Keeping Faith (Fair Cyprians of London 3)

Faith objected to the question with an inner ball of such impotent fury she thought she might explode under the need to keep her response muted.

“That’s between Mr Westaway and myself.” She rose from the bed and went to sit at her dressing table where she began to plait her hair. “I am aware of what I must do. Please do me the courtesy of allowing me the freedom to do it at my own pace and using my own intuition.”

Lady Vernon moved to stand behind her and began to undo the buttons on the back of her dress. “Please do me the courtesy of remembering your manners, and your gratitude. It was thanks to me you were given any opportunity to achieve anything at all, young lady.”

“Yes, of course. But please let me go about this my own way. I assure you that you will get your money. That is, after all, what is important to you.” She hoped the reflection of her gimlet eye in the looking glass was as piercing as the older woman’s.

“I think you’re in love with him.” Lady Vernon’s smile looked more like a grimace of satisfaction. “Don’t think you’ll marry him.” Her eyes narrowed, and in the gloom, she looked like a witch or a goblin. “You’re cleverer than to daydream that, Faith. He won’t marry you.” After a pause, she added, “Everyone in Mr Westaway’s orbit, and beyond, will ensure that he won’t.”

Faith’s legs were still shaking after Lady Vernon had left and Faith was preparing for bed.

Of course, there were. Faith had a mission to fulfil and too many people stood to gain something as a result of Faith’s success—herself included.

Though her success might just come at a cost she’d not factored into the equation.

She stepped out of her skirt and peeled off her cuirass-bodice. Why was she so affected by Lady Vernon’s unkind truth? It defied logic. Mr Westaway was a man who could do as he pleased and that alone put him out of her orbit. Faith was inured, so she thought, to entitled, self-absorbed gentlemen who took what they wanted and bargained for the rest.

The trouble was, Mr Westaway wasn’t like that. If he were, her job would be so much easier.

She touched her lips. They still tingled from the memory of Mr Westaway’s mouth, tender upon hers at first, before his hunger became so pronounced for that brief moment before he broke away. There really shouldn’t have been time to have decided anything much about the quality of it. And yet, it had lasted long enough for her to realise that she was changed. Affected.

And that he had been, too.

But he was a man. Rich, entitled. If he were affected, he’d have forgotten it by morning.

She sat on the bed and rested her head in her hands, the silence of the room seeming to break into her thoughts.

Who was she trying to fool? That was only if he were the kind of gentleman who frequented Madame Chambon’s. The kind who thought nothing of paying for their transitory pleasures.

Mr Westaway was not like that.

And Faith had been trained to entrap men like him. Good, decent men who, when embarking upon something like tonight’s kiss, thought they were attracted to a good, decent woman.

She was the honey trap. His disappointed hopes and dreams would be all the more bitter for having realised the extent of his being duped.

Except that Faith had no intention of it going so far, and nor did Madame Chambon. He would not know what Faith was because Faith came from Madame’s establishment and Madame Chambon’s was hallowed ground. Whatever devil’s agreement made between Madame Chambon, Lady Vernon, and Mrs Gedge would protect the reputation of the highly lucrative Soho purveyor of beautiful and expensive women. Gentlemen of discernment and fat pocketbooks must always know they would be safe when selecting a girl from London’s most highly regarded brothel.

Faith crawled into bed.

No, not a hint of scandal would link Faith with Madame Chambon’s though Faith had no doubt Lady Vernon was as ruthless as her cohorts. She had no love of Faith, but as long as Faith delivered what was promised, Faith would be free to make her own way in the world.

Pulling the covers over her head, she thought of the days ahead—the escalation of searing passion, then a promise extracted from Mr Westaway so that the sting of rejection, timed just right, might be all the bitter.

It seemed too simple but, of course, there must be more at play than that for Mrs Gedge to have spent three years grooming Faith to be the means of breaking this young man’s heart.

Perhaps there’d been a failed love affair between herself and Lord Maxwell, Mr Westaway’s father?

Or was Mrs Gedge avenging the death of her daughter. Had the girl died of a broken heart after he’d spurned her?

Was money, not love, involved?

There was no point in quizzing Lady Vernon or even digging for the truth in her most artful and subtle manner. Lady Vernon conversed with Faith only upon her conduct.

And that conduct was required to become as scandalous as it was possible for a young, supposedly innocent virgin to be.

The night pressed in on her, her mind churning with questions but knowing only one thing— that tomorrow or the next, she must do whatever possible to compromise Mr Westaway in order to extract an offer of marriage, or at least an ardent declaration of love.

And, for the first time, the knowledge that this might mean sacrificing her virginity didn’t trouble her in the least.