The Virtuous Courtesan. Mary Brendan

larder. Joseph turned from the window, grinning. And if he did take a beautiful young mistress it was no more than that cheating harlot, Mrs Rosamund Pratt, deserved!

      Sarah sank onto the bale of hay and let the tears flow. Hateful man! Hateful man! The phrase flew back and forth in her agitated mind before bursting through small pearly teeth. But to which gentleman that insult was directed she could not have said: the smarmy lawyer, the mean lover, the insolent stranger—all deserved the epithet, and more besides.

      A handkerchief was snatched from her reticule and held to her wet eyes. Had she not known Edward Stone’s true character at all? How could he have acted so horridly? Eddie had not kept her in luxury, but neither had he been cruelly parsimonious. She had not gone without basic necessities. Now it seemed that to keep a roof over her head and bread on her plate she must apologise to his wastrel brother and then attempt to seduce him. The very idea made a sob of hysterical laughter choke her. She would rather… Her angry thoughts ebbed and stilled. What would she rather? Face destitution? Would she see Aunt Bea and Timothy starve?

      Sarah felt a chill creep over her. It was unthinkable.

      She wrung the little handkerchief in her fingers, until a ripping sound made her stop and push it back whence it came. Slender fingers smeared away the last of the tears on her cheeks and she gulped a calming breath. What was she to do? Even if she eventually managed to subdue her misgivings and pride enough to solicit Gavin Stone’s protection, he had made it clear he didn’t want her. In fact, he had made it clear that she disgusted him. He had even had the nerve to suggest that she might have plotted with Eddie to trap him. She had done no such thing but, in truth, she did regret having let the swine rile her. She had said things that were most unwise given her circumstances. Yet the greatest pity of it all was that her memory of Edward was now spoiled by a wrangle over his money.

      She had been bitterly disappointed at not receiving the things she had wanted—Elm Lodge, an annuity of her own—but perhaps she had been hopelessly optimistic in thinking they might come to her. She had not been Edward’s wife, neither had she been his only lover.

      Edward had been quickly buried to allay fears of infection. Sarah had stayed away from the formal service and paid her respects privately, when the townspeople had gone from the graveside, but the other woman who had shared Edward’s life had been there.

      Christine Beauvoir had been accepted at the interment despite everybody knowing that she had been Edward’s mistress for a long time. Her widow status conferred on her a certain respectability.

      Yet she had been absent from the solicitor’s office today. Her name had not been mentioned in Edward’s will. Sarah knew the widow had her own property and income. She could only guess that Eddie had thought Christine had no need of any financial help from him on his demise.

      A dejected grimace twisted her soft mouth. She was not so lucky. She must gratefully take the provision Eddie intended her to have. That conclusion brought her to a bitter truth: a suitable agreement with Gavin Stone must be reached. But she would not sleep with him. She had seen disgust in his eyes when he looked upon her face. How much more repulsive would she be to him when he first saw her naked in his bed?

      Abruptly she gained her feet and began to pace to and fro, her full, soft lips compressed and her white brow puckered in concentration.

      It was as Sarah was marching back and forth behind the tumbledown barn on the edge of town that Gavin caught sight of her. It was a mere glimpse of pale curls that first arrested his attention. A few moments later he spotted a swirl of grey skirt as she changed direction.

      He settled back against the wall of the Red Lion’s stables and plunged his hands into his pockets. She obviously had not fled far. He was glad she was still in the vicinity. He had not relished the idea of pursuing her to Elm Lodge like a draconian landlord about to claim droit de seigneur.

      After a short surreptitious observation, he had seen enough to be sure the woman was indeed Sarah Marchant. He guessed from her restless pacing that her frame of mind was similar to his own. With a wry smile he realised that now was probably as good a time as any to see if they could find a sensible solution to the damnable predicament Edward had landed them in.

      ‘It seems we got off on the wrong foot. Shall we try again?’

      Sarah swivelled about to see Gavin Stone brace a dark hand against the wall of the barn. Immediately her heart was jolted into pumping faster. Her mouth parted in readiness to spontaneously demand an apology for his boorish behaviour earlier. Her soft lips came together again without her having uttered a blameful word. He didn’t look quite so arrogant or scornful now and, in any case, her opinion of his manners was irrelevant. He held the key to securing her family’s continuing comfortable existence.

      ‘That seems a sensible suggestion,’ she coolly agreed and, simply to occupy her jittery nerves, collected her bonnet from the hay bale she’d sat upon. She had also moved away from the edge of the barn to conceal herself from inquisitive eyes. Her reputation might be thoroughly besmirched, but she had no wish to add to her infamy. If she were caught in broad daylight loitering behind a barn with a gentleman, it was likely to give the town’s gossips a fine time.

      Gavin moved closer, watching as she fiddled with her hat, first winding the strings about her palm before immediately jerking them loose.

      Obviously he had startled her by coming upon her so unexpectedly. He strolled into the barn and made a cursory inspection of the dilapidated state of it before wandering out again. She still seemed unsettled, so he walked the length of the building to give her a little longer to regain her composure.

      ‘Please don’t stand where you might be seen.’ Sarah pursued him to the edge of the barn. She made as though to catch his sleeve and tug him backwards. Momentarily a small hand hovered in space before recoiling. ‘It is best if we keep out of sight. I would not want any curious passerby to come and investigate what is going on.’

      Gavin duly complied whilst emitting a rasping chuckle. ‘In Mr Pratt’s office you called me a reprobate. Are you now worried for my reputation?’

      ‘Perhaps I am more concerned for mine,’ Sarah remarked acidly. ‘But then you believe I have no good name to keep, don’t you?’ she added quietly. She could tell he was about to humour her with polite lies and she’d rather not hear them. ‘You are right, of course,’ she interrupted him. ‘I am not liked or welcomed here in town. But it does not do to flaunt my notoriety or unnecessarily rub people’s noses in it.’

      Gavin noticed the proud tilt to her chin, but she couldn’t conceal the tremor in her voice. She might know she was despised, but she suffered for it. After three or more years as a courtesan one might have expected her to acquire an amount of robust defiance. Her vulnerability was rather sweet and stirred something akin to tenderness in him.

      Within a moment he had quashed the noble emotion and reinstated a more cynical outlook. He had no idea whether Miss Marchant had gladly set on the path to ruination with a man old enough to be her father. Until he did, he would reserve judgement on how genuine was her trembling modesty and whether plucking at his heartstrings was simply part of a calculated act.

      ‘Is it correct that you were just sixteen when Edward…?’ Gavin hesitated, sought an inoffensive term. ‘When he took you under his protection?’

      ‘Yes, I was sixteen,’ Sarah said. ‘And I would rather not discuss it. It was a long time ago,’ she said carefully. She had no intention of furnishing details of her affair with Edward to his brother. But neither did she want to rekindle friction between them. She was very conscious of the need to prolong this truce.

      ‘Three years is not so long.’ Gavin was not so easily deterred.

      ‘It was four years ago. It seems a long time to me,’ Sarah countered with grit in her voice and immediately turned the subject to the one presently most troubling to her. ‘We must try to find a way to solve the problem of Edward’s will. I’m sure you must want that too. It would be a great pity if you lost your inheritance.’

      ‘Indeed, it would,’ Gavin