Keeping Faith (Fair Cyprians of London 3)

But it clearly was what Lord Harkom had alluded to when he’d told Charity he had correspondence that would damn Mr Westaway in the eyes of the public.

She was just tucking the envelope into her corset and about to close the lid of the chest and rise, when the last three letters of a very familiar name caught her eye.

“Christ, but my head hurts!”

Faith jerked her head up, snatching blindly at the letters and stuffing three, indiscriminately, down the front of her bodice before pushing the chest back into its hiding place and snatching the lamp as she rose to her feet.

“Faith, is that you? What are you doing?”

Faith waved the lamp. “Oh, Lord Harkom! I was so worried and about to fetch help. I…I thought perhaps you might have had a seizure.”

When she saw the top of a letter poking out from her corset, she put her hand down her front to push it out of sight and gave her décolletage a little tug, as if righting her clothes.

She leaned over him and put her hand to his cheek. “Goodness, but you are dangerously hot to the touch. You need some water. Instantly!”

Before he could grip her dress with his grasping hand, Faith nimbly eluded him and glided to the door. “I’ll be back with a servant and something to drink as soon as I can!” she lied.

When she’d finally escaped into the corridor, she picked up her skirts and ran for her life.

Chapter 27

“Lord Harkom, my apologies for intruding at this late hour!” Breathing heavily after his sprint from Soho to the more salubrious environs of Mayfair, Crispin stood in the doorway of his lordship’s bedchamber and eyed the clearly dissipated lord, who was lying in a very abandoned position, with dispassion.

The two empty champagne glasses did not augur well. Not with the dishevelled state the other man was in, his evening clothes rumpled, though fortunately, the counterpane didn’t look too disturbed.

Still, the chaise longue was a comfortable affair, and it was clear Harkom had been entertaining female guests. Crispin could tell by the lingering fragrance of peonies. Faith liked the scent of peonies, though he didn’t care to think too much along those lines.

Had she really come here? Had she ventured into the lion’s den in order to safeguard Crispin’s reputation? How would he know if these were just more lies? Charity seemed sincere enough, but, like Faith, she’d been trained to act a part.

Harkom blinked and rose, stiffly, from the chaise, running his hands through his rumpled hair and gazing blearily about him before focusing on Crispin.

“Gad, but that was some sport, and I don’t wonder you’ve elbowed your way in looking for your piece of the girl. I knew you’d come sniffing her out, but she’s gone now.” Harkom laughed and lurched to the cabinet where he kept his brandy.

Crispin eyed him beadily. He seemed addleheaded yet not drunk. Surely, he should have been more aggressive and demanding as to how and why Crispin had found his way to his room. A servant certainly wouldn’t have led him there.

Indeed, Crispin had been very creative in gaining admittance to Lord Harkom’s townhouse with none of the servants the wiser.

With an unsteady hand, Lord Harkom poured them both a measure and handed one to Crispin, who put it down on the nearest surface. He was not about to drink companionably with the possible violator of the woman he loved.

“What did you do to her? She didn’t come here willingly.” The anger started in his spine and was like a slow burn to his brain. He didn’t know if he’d have the self-control to behave as he ought, for physical violence would get him nowhere. Finding Faith to ensure she was safe was his primary concern.

Harkom blinked, with difficulty it seemed, as he turned back to Crispin. “Oh yes, she hooked her little hand into the crook of my arm and all but begged me to look after her. I found her at Mistress Kate’s.” He smiled, nastily. “Terribly sad. Her previous protector had died, and she had no other offers of a roof over her head. Of course, it was music to my senses. It’s rather well known in some circles that she’s become my little obsession.”

“But she’s not here now.” Crispin tried to hide his nervous distraction as Lord Harkom leaned against the sideboard. The man was holding his hand to the side of his head and swaying.

He seemed to be having trouble concentrating on the matter at hand. “No, I can’t imagine what I was thinking, letting her go like that. Still, she’ll come back. And if she doesn’t soon enough, I know how to make her.”

“I’ll get to her first.” Crispin’s voice was a dangerous growl.

Harkom blinked. For a moment he looked surpri

sed, then his face took on its habitual sneer. “Oh, the fact you had her first was a great pity to me, but I intend to keep her. With your name about to be so sullied, you’ll wonder how you never knew before now that you had no friends.”

Crispin bit into his bottom lip. “I have done nothing of which I am ashamed.”

Lord Harkom chuckled and began to count on his fingers. “No past dalliances with married women; no secret babies foisted on well-bred young ladies.” His voice was becoming increasingly slurred, and he seemed to have difficulty standing straight. “It’s true enough, what you say. Sadly, you had no say in this little matter, though if you ask your father if your mother was an innkeeper’s daughter, you might be a little disappointed by his lack of conviction when he tries to deny it.”

Crispin blinked stupidly at the other man. “What are you saying?”