Keeping Faith (Fair Cyprians of London 3)

“Slightly, Mr Westaway, but your painting must come first before I warm myself.”

And that, you will not do without my help, Miss Montague, he thought, though his glance made that clear enough for she slanted a secret smile at him, instantly regaining her former gravitas when Lady Vernon dropped her knitting and stared for a long moment between the two of them.

But the old woman did not suspect. How could she? She was a dried-up husk of a creature with no understanding of human passion.

Miss Montague reared up before him, water dripping from her hair and dress, spattering the floor as she reached for linen with which to dry herself.

“Forgive me, I suddenly couldn’t stay there a moment longer.”

“Faith, you were not given permission!” Her chaperone was angry, and Crispin enjoyed seeing the flint in his beloved’s eye as she stood her ground, pretending she didn’t care that her actions compromised Crispin’s ability to paint the picture that would earn him his place in the world.

There was no doubt this was a masterpiece in the making. She was his inspiration, his muse, and another night in her arms would give him the power of creation, of genius.

“The cold has a habit of seizing one suddenly. Taking one captive, Lady Vernon,” he soothed. “Let Faith leave now if she must.”

The old lady was not pleased, it amused him to see. It amused him even more to see how well Faith played the pliant schoolgirl with the invisible armour that suddenly sprouted metal spikes when her ire was aroused. He wondered what words were exchanged when the two of them were alone and Miss Westaway was defending her need to break what Lady Vernon surmised was the contract between them.

The contract that had been rewritten.

Chapter 18

The words that were in fact exchanged between Faith and her chaperone of course bore no resemblance to any he might have surmised.

“You can’t behave like a prima donna or you’ll never get his measure.”

“You think I haven’t already?” Faith glared, wanting to taunt Lady Vernon and keep her wondering, yet wanting her to know that Faith had succeeded so beautifully already.

But caution and the long game stilled her tongue, so she merely looked enigmatic when Lady Vernon demanded to know what she meant.

“You have three days, Faith. Three days to enslave him, torture him.” Lady Vernon’s nostrils flared. “Ruin him.” The old lady stared out of the window as she toyed with the brush she was about to use on Faith’s tangled tresses. “And then it will be time to live your own dreams.” She looked so enraptured by this thought that Faith could have imagined she was living Faith’s life in her own mind.

Faith sat down on a wooden chair in the centre of the room and held her head erect, waiting for Lady Vernon to play servant. How she did enjoy that. The old woman was a parasite; a cosseted creature born to a life of leisure, but too unattractive to snare the attention of a protector, so that as she aged, she had nothing but her own resources to draw upon.

Faith didn’t need a protector. She was too clever. And, unlike Lady Vernon, she had multiple resources to draw upon: youth, beauty, wit, intellect, education.

Mrs Gedge had equipped her with the tools to exact the other woman’s evil revenge, but Faith would turn the tables with a pure heart.

It strengthened Faith to know that her vitriol had a pure edge. She wasn’t truly bad, as she’d once believed. Love had freed her, cleansed her. Her words and actions towards Mr Westaway were motivated now by truth and honesty; honesty in that she feigned nothing of her feelings.

If that meant her dealings with Lady Vernon were tainted, so be it. If she needed to play a role in order to emerge like a chrysalis, reincarnated from evil into good, it was transitory, necessary. That was all.

Lady Vernon was out of sorts as she tugged the brush through Faith’s hair. Faith was playing her cards close to her chest with nothing to support the old lady’s suspicions one way or the other. And there was nothing Lady Vernon disliked more than not being in control.

Faith knew this, and it delighted her to keep her guessing while she dreamed away the moments before she could throw a cloak over her nightclothes and slip away up the back stairs to the room they’d occupied the night before.

He was waiting there for her as she knew he would be, his impatience clear, his delight at the fact she’d come as gratifying as anything could be when he strode across the floorboards to greet her and took her in his arms.

“My love, you have no idea how impatiently I’ve waited for this moment.” He held her close, his breath hot against her ear as he murmured, “I painted you as you lay in the bath, with the sun burnishing your hair like a halo, dreaming of a time when I could see you just like that with no one but the two of us.”

“And that moment has come.” She twined her arms behind his neck and nuzzled him, breathing in the scent of him with rapture before he scooped her up and lay her on the bed. He joined her, holding her against his side while he kissed her eyes, her nose, her mouth, pausing to whisper, “You know what this means, don’t you?”

She didn’t, and her breath hitched, every sense suspended as she waited tensely. What would he say? He couldn’t live without her and would she be his mistress? She was the most intoxicating woman he knew, but this must be a secret between them? He loved her, but his father would never allow their union?

“I want to marry you. I will marry you.” He was above her now, his chest bare, his eyes boring into her with a fervour she could not believe was feigned. She didn’t know what to say, but he went on, “Because you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t feel the same way about me. You’re not one to give away your affections lightly, Faith. I’ve observed every nuance of you…the way your skin flushes when you’re happy to see me, or irritated by your chaperone, or pleased with the way you see the painting taking shape. You’re the perfect muse, but that’s only part of why I need you. Yes, need you, Faith, because I think you are my perfect foil. My helpmate. We would be good together. A union in perfect symmetry. I am better with you by my side. Less selfish, more careful. I need to be careful with a painstaking eye to detail to be good at my job.”

“Painting?”

“When I am a diplomat.”