“Ma’am,” she spokesotto voceto the Duchess, “if you could point the way to the Ladies’ Retiring Room?”
The Duchess waggled a finger in the direction of the very corridor Montfort had indicated. Isabel nodded her thanks and bade reluctant legs to move. At the hall’s end, Montfort waved her into an empty room.
Once inside, the door clicked shut behind her. She kept her back to Montfort as long as she could, but the man was patient. He wouldn’t speak until she faced him, his silence told her. She pivoted, a sudden sheen of perspiration slicking her palms.
“You play your role so well, Isabel Galante,” he began. “Even from across the room, one could believe you utterly and completely besotted with your husband.”
Isabel felt a blush rise, but she held her tongue. Montfort would like nothing more than for her to deny it.
“Is it all an act? I do wonder.” He pretended to consider the possibility.
Isabel’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. Oh, that she could slap the smug smile off his face.
He pulled a thin square of paper from his breast pocket. “That said, I’ve detected a deficit of concentration on your part, which is understandable given the luxuries at your disposal. How fortunatethisarrived in the post.”
He held out a missive, its seal already broken. Isabel closed the distance between them barely enough to snatch the letter out of his hand. She flipped it over, instantly recognizing the handwriting.Papa.Her head jerked up. “How long have you had this?”
“Oh, you know how letters can get shuffled and misplaced.” The man lied in his teeth, Isabel was sure of it. “I knew it would be just the thing to help you remember your purpose.”
Isabel gave him her shoulder and absorbed the letter in a quick scan. Its contents were mostly impersonal—Papa would have known Montfort would read it first. Only Papa’s parting lines mattered:
Remember what I told you when we last spoke, cariña. I continue to feel the same.
—Papa
With deliberate care, she refolded the letter and placed it in Montfort’s extended hand. “Can you perhaps enlighten me as to what your dear Papa meant by the last part?”
Isabel thought fast. “That he loves Eva and me more than anything in the world.”
A lie.
Papa had spoken much more pragmatic words upon their final meeting.
Montfort’s eyes narrowed on her, skeptical. “What a loving family you are.” He tucked the letter inside his overcoat. “Tomorrow is the day.”
Isabel controlled her breath, even as her lungs wanted leave to catch it.Tomorrow.
After her talk with Miss Fox today, she should have expected as much, yet the timing caught her by surprise. And now she must tell Montfort a truth, one that had become quite precious, only to be mocked the instant she spoke it. But hadn’t she vowed to doanythingto save her family?
Here was the test.
She screwed up her courage to speak the words she must. “There is something I must tell you—”
“Is it about the little matter of your maidenhead?”
Isabel nodded, mute. Was there nothing too terrible or personal for this man to speak aloud?
“I planned that you might anticipate matters with the ever-so-dashing Lord Percival Bretagne. You do make a damned attractive couple, I’ll give you that. No matter. Sheets are no longer necessary.”
Isabel’s stomach lurched. It was all so repulsive. Were there no depths to which this man wouldn’t sink?
“When I give you the signal, you lead Percy to me. I do want to see his face when he comes to understand the fate of those who betray me.”
A shiver went up Isabel’s spine. She detected a message in there for her.
It was happening. It was really, truly happening.
And it was really, truly wrong.
