Forsaking Hope (Fair Cyprians of London 2)

His.

That, in truth, was what he wanted above all else, and it wasn’t just about the sex.

As he continued to stare at the plaster cherubs adorning the ceiling, Felix contemplated the road ahead—marriage to Annabelle and nights in the arms of the woman he loved. Hope. He could reconcile the double life because each woman would know what he offered beforehand.

He would not lie to them or pretend it could be otherwise.

The ornate collection of plasterwork winged creatures that frolicked with bucolic abandon around the ceiling edges seemed to smile down at him. Since he’d inherited his grandfather’s townhouse, he’d been in the habit of seeing Hope’s features in their innocent gazes. Of course, they were not representations of innocence. They were from another age. A more ribald age that celebrated the pleasures of the flesh.

Felix had not thought himself a sensuous man, but by God he’d taken his fill of it this afternoon and been left wanting.

In typical fashion, his father had taken him to visit a prostitute on his twenty-first birthday. The experience had left him cold although he’d returned recently on a couple of violently ribald occasions instigated by his friends who were determined to cheer him.

While he’d have been unable to name the house or location to save his life, he wondered if it might have been the residence to which Miss Merriweather was attached. Thank God he’d not encountered her within its precincts. It was bad enough that she’d come from there, but that was the reality he’d have to get used to. The virtuous creature he’d put on a pedestal had lost her wings and taken on an earthly guise, but she was just as desirable.

Hope had mentioned the name Madame Chambon. Her brothel madam.

His nostrils flared as he breathed through his disappointment. For two years, he’d dreamed of discovering her, saving her…she was too late for saving now.

But he could still have her. The thought was accompanied by a surge of bile. He would still have her

, but he would not punish her for disappointing him like he might have, once.

Like he might have as a callow youth whose notions of womanly virtue were so at odds with who and what a woman really was.

A loud knocking disturbed these reveries that might have gone on for hours, and if he’d been sucking on the pipe again, might have put him out of contention for the evening Millament obviously desired for him.

“Gad’s teeth but you look like the cat that’s swallowed the cream and is contemplating a second foray with much wickeder consequences,” his friend declared as he strode through the door.

Millament was dressed for the theatre, looking the debonair man of fashion as he glanced at the rumpled sheets and his friend’s disarray.

“Not like you at all, Felix.” He shook his head, his expression bemused and interested. “But a little light entertainment seems to have done you the world of good. What a shining star she was. A magical, mystical creature of the night. I wonder where the boys found her?”

Felix raised himself on his elbows. “What do you mean, the boys?” The thought she might have given herself to a number of his friends presented itself as a sudden, shocking possibility.

Millament shrugged. “After that disastrous game of poker the other night when you were so very far from yourself, someone proposed—I forget who—that he procure you a creature who would take your mind of your earthly woes. You’ve been a monk, Felix, and that damned pipe is making you no fun to be around.” He glanced at the smoking apparatus by the bed and his smile brightened. “But a glorious woman has brought you back to life. She came to you three nights ago when your senses were addled and she clearly was prepared to come again, which augurs well for you, judging by the egg-like look on your face.” He walked to the wardrobe and pulled out a coat, anxious clearly to get his friend ready for the evening. “Remind me of where this divine create can be found.”

“She’s mine.” Felix sat up. The energy fuelling him now was unlike anything he’d experienced for as long as he could remember.

“Calm down. I’m not about to steal her from you, though I’d hurry and stake your dibs before someone else lays claim.”

“What have you heard? What do you know about her?” Felix flung his feet over the side of the bed.

“Steady, old chap. Of course I know where she’s from. A bower where the princes of the realm are ready to bankrupt themselves for a night of her charms. I hope you know that pocketbook might take a beating if you fancy exclusive rights.”

Felix reached for his silk dressing gown and encased himself in its cool and sensuous folds. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be downstairs,” he said, conscious it sounded more like a snarl although Millament, with his perpetual good humour would in all likelihood forgive him.

But his friend’s words had opened a chasm of fear that worried at the wound that had blighted him these past six months. It had begun to close over these last few hours as he learned, finally, what he needed to set his life to rights.

Felix had just tasted the closest to contentment and ecstasy, and it was even more addictive than the opium.

Even if the cost to his well-being might be greater.

Chapter 8

The Red Door was a favourite haunt of the young bloods. Felix hadn’t rubbed shoulders with his friends in such a den of debauchery since the tragedy over his sister. Now, however, a sense that normalcy might again reign—despite Millament’s unsettling words earlier—bolstered him to match the revelry displayed by Millament and the others whose company he’d eschewed for so long.

“Bold move,” mocked Ravensby, an old Cambridge colleague as Felix threw down what was in his pockets.