Forsaking Hope (Fair Cyprians of London 2)

“A fearful threat, I must say.” He tossed back his drink then cocked his head.

Hope opened her reticule and held out the promissory note he’d requested. As he went to take it, she withdrew her hand. “This is to show you that I have done what you asked. I slept with Felix, as you would have me do.” She was tempted to tell him more. Of what a superior lover he was compared with Wilfred, but she was not that stupid. “I stole from him, just as you requested.” She licked dry lips and steadied her voice.

Wilfred tried once more to snatch the note, but Hope pulled back her hand again.

He glowered. “You came here to give me what I directed you to if you were to spare poor Charlotte the scandal and ignominy of knowing what her sister does for a living. That was our agreement.”

Hope sent him a level look. “If your intention in blackening my name in his eyes was so that he’d ask for Annabelle’s hand in marriage, then that is achieved. You needn’t brand me a thief into the bargain.”

“I like to hedge my bets, Hope. What does it matter? Felix won’t run you to ground and have you arrested if that’s what you’re worried about. He’ll just be very disappointed.”

“He intends to ask Annabelle to marry him. He told me. Now that he knows what I am, and that he can never have me for his wife, he’s accepted that Annabelle is the perfect candidate.” Hope heard her voice break and cursed herself for her weakness.

Wilfred looked at her suspiciously. “Then he still has feelings for you? Annabelle won’t like that. She needs to be sure you are absolutely no threat.”

“Felix is

going to ask Annabelle to marry him,” Hope repeated firmly. “Quite likely he will do that in the next day or two. That’s what you wanted. That is what both you and Annabelle want. Please, Wilfred. If Felix asks for Annabelle’s hand before Charlotte is married in two days’ time, then you’ll have achieved your aim. Felix marrying Annabelle is what’s important to you. Not blackening my name.”

He looked at her and the silence drew out.

“Why should you wish for the vestiges of his minimal regard if there is nothing between you and Mr Durham?”

Hope closed her eyes and heard the chink of glass as he poured himself another drink. When she looked up, he’d already tossed the contents down his throat. It seemed to give him renewed confidence.

“Think of it as the tiniest bit of atonement towards me,” she said in a voice that sounded small and puling. Hope was stronger than this. She’d had to become so over the past two, terrible years so why was she parading her weakness like this in front of Wilfred?

“Atonement suggests culpability, and I’ll not admit that!” The drink had fired him up. He strode across the floor and put his hands on her shoulders, staring into her eyes. They flashed fire and hatred. Hatred for what she’d made him feel. Less than a man. She’d made clear her contempt for him through their tortuous months together, but it was only at the end he’d hurt her. She flinched. Once was enough, though it was more than that.

“You set your sights too high, Miss Merriweather. Two years ago, my sister was all but betrothed to Felix Durham, and then you broke her heart at that damned Hunt Ball. I had her honour to protect.”

“So you destroyed mine.” Hope raised her chin. “And yours. You can never call yourself an honourable man again after what you did to me.”

Casting aspersions upon Wilfred’s honour was a big mistake. Hope saw that instantly.

But it was too late.

Chapter 9

Felix had drunk more than he usually did, but he had his faculties about him. Millament had spoken sense, soothing him and he was glad to closet himself in a dim corner for a while, going over in his mind everything that had happened that day.

Was he adopting the right course? He’d never considered a mistress, and he’d never in a thousand years dreamt of making the incomparable Miss Hope Merriweather anything other than his wife.

But, he could not marry her. He simply could not.

Unfortunately, inconvenient though it was, he simply could not live without her.

He was about to finish his brandy after reclaiming his winnings when he caught sight of Annabelle’s brother following in Millament’s wake. Felix had little affection for the man he’d known since he was a puling youth. Annabelle’s fragility was to be expected in a female, but there was no excuse for Wilfred. The boy had never played fair, always finding someone else to blame if something didn’t go his way during the occasions they were thrown together as children, for their mothers had been friends from their own schoolroom days. It was one of the reasons Annabelle had been dangled before him since before he’d grown chest hair.

Fortunately, the boys’ education had taken them in different directions, and while Felix had suffered through a spartan education at Eton, Wilfred had been tutored at home, indulged and cosseted as ever.

Felix glanced at the clock. He’d spent all evening weighing up various approaches, and the wisdom of his choice.

Yes, he’d be laying his heart on the line, putting to Hope a prospect she might not find as enticing as one she might have received from a Prussian nobleman or an English marquess—Millament had elaborated on the rigorous training Madame Chambon’s girls were put through—but she had genuine feelings for him. She might not have said it in so many words, but their encounter had revealed enough of her susceptibility towards him that he was confident that when he turned up at Madame Chambon’s ready to negotiate, Hope would come away from that house with only Felix to call her protector.

The reasons as to why Miss Merriweather had fallen so far were not important for now. Rescuing her before she succumbed to another lure certainly was.

Felix was aware that the girl’s wildness had been the despair of her parents. Daring and careless of her neck, she’d ridden the jumps and hedges during the Hunt like the best of the men that fateful day.