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 methisgaze, 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. “Trustyou?”
“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 fadingclop-clopof 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 tohim. “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.
“Fiveminutes 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.
