Surprised, Isabel nodded her agreement and soon found herself perambulating the square with a confoundingly silent Miss Fox. Absent were her usual slew of questions, pokings, and proddings. “You are quite meditative today, Miss Fox.”
Miss Fox cut Isabel a quick, penetrating glance. The woman appeared to be in the midst of an internal debate. Strangely, Isabel found herself waiting on pins and needles. At last, Miss Fox seemed to have reached a decision. “Do you know the Savior of St. Giles?”
Isabel shrugged, somewhat puzzled by this turn of conversation. “I must confess that I haven’t been as breathless about the story as others I know.” Namely, Tilly.
“Over the last few months, he has won a few gaming hells off the hands of their owner.”
A feeling prickled to life inside Isabel, one that made her stomach defy gravity.
“And,” Miss Fox continued, “in liberating London from the grip of its palaces of vice and perversion, he has caught the attention of some very powerful men.”
Isabel’s mouth went dry.
“And angered them.”
“Oh?”
“One powerful man in particular.”
“Do not call me by that silly name.”
Those had been the exact words Percy had snarled at the conclusion of their card game at Number 9. Now she understood what he’d meant by them.That silly name . . .
The Savior of St. Giles.
Miss Fox continued. “Many rumors abound about the identity of the Savior of St. Giles. Some believe him an Italian prince. Others an East India Company nabob. One theory, however, I’m inclined to believe. Would you like to hear it?”
Isabel nodded, wondering how she could move at all given the rigidity of her muscles.
“’Tis whispered the Savior of St. Giles is none other than the younger son of a powerful duke in England.” Wide, disingenuous eyes rounded on Isabel. “Shocking, no?”
Isabel cleared her throat and attempted to rally. “Is that the worst possibility? Such heroics would burnish the reputation of any young man.”
Miss Fox shrugged, as if indifferent to her tale. The woman was anything but, Isabel knew it. “If there wasn’t more to the story.”
“More?” Isabel’s gut churned.
“Quite. It seems the Savior of St. Giles is a façade for a truly reprehensible villain.”
Isabel willed calm breath in and out of her lungs. “Avillain?”
Miss Fox leaned in and reduced her voice to a whisper. “Aseducerof virgins.”
It was only after she’d shut her mouth with a snap that Isabel realized it had gaped open.
“Word has it he used all his powers of persuasion—you know the sort of powers . . . noble family, considerable wealth, dashing good looks—to ravish a destitute, young virgin with promises of marriage and security. It is said that he’s even duped the poor chit into thinking herself already married to him. Who knows how many innocent virgins he has deceived, debauched, and discarded in like manner. At least”—Miss Fox paused, and every nerve in Isabel’s body frazzled on end—“that is how the story will run.”
Isabel’s stomach dropped to her feet. “Story?”
“Do you, by chance, read theLondon Diary?”
Isabel gave her head a slow shake.
“No, you don’t seem the type. Well, it’s a scandal sheet that my father owns, although few in Society know it.”
“Is this one of the publications he won in a bet?” Isabel had the presence of mind to ask.
Miss Fox nodded. “Would you like to know why Cheswick and I are here?”
