Keeping Faith (Fair Cyprians of London 3)

“But Faith, that is far too dangerous! If he catches you, he’ll punish you dreadfully!” Charity looked like she was going to cry. “He’ll torture you! He did that to Anastasia, and it took her three weeks before her face was healed. Imagine what he’ll do to you!”

Coldly, Faith said, “I won’t let him. The entire contents of this vial are enough to kill someone my size. I’m prepared to take my chances, Charity.” She smiled suddenly. “But I won’t fail. I won’t let Lord Hark

om be the cause of my destruction for a second time.”

She did not feel so bold by the time she was admitted to Mistress Kate’s dancing rooms later that evening. Faith had it on good authority that Lord Harkom was going to be in attendance, having spoken to the ageing courtesan earlier in the afternoon to ensure she’d be received.

Once she’d made it clear that she was not here to poach any of Mistress Kate’s long-term, favoured Cyprians, there’d been no opposition.

“Lord Harkom, is it? You’re welcome to him,” Mistress Kate had said with a curl of her lip. “I should pay you for the service you’ll be rendering me this evening if you take him off my hands.”

Her words did nothing to increase Faith’s enthusiasm in her venture, though it did firm her resolve. Lord Harkom was a man who’d traded with impunity on his lineage for far too long. The fact that Faith intended ruining his reputation in a professional rather than private capacity gave her far greater satisfaction.

Now, Faith arranged herself on a chaise longue beneath a window in one of the smaller reception rooms, with the agreement that Mistress Kate would ensure that Lord Harkom came upon her at some stage during the evening.

A chance meeting would be far more effective to her plan than otherwise.

Of course, she’d also be vulnerable to other visitors, but she’d have to navigate those complications as they arose.

The room was thick was the scent of perfume and powder, and overwarm from the fire and the many people who occupied it. Faith gazed around her and wondered at the fact that Mistress Kate’s had remained so popular for so long. It had been established by Kate in her youth, but even as she’d aged, she’d retained the loyalty of the many gentlemen she’d pleased during her career while ensuring an eager turnover of girls.

No, not eager. What girl would wish for a life so uncertain?

Nervously, Faith ran her finger around her low neckline. Lord, but it was difficult to play a role so alien to her natural inclination, but she had no choice if she were to achieve anything of value in her short, worthless life.

The room was growing even warmer as it filled with more perfumed, heated bodies. Behind her fan, Faith recognised several regulars from Madame Chambon’s. But they were men she’d only seen from afar. Other than the night she’d been photographed, she’d never been on display. And surely a grainy photograph in a newspaper, and a painting that had briefly titillated society a year ago, would not reveal her tonight.

Only Lord Harkom would recognise her sufficiently to stop.

But, of course, the effort to which she’d gone to shore up her natural assets attracted the attention of those on the prowl. And the fact that Faith was here, in this room, proclaimed her as the whore she’d sworn she’d never be.

Nor would she, though she inclined her head and answered demurely when a couple of young blades on the town lurched up to her.

“What blessed charms has Mistress Kate served up to us tonight,” declared the darker one, swaying dangerously as he looked from Faith to his friend. “Why, perhaps you’d care to dance, miss. The orchestra has just tuned up, don’t you hear?”

“I like my men to be steadier on their feet, though you are very kind, sir.” Faith simpered at him from over her fan. “And taller. Yes, I like my men to be taller. And even darker than you.”

The gentleman pushed back his shoulders. “Why, you do have a discerning eye, don’t you?” He sounded aggrieved. “Perhaps you never do get up and dance if you set your standards so high.”

Faith made a pretence of sighing deeply. “I’ve spent many an evening languishing here,” she said. “Disappointed. Waiting.” She fluttered her eyes and raised them to the ceiling and was in the process of returning her gaze to the disaffected young man before her, when she beheld the very reason she was here.

And her heart did a frantic lurch to the top of her ribcage before settling like a stone.

“For a gentleman like me,” supplied Lord Harkom, easing himself into her orbit and elbowing Faith’s original admirer and his friend out of the way. For a long moment, he stared at her; a calculating gleam in his eye.

As if he’d run her to ground.

Faith turned her head, a frisson of fear making her mouth tremble.

All to the good. Let him see her fear. It would make him believe all the more powerfully in his mastery over her. He’d think he’d caught her by surprise.

He took a step closer. “Well, well, well,” he murmured. “Miss Faith Montague. Who would have thought to find you…here.”

Faith raised one shoulder as if in defiance and part self-protectiveness. She saw his gaze brush over her bare flesh, and the desire leap and dance in his coal-black eyes.

Oh God, she did not want to do this. And yet, she had to go through with it. Had to make him believe in her fear, her reluctance. It would stoke the abusing monster within him to act.

“Lord Harkom.” Her tone sounded husky and inviting. She swallowed. “Good evening.” What else could she say?