The Lost

The fortune-teller pressed her lips together as if she wanted to say more but then thought better of it. Leaning forward, she whispered, “Be careful. More than your heart is at risk.”

Isabelle closed her eyes. Yes, she knew that. Had known it from the first time she had sung to Sebastian Dushayne. Isabelle pressed the woman’s hand. “Thank you. I do understand.”

When she stood up, another woman took her place instantly. “Tell me something useful,” she demanded.

The fortune-teller laughed. “If you are not careful, you will lose more than your money on this trip.”

“What does that mean?” the woman demanded.

Isabelle moved away from the group before the gypsy answered. She had no idea what the fortune-teller meant but was equally certain that the woman would not like the details. Sebastian was nowhere to be found, so she accepted a glass of champagne from one of the servants and began to circle the room.

The next hour passed in a haze of names and amusing conversation. Several men and one woman tried their best to corner her for more than talk. Isabelle might look like an i

Sebastian Dushayne found her in the corner with one of the men who would not take no for an answer. Isabelle had just poured her glass of champagne down the man’s shirtfront when Sebastian pulled her from the nook and propelled her to the dance floor.

“This is a reel. A popular Regency dance. Follow the lead of the people in costume. It is not difficult to learn.”

It was fun. It reminded Isabelle of square dancing but was more elegantly done. By the time the dancers made their last bows to one another, all were a little out of breath and laughing.

The next tune changed the mood completely. “A waltz,” Sebastian told her, “but a Regency waltz. Much more decorous than a Vie

Holding her at arm’s length, Sebastian put a hand at her shoulder and one at her waist. They began to move through the steps and within a minute Isabelle felt as though there were nothing around them, only the two of them in each other’s arms.

Stepping closer to Sebastian, Isabelle used her body to tell him that she was going nowhere, that here was exactly where she wanted to be. She saw the pleased surprise in Sebastian’s eyes, but he still held her as if he were afraid she would run.

Finally he relaxed and sighed, a small sigh that she understood as appreciation for the sweetest of pleasures. Closing her eyes, she drew a mental picture of the two of them alone, dancing through clouds set in a dark velvet sky strewn with diamondlike stars glittering around them. A peek at heaven, she decided, or as close as she could imagine. Yes, she could go on like this forever.

“Forever?” Sebastian said, and Isabelle realized she had said that last out loud. “Not forever, only for as long as the thrill of it lasts. Let me show you.”

Isabelle opened her eyes just as Sebastian kissed her. Oh, this is paradise. To be so closely co

Then all thoughts evaporated in a rush of emotion, sensation that bound her to him more completely than the touch of his mouth on hers. Her soul opened to him, her heart begged his and she gave herself to him as fully as she could with her mouth and her hands, and every part of her body that touched him. It was not a branding, but a gift, happily given.

Sebastian did not give as easily. Isabelle realized that as the kiss ended. He straightened, his look of shock changing to fear, or was it pain? He pushed her into the arms of one of the other men.

“Take her, Leo. This one is more than ready for a quick fuck. You won’t even need to take your clothes off.”

Leo grabbed Isabelle from behind, his hands settling on her breasts, his arousal pressing into her buttocks. She could smell the scotch on his breath when he nuzzled her ear. Freeing her arms, she used her elbows to pound into his gut and was more than satisfied when he staggered back, cursing.

“A quick fuck? Is that what you said?” Isabelle could feel her temper cut loose. “You are a disgusting excuse for a gentleman.”

“And you are courting trouble.”

“You don’t scare me.” She proved it by closing the distance between them. She could feel anger, passion, even fear shimmering around him. What was he afraid of?

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her a little. “I should terrify you.”

“But you don’t,” she said gently, her anger fading as she realized what he was worried about. “Not at all.”

“If I took you, you would never be the same.” He was pleading with her. She heard no pride in his voice. “You would be no more than a whore because you would never find as much satisfaction with anyone else.”

“But then, neither would you because what is between us is about more than sex. If you are afraid-” She emphasized the word and paused. “If you are afraid to give more than your body, then we will never be together.”

Sebastian Dushayne had nothing to say. In the silence she could feel his fear disappear, along with his anger and almost all his passion. “Time will tell, my little nun.”

“Why do you call me that?” The description made her more defensive than anything else he had said, which, she realized, was exactly why he had used the word.

“Who else but a nun would know nothing but hymns and wear her virtue like it was her proudest possession?”

“What a waste. She has sky-high tart potential and she’s a nun?”

The words of the man nearest reminded Isabelle that they had an audience.

“No, she’s not a nun now,” Sebastian said, looking into her eyes as if he could read her soul. “I imagine they dismissed her for flirting with a priest.”

Isabelle could feel the color drain from her face. “And you are filled with disdain because you’re afraid that if you care for another woman, she will leave you just like the first did.”

If it was possible to wound a person with words, Isabelle realized that they had each dealt a near mortal blow to the other.

She was not sure how Sebastian felt about revealing someone’s deepest secret, but his shock and distress at her accusation made her feel as sinful as Judas when he betrayed Jesus. “I’m sorry,” she whispered and ran from the room before they hurt each other any more than they already had.

Six

Once she was outside of the castillo, Isabelle slowed her steps and tried to calm herself. Tears trickled down her cheeks. She was sorry that she had not been able to control her temper, that his insult had made her retaliate in kind. It was so mean-spirited of her, the worst of all her failings as far as she was concerned. An apology would not change anything, but it was more than he had offered her.

The streets were quiet. The healer’s home the only one still with light. The open door showed people inside. Thinking that there had been an accident, Isabelle pushed her heartache aside, ran up the short path and went inside.

The people gathered were not patients. They were playing some sort of game with dominos and while it may not have required alcohol, every one of the five players took a sip of something after their turn at play.

“Aha!” Esmé called out. “The one we have been waiting for. Come over here.”

Isabelle did as asked, sure that Esmé was drunk and would remember none of this tomorrow. But Esmé surprised her. Her mug held the distinct smell of Earl Grey tea that appeared to have nothing in it but sugar.

“And milk if I had any,” Esmé agreed as if Isabelle had spoken aloud. “But the island has no milk until tomorrow so I make do with extra honey.” She pointed to a chair and then clapped her hands.