Keeping Faith (Fair Cyprians of London 3)

“I don’t promise I’ll stay, Lord Harkom,” she warned him as he led her through his sumptuously decorated townhouse. “You shall have to work hard to persuade me that there is any advantage in furthering our…acquaintance. If you do anything against my will, you will regret it; I promise you.”

“Oh, I do love being threatened by a beautiful woman.”

His chuckle chilled her to the bone. Faith sent him an arch look. “Don’t think you can treat me as you treated me before when I was naïve and vulnerable.”

She dismissed his inevitable scepticism at her words with another warning. “I’m neither of those things though, of course, I won’t pretend I’m not looking for a protector. I doubt it will be you for more than this one night, but given time I shall find someone to my liking. Someone worthy of me, and someone who will punish you if you dare do wrong by me this evening. Do you understand?”

Still chuckling as he nodded, he escorted her through the door, closing it behind them, catching Faith off balance as he pushed her against the wall, pinioning her like a butterfly as he covered her mouth with his.

Faith brought her knee up with enough pressure to break the contact without hurting him excessively, saying brightly, “Too soon, my lord. What did I tell you? A little wooing to break me in is required, I thought I’d made that clear. Perhaps some champagne? My head is starting to clear and, increasingly, I think that coming here was a very bad idea.”

To her relief, amusement replaced the scowl that she’d feared was the precursor to greater menace.

He swept her an elaborate bow. “Of course, my dear, let’s bring out the champagne before we get down to business, if that’s what you want.” He gripped her forearm and led her along the passage towards the dining room where he pulled out a chair for her, before ringing the bell for champagne.

Faith took the bottle as he was about to open it, her mind reeling with the risk of doing what she was about to suggest, rather than staying safely here.

She sent him an arch look and, as he sank into the chair beside her, tickled his cheek with the feather in her headdress. “We don’t have to drink it here, my lord. I only wanted to make clear that I don’t expect to be hustled into any congress without the necessary preliminaries.” Rising, she pointed to the glasses before them. “Why don’t you take those, and I’ll take this, and we can remove ourselves from the proximity of the servants. We can partake of a glass while you compare me to the stars and the moon and the sun, and if your words are pretty enough, and I’ve consumed enough to make me insensible to what a bad idea I know in my heart of hearts this really is, then we can proceed from there. How does that please my lord?” She looked playfully at him, astonished to see the transformation. Charity was right. He truly did like being ordered about by a woman.

But, of course, he’d got ahead of himself, and Faith could only hope she was able to reel him in, for once in his bedchamber, he marched her to the bed and tossed her down upon the counterpane, looming over her to kiss her throat and the swell of her breasts. Faith wriggled out from beneath him and stood with her hands on her hips.

“Really, my lord; it’s all or nothing with you, isn’t it?” She moved unhurriedly towards the small sofa in the centre of the room where she settled herself, tucking her feet beneath her and waving the uncorked bottle towards him.

“Now you can do the honours. I need a drink, Lord Harkom. Probably two if I’m going to enjoy what you have in store for me.”

“But not so much that you’ll be in danger of not remembering such delights, my precious,” he murmured.

Faith hiccupped as she took it, tossing back a long draft as he was in the process of sitting down.

“There’s no danger of that, Lord Harkom, though I will need you to top me up.” She waved her half-empty glass in the air while indicating the champagne bottle on the sideboard adding with a suggestive look, “I’m referring to my drink, as I’m sure you understand.”

He hesitated then visibly relaxed. Perhaps he liked what her double entendre suggested—that she was growing drunk and malleable, and he’d soon have her where he wanted her.

“Well, well, you are in a delightfully pleasing mood tonight and very different from the last time we met, Faith,” he remarked, his back turned to her for the few seconds she needed.

The less than two seconds it took for her to uncap the tiny vial around her neck and tip the contents into her glass.

“Having London’s most beautiful woman in my bed was beyond my expectations when I set out this evening.” He brought them both a glass of fizzing liquid before settling close beside her on the sofa, placing his free hand on her thigh.

She’d ignore it for now. The hand of a man on her person. A man she despised. It was intended as foreplay, but as God was her witness, Faith would do whatever was in her power to avert what Lord Harkom had in mind.

She studied him over the rim of her glass. Did he suspect anything? Or did he imagine that her desire for material goods could overcome the deep loathing that he’d whipped up in her when he’d manhandled her so roughly a year before?

It was a shock to realise that his experience must have seen the return of women whom he’d abused so that Faith’s behaviour tonight was not aberrant.

And yet, to her it was so very aberrant.

But then, wasn’t she the consummate actress?

For a year, she’d played her role as demure governess so well she’d never been suspected for the fraud she was. For the woman of notoriety she was. For three years prior to that she’d been trained in the arts of seduction. She knew how to whip up a man’s desire, how to spur him on when he might have second thoughts, how to pleasure him in bed. In an academic sense, only, of course.

And how to take control if a situation suggested danger. This was where her energies were being channelled now, for she had no intention of doing any of the former.

She’d rather die than have to practise those bedroom skills she’d silently sworn would be reserved for the man she loved.

Crispin.

But did she love him enough, after all this time, that he deserved the ultimate sacrifice?