Forsaking Hope (Fair Cyprians of London 2)

But Felix was imprinted on her mind, just as the essence of him permeated her body. Even though she knew he’d not repeat the offer he’d made when under the influence of love and lust and fired up by their lovemaking, Hope didn’t think she had the heart to even contemplate accepting a similar offer from another man.

When she reached her room she sank onto the bed and put her head in her hands. Felix had been animated when he’d last gazed at her. What did he think of her now? If he’d not yet discovered evidence of her betrayal, it wouldn’t be long before Wilfred made sure he was under no illusions as to the truth of Hope’s blackened soul.

With a whimper, she curled herself into a ball and huddled on the bed, though it was difficult to breathe due to the restraints of her clothing.

Again, her mind drifted back to the day of the Hunt. She remembered the freedom she’d enjoyed when she’d donned her riding habit and joined the other riders. Secretly. Oh, but her mother had been furious, though her father had applauded her when he’d heard of it. What an ally he’d been, she thought with a pang. The only positive side to the fact he was no longer alive was that there’d be no risk of him learning of her sinful life.

Outside, the bell tolled midnight.

In another hour, Lord Westfall would arrive. Perhaps she could sleep a little. She was bone-weary. She sat up and consulted her appearance in the mirror. Madame Chambon would have noted with disapproval her failure to present herself earlier for general conversation with the gentlemen who crossed their threshold. However, if Hope’s presence had been essential she’d have received a summons, but Madame Chambon knew Hope had entertained a gentleman in the afternoon and would again just after midnight. A girl needed her rest, and Hope would not be disturbed while she prepared herself for Lord Westfall. Vivacity and a sharp mind were requirements of the job.

Sitting in front of the mirror, she tidied her hair, the ringlets not quite as perfectly formed on account of her afternoon exploits. Her body sang at the memory.

But she’d be lanced by Felix’s scorn next time she saw him.

She began to remove the pins that secured her elaborate confection of ringlets until her hair hung loose past her waist. Dear Lord, she needed to breathe, too. She undid the fastenings of her cuirass and skirt then unlaced her corset.

She’d only just slipped on a silk dressing gown when there came a sharp rapping at the door and a muffled voice amid feminine protests was heard just outside.

Hope turned the doorknob, and to her amazement, Felix burst in. His eyes were bright with a fervour very different from their mutually satisfying lovemaking of a few hours earlier.

“It’s all right, Faith,” Hope said over his shoulder, as calmly as she could. “I will see him. He’s the gentleman I spoke of. In the meantime, please don’t let anyone come in.” When Faith had disappeared, closing the door, Hope retreated into the centre of the room, meeting his passion with cool dignity. “So, what can I do for you, Mr Durham?”

Broad shoulders and injured masculinity seemed to dominate the room. While he glared at her, Hope shored up her defences. She was in vulnerable territory here. Charlotte was to be married in less than three days, and Hope dared not test Wilfred’s threats. So, she raised a faintly supercilious eyebrow and put her hands on her hips, wishing with all her heart she could wipe the glower from his face with the words he wanted to hear.

He did not advance. He did not cast his gaze over her modest room or the bed, merely glared at her from the doorway. “I cannot conceive of your motives in doing what you did this afternoon, Miss Merriweather, so I decided I had to hear what you thought you were about from your own lips.” He was breathing heavily; his hands fisted at his sides.

“What exactly are you referring to?” She made sure there was no chink in her tone that would give him reason to suspect she was playing games. No, she was Hope Merriweather, hard-hearted prostitute, and he was nothing but her last assignation.

“Making me fall in love with you all over again. Stealing from me.” His nostrils flared. “Mocking my manhood.”

“I am guilty of just one of those things you listed.”

He shook his head and lowered his voice as he advanced a step. “Hope?” His voice cracked just a little and she turned her head away. She couldn’t go through with this if he persisted in this manner. But…she had no choice.

“I thought you cared for me.” He looked truly as if his heart were about to break. “No, I shan’t hurt you. I’d never do that. But you stole from me to give to Wilfred Hunt. What is he to you?” He cleared his throat and gathered his defences, it seemed. “That is the question I am here to ask.”

“What is Wilfred Hunt to me?” Hope repeated the question musingly as she traced a pink goose-down-filled swirl upon her eiderdown with her forefinger. Oh, he was so many things. Seducer. Or was that putting too fine a point on it. Rapist? Yes, but men in his position didn’t go to court for doing what he’d done to women like her. With her father dead, Wilfred—rapist, seducer—had become, ironically, her protector. And now he was protector of her sister’s happiness. Or rather, he’d forced that role upon an unwilling Hope.

And by God, it was unwillingly that she said, “He is the man to whom I offered my allegiance. Long before you reentered my life, Felix. I did what he asked in this instance because of what I owe him, and therefore, I did it simply because he asked it of me.”

His expression was steely. She wondered if he’d taken opium though she thought not.

“I’ve come from the gaming tables. I was at my club before then, and I’ve had some to drink, but by God, this comes straight from the heart.” Taking two steps towards her, he seized her waist and drew her against him, pushing his face close so that she could feel his breath on her lips. His closeness made her feel faint with longing, but his anger would always now be between them.

Because of what she had done.

Because of what he believed was her duplicity, a falsehood she must perpetuate if she were to live with herself. For her sister’s sake. Hope had lost all hope that something good might come out of the life to which she’d been reduced, but Charlotte balanced on the cusp of a future that was bright and full of…hope.

For a split second, she wondered if he’d strike her, out of character though that would have been. She’d have expected it from Wilfred.

Instead, Felix put his hands on her cheeks and, suddenly and with no warning, his lips to hers.

The sensation sucked all resistance from her. She felt her nipples puckering and that strange, desperate need in the pit of her stomach that made her cleave to him.

There was no resistance between their embrace before the fire and his lifting her onto the bed. No dialogue, no protests, nor words of love even. Their actions came from base desire, on her part as much as his, despite his anger, despite her grief over what might have been and what was forever destroyed by Wilfred.

For Felix now was taking his pound of flesh. He felt betrayed and now he was making her atone. She should have felt diminished, resisted.