The Courtesan by Susan Carroll

in her breath, checking her wayward imaginings. These were stupid thoughts to be having about a man she had just resolved she must be rid of. Especially the thought that involved bringing Remy anywhere near her bed.
    With great difficulty, Gabrielle struggled to maintain her distant demeanor as she glided toward him. Remy glanced up at the rustle of her skirts. But the smile he had bestowed on her little sister’s portrait faded at the sight of Gabrielle. His mouth turned down with a mixture of disappointment and confusion, clearly perceiving the changes in her and not liking what he saw.
    Gabrielle steeled herself behind a glittering smile. “I am sorry I took so long about tidying myself. What must you think of my manners, Captain Remy? I trust I have not kept you waiting?”
    “No,” he muttered. He shifted his eyes back to the miniature in his hand. “I was admiring this portrait of Miri. It is a remarkable likeness, just as I remember her.”
    “Oh? Do you think so?” Gabrielle’s cool manner faltered a little as she plucked the picture from Remy’s hand. He was right. The likeness of Miri was very true to life. Gabrielle remembered the long-ago spring day in the garden when she had painted it, the sweet smell of Ariane’s herbs filling the air, the drone of the bees amongst the flowers, a day when Gabrielle’s magic had been at its strongest.
    Bending over that small oval of ivory, working with her finest brush and softest colors, she had succeeded in capturing her little sister perfectly, no easy task with Miri, fairy child that she was. There was an ethereal quality about the girl in that portrait, as elusive as a beam of moonlight. Miri leaned forward, her long white-blond hair spilling over one shoulder, her quicksilver eyes dancing with impatience as though she might vanish at any moment to go romping with elves in the woods or hunting for unicorns.
    There was no telling how much Miri resembled that portrait anymore. It had been over two years since Gabrielle had seen Miri and heaven only knew when she would do so again, if ever. That thought filled Gabrielle with a rush of sadness for the little sister who was as lost to her as her long-ago magic.
    Gabrielle became aware of Remy watching her far too intently for comfort.
    “Is that one of your paintings, Gabrielle?” he asked.
    “Yes, I painted it back when I had time for such nonsense.” She handed the miniature back to him with a show of indifference. “Of course Miri has grown up a great deal since then. I doubt you’d even recognize her anymore.”
    “I daresay I would not,” Remy agreed with a sad smile.
    Neither would I, Gabrielle thought, suppressing a pang.
    “And what about Ariane? How fares the Lady of Faire Isle?” Remy asked as he replaced the miniature where he had found it. He scanned the mantel as though he expected to spy a portrait of Ariane as well and was puzzled when he didn’t find one.
    Because Gabrielle could no longer bear to look upon the image of the sister who now despised her. Because the portrait was too painful a reminder of the bitter way she and Ariane had parted.
    Gabrielle managed to reply airily, “Oh, Ariane married Renard and she is now living happily ever after with her great ogre at his château.”
    Although Remy smiled, he chided her gently, “Why must you always speak so disparagingly of Renard? He is a good man and he saved all of our lives the night the witch-hunters came.”
    “I know that and I am fond enough of my great hulk of a brother-in-law. But the comte and I have always taken a peculiar delight in vexing one another. We used to drive poor Ariane to distraction. Once she even threatened to lock us both in our rooms until we behaved better.” Gabrielle smiled ruefully at the memory. “Our quarrels were never serious until—”
    “Until?” Remy prompted when she fell silent.
    Gabrielle fretted her lower lip, vexed with herself for even broaching the matter. She continued reluctantly,