Christmas Charity (Fair Cyprians of London 5)

Chapter 3

Hugo wove his way through the streets and alleyways, holding his ribcage and trying not to limp, until he was in Soho. He could navigate his way to Madame Chambon’s blindfolded if he had to.

And right now, he’d never been more desperate for a pair of tender arms to fall into and a kind word. He didn’t deserve any of it, of course, and if he wanted to be truly hard on himself, he’d deny himself even this pleasure — if he didn’t know how much Charity also needed whatever comfort he could give her.

She ran down the stairs with a cry of pleasure when he was announced while the other girls looked on with mixed expressions. He could read the pity and the condemnation in their eyes, but that didn’t matter compared with being

alone with the only girl he cared about. The only girl he ever would care about.

“Hugo, I wasn’t sure when I’d see you again!”

“I’ll see you every moment I can until I’m dragged away,” he muttered, taking her hand and leading her to the stairs. “Come, dearest, there are some matters I need to talk to you about.”

“Oh, but Hugo, you’re hurt!” She stopped halfway up the stairs, gasping when she saw him wince. “Your cheek is swollen. And why are you holding your side? Who did this to you?”

Her concern and outrage that someone should have harmed him made up for all the other times there’d been no one to dress his cuts or offer him a word of sympathy. Gently he kissed the top of her head before squeezing her hand and indicating that they continue to her room. She didn’t need to know how powerless he was in the face of his father’s determination that Hugo be removed from her orbit. It might make her lose heart when, even in his darkest hours, he still held out hope that one day, yes, one day, they might be reunited when he’d carried out his sentence and regained his freedom.

He wouldn’t deserve her if, by some miracle, she was there waiting for him on the docks in two years, but right now it was the only hope he had.

After a long look, Charity forbore to question him, pressing herself close to his uninjured side, as if in silent solidarity with the pain she instinctively knew he was suffering.

Charity didn’t need to be told what he was feeling. She was like some angel of goodness sent to earth to give him the strength he needed to navigate each day.

With the door closed behind them, she pointed to the bed, all practicality. “Now, take off your shirt and let me see the bruising. I’ll find some liniment.” She helped him loosen his clothes, trailing her hand gently down his side.

“Will you tell me who did this to you? And why?” Her voice was infinitely tender.

Hugo shook his head. “It’s best I don’t, my love.”

She didn’t press the point. “Come, let me look after you,” she said, kneeling on the bed beside him after she’d ordered him to lie on his back.

Hugo closed his eyes and let his mind wander, revelling in her gentle touch and the quiet comfort of her presence as she rubbed in the soothing lotion.

“I love you so much,” he whispered.

“I know you do.” Rhythmically, she massaged his chest, avoiding pressure on his injured side. “And you mustn’t despair, Hugo.”

Hugo felt the lump in his throat grow. How could he not despair? His actions had ramifications that could destroy the angel beside him. How could he have been such a fool as to take the bait Cyril had offered? He’d never trusted his cousin when they were children so why had he accepted that fatal final whiskey and that ridiculous challenge? First Hugo had lost to Cyril, then Cyril had suggested he could win back, not only what he’d lost, but a vast sum more from another bosky fellow who clearly had been in on the ruse.

He clenched his fists and fought the tears — and the little voice always perched on his shoulder that parroted the poison his father had spouted his whole life: you’re worthless, you’re a fool. You deserve nothing!

He was a fool and he certainly didn’t deserve Charity. But allowing himself to be defeated so easily was hardly going to save Charity from the sordid life to which he’d condemned her if he didn’t do something to rectify the situation.

Sitting up abruptly, he put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. Blue and beautiful and pools of innocence. She was innocent and he’d give his life to keep her as safe and protected as she was in this moment.

Right now, she had him to pay the bills that would keep her benefactress satisfied, and a roof over her head and food on the table. He paid for her clothes and any other necessities and entertainments. It was a modest life but at least it meant she didn’t have to take on other clients. And it seemed to satisfy Madame Chambon.

“I sold a painting this morning. It didn’t fetch much.” No need to know that Lord Cowdril had haggled Hugo down to half his asking price after he’d voiced appreciation having seen the picture by chance when he’d stopped Hugo in the street. Hugo had been on his way to give it to Charity. “Also, a couple of pieces of my mother’s jewellery and my boxing gloves and fencing equipment. It’s very little but it’ll buy you a couple of weeks.” His heart was pumping. It all sounded so inadequate. What were two weeks when he needed to cover one hundred and three? That was how many remained until his twenty-fifth birthday when he’d come into his grandfather’s inheritance. “I’ve spoken to Madame Chambon and she’s promised to continue to house you provided I keep the funds coming.”

Charity stroked his cheek. “You’re sweet. The girls are very jealous of me, you know.” Her smile was gentle. She was trying so hard to make this easy for him. Yet he knew how terrified she must be feeling inside. He had to make sure she knew he’d not let her down. That he’d send her whatever he could.

“Jealous? That you’ve allied yourself with a good-for-nothing who loses his entire fortune at the gaming table so he can’t follow through on his promises?”

Charity shrugged, then leaned into him, drawing his head against her breast and stroking his cheek. “What other gentleman here visits with anything else on their minds other than their own self-gratification?”

“I swear you will never become one of Madame Chambon’s girls! You’re my girl and I’ll find some way to look after you until we can marry.” He closed his eyes and breathed in the sweet scent of her freshly bathed skin. She was intoxicating. “When I sail you will lose my protection here,” he whispered.

She was silent a long time, digesting his words. She knew how much he wanted her. Needed her. “Perhaps I could join you, later?”