The Courtesan by Susan Carroll Page B

one moment of folly had cracked a wall of reserve she had built around her heart for years.
    Gabrielle shied back from his touch, saying nervously, “Unfortunately I—I no longer have the time to spare for old acquaintances that I might wish. My life in Paris is very different from what it was on Faire Isle.”
    “So I have heard,” Remy said. The tender light vanished from his eyes. He took a long swallow of his wine, his brows drawing together in a heavy frown. “What are you doing here in Paris, Gabrielle? So far from your family and your home?”
    It was the question she had been dreading. Her heart missed a beat as she wondered exactly what Remy had heard about her. She had been told that they were taking bets in some of the taverns regarding who her next lover would be.
    But whatever gossip he had gleaned, Gabrielle could tell that Remy didn’t want to believe it. His gaze sought hers as though trying to reassure himself that despite all evidence to the contrary, she was still the innocent girl he always imagined her to be.
    So why not make the truth plain to him and be done with it? Gabrielle’s lips parted but no sound came. She just couldn’t bring herself to do it, speak the words that would disillusion Remy, end any feelings he had for her forever. Damning herself for a coward, Gabrielle evaded his probing gaze. She rustled toward an ornate rectangular table positioned along the wall opposite her bed. The glossy surface was laden with an array of bottles of lotion, jars of cream, and those seductive vials of perfume Cass had brewed for her. She removed the gilded lid from one of the jars and scooped out a dab of cream for keeping her hands as smooth and white as possible.
    “You always knew I longed to get away from Faire Isle, Captain Remy,” she replied at last, working the cream into her skin. “To travel, to experience all the excitement and diversion of some great city.”
    Leaning his broad shoulders up against the wall, Remy positioned himself alongside the table where she could not avoid his eyes. “Yes, but how did you acquire this vast house? Forgive me, but I thought your family’s fortunes were lost when your father did not return from his voyage of exploration.”
    “So they were.” Gabrielle smoothed cream over her fingertips, hoping their slight tremor did not betray her tension. “This house belongs to or . . . I should say belonged to a woman named Marguerite de Maitland.
    “My father’s mistress,” she added in a flat emotionless tone.
    “His mistress ?”
    “Many men have them, Captain Remy,” Gabrielle said tersely.
    “I am aware of that. But I had heard . . . I had always thought—” Remy hesitated, taking another sip of wine.
    “You heard all the stories about the great romance between the gallant Chevalier Louis Cheney and Evangeline, the beautiful lady of Faire Isle.” Gabrielle believed herself long over the hurt of discovering her father’s betrayal. But the old bitterness crept back into her voice. “Unfortunately, that is all they were—just pretty stories. Even while professing devotion to my Maman, my father was keeping this other woman here in Paris, lavishing Madame de Maitland with gowns, jewels, and this house.”
    Remy digested her revelation in thoughtful silence, frowning into his glass. “I still don’t understand what you are doing here, living in the home of such a—a—”
    Remy didn’t finish, but he didn’t have to. From his censorious tone, Gabrielle could easily guess what he meant. Such a whore, a trollop, a slut. Although she kept her expression neutral, some part of her flinched, wondering what Remy would call her when he realized she was little different from Marguerite.
    Gabrielle picked up a small stiff brush and doggedly buffed her nails. “After my father was declared dead, Mademoiselle de Maitland experienced some fit of repentance. She determined to retire to a convent. Before she did so, she offered this house and her jewels