, her feet already navigating the large rectangular tables and bolts of fabric to the narrow corridor that led to the back of the shop. She breathed in the scent of fabric and dust, familiar and home. She wanted to sink into it and pretend these last months were nothing more than a bad dream, that she was safe here.
But this wasn’t the time for fantasy. She had fewer than five minutes before the wolf came after her. She had not a second to waste.
“Nell, have you had any trouble minding the shop in addition to your other duties?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Not a lick of it.”
“And Eva?” Isabel dreaded the answer. “Is she . . . is she well?”
Isabel sensed hesitation before the answer came. Nell tended to give Eva a wide berth, and Isabel could hardly blame her. “Aye.”
Isabel forced herself to ask the next question. “And the babe? Is he—”
The next answer came on a happy rush. “He’s right as rain, he is. Sweetest little mite you ever laid eyes on.”
They reached the top landing, Nell’s room to the right, Isabel and Eva’s rooms to the left. “Nell, I need you to pack a bag.”
Instant tears welled in the girl’s eyes. “You givin’ me the sack? What I done?”
“We’re leaving London for a few days. Unless you have somewhere else you can stay until we return?”
“I ain’t got nowhere, miss.”
Isabel wouldn’t consider the added burden those words placed on her shoulders. “Then you’re coming with us. Pack your things and meet us downstairs in three minutes.”
Nell nodded and snapped to without protest or a lick of shock. Such midnight developments must not have been unusual in her past. It was a harsh world out there for a lone girl, as Isabel had learned in recent years.
No time to spare, she opened the door to her left and dashed across the bare floorboards of the small front room that served as both sitting room and makeshift kitchen. With no small amount of relief, she saw that it had been kept tidy and neat, which she surely owed to Nell. When she’d last seen Eva, well, Eva wasn’t quite up to the task. Speaking of Eva . . .
Her eye stole toward the bedroom at the far side of the room. A thin strip of light peeked between the floor and the closed door. Isabel turned toward the closer room, hers. Without bothering to light a candle, Isabel worked in the light of a late-rising moon. Quickly, she shed her whore’s weeds and threw open the wardrobe door. Several dresses hung before her. She couldn’t think why, but she chose the two finest. She donned one and shoved the other into a worn duck travel bag along with a few other sundries.