Keeping Faith (Fair Cyprians of London 3)

Before Crispin could move out into the passage, Carter was ushering Faith through the door, and Crispin’s heart was in a tumult he could not begin to explain. He’d thought rage and disappointment would be his chief emotions, but longing trumped them all.

A waft of lavender heralded her entrance, and he longed to clasp her to him.

“Crispin, I’m so sorry! Not everything is the way it’s been portrayed in the newspapers!” She hurried forward like a breath of spring sunshine and gripped his hands, and he couldn’t help holding them as he ground out, “Faith, how can you refute the fact that you lied? You targeted me in order to set me up. Isn’t that the truth?”

Tears glistened on the edge of her lashes as she tipped her face up to his.

“I lied to you at first, but I confessed. Crispin, I never meant to hurt you. I certainly never meant to humiliate you or damage your career.”

“But that’s what you’ve done.” He dropped her hands and turned his head away, acutely conscious of his father in the corner whose expression communicated his disgust. Faith, who had her back to him and so had not noticed they were not alone, went on, “Crispin, I have never been one of Madame Chambon’s ‘girls’ as the newspaper claims. Nor have I ever been…kept! Not by Lord Harkom, not by any man! I was a…a virgin when I gave myself to you.”

Perhaps she could see that he was not as moved as she’d wish. As he might have been had his father not been present.

Her voice took on a greater note of desperation. “Crispin, you must at least believe the truth of that! Why, the evidence was there. Whatever my sins might be, the fact is that I swore I would never give myself to a man I did not love. And then I met you. Yes, I fell in love with you, even though it was against my better judgement. Even though it was not as others would have wished it. I would confess all, if you would only say you still love me. That you want to still love me. I can prove the lies that are in that newspaper. Please, Crispin!”

There was nothing Crispin wanted more than to hold Faith against his chest and at least hear what she had to say. But a movement from his father suggested this would not be wise. Lord Maxwell would make the situation so much nastier if he made his presence known and Crispin had to protect Faith from that, at least. He’d hear her out when they were alone.

But for now, he’d have to show his father that he was not susceptible to her pleas. Perhaps there really was some explanation that could paint her in a less damning light, though, God help him, the picture of her in Harkom’s arms surrounded by a group of harlots could hardly be explained away.

Still, she deserved an audience.

Alone.

“Faith, you’ve said all you need to.” Putting his hand upon her shoulders, he turned her towards the door, careful to block any view she might have of his father. “I’m sorry.” He lowered his eyes, careful not to look at her trembling mouth for fear he might lose control and just kiss her with all the disappointed passion that still burned within him. “Goodnight, my dear. I’m sorry it’s come to this. I wish you well for your future.”

A soft chuckle from Lord Maxwell was his reward when the door had closed behind Miss Faith Montague—the only woman he’d ever loved.

“Hardly masterful, my boy, but I’m glad to see you’re not a complete slave to that soft heart of yours, which was always going to be your downfall.” He rose and pointed to the desk with its pile of papers. “Now, read this latest report on the situation in the Black Forest. Meanwhile, I shall go and see what I can do to minimise the damage your foolish exploits have done to your reputation.”

“No passionate leave taking? Or did you decide not to stay with Mr Westaway, after all.? Why Faith, it’s barely eleven o’clock.” Madame Chambon was waiting in the shadows when Faith returned to the house in Soho. She couldn’t look at the woman; her defeat was so enormous. A great sob threatened to reduce her to a quivering wreck at Madame Chambon’s feet, unless she could make her escape and throw herself onto her bed in the privacy of her room.

Her old, hated iron bed with its aged, dusty quilt. It represented so much that was wrong with her life, but right now, she had nowhere else to go. Lady Vernon would not be welcoming her back in a hurry. No, Faith had outlived her usefulness to the old termagant; Madame Chambon had made that clear.

She was about to pass Madame Chambon on her way to the stairs when she hesitated. It had taken her a long time to untangle the few facts she could about her altered situation.

“Mrs Gedge didn’t hate Crispin Westaway as much as she hated me, did she?” She swallowed painfully. “Why? I never hurt her? I never stole from her? And yet…yet everything she’s orchestrated has resulted in my ruin. Granted, Mr Westaway’s reputation has suffered, but I…I have been ruined.”

Madame Chambon put her hand on Faith’s shoulder and walked her to the bottom of the stairs. For just a moment, she sounded as if she sympathised.

“There’s no room for sentiment in this business, Faith,” she said. “Money is the only currency, and everyone has to pay their way. I don’t think Mrs Gedge set out to destroy you, Faith.” She brightened. “And, when all is said and done, she has endowed you with so much you would never have had as an ignorant servant.”

“As I stand, I am in her debt.” Faith began to tremble. “But after tonight? What happens to me then? Would…would she take me back as a servant? Would that satisfy her? For I would do anything rather than stay here with all that entails.”

The pressure of Madame Chambon’s fingers increased, and her smile became cloying as she steered Faith along the corridor. “I suspect Mrs Gedge would be unmoved by your loyalty, Faith. To have you under her roof would only remind her of everything she has lost. Do you not think that, perhaps, her feelings for you changed as she saw you grow into the beauty you have become…while her daughter lies mouldering in her grave?”

Faith suddenly understood. Jerking herself from Madame Chambon’s grasp, she picked up her skirts and was about to take to the stairs, when a masculine chuckle by the door of the drawing room made her whip her head around.

“It’s been too long, Miss Montague.” Faith recognised the voice before the face. Panicked, she searched for escape, but Madame effectively blocked her way to the stairs or the door to the street.

“Come, Faith, no need to be churlish.” Madame’s fingers dug into her arm as she propelled her towards one of the private entertaining rooms.

Now, Faith was standing opposite Lord Harkom, who’d just turned the key in the lock and stood facing Faith, arms akimbo, a speculative smile upon his thin lips.

“Let’s get down to business, Miss Montague. My intelligence has it that you’re all alone without husband or protector.” He closed the distance between them and took both her hands in his, raising them to his lips. “So, I am here to offer you a solution.”

Faith felt like a trapped canary. No one would come running to her aid if she screamed, but violence might be the result if she offered resistance.

Forcing herself not to reveal her terror or revulsion, she regarded him steadily.