He looked ill and haggard, his appearance not improved by the ironic curl of his lip. “Do you think that’ll please me, Faith?” He laughed. “To have you submit to me, meek as a little lamb.” This time he threw back his head and indulged in his mirth even more. “Why, what did Madame Chambon teach you? Certainly not how to tread carefully with men of my proclivities which, I daresay, is all to the good. Now, where’s your Mr Westaway. I was feeling mightily indisposed a few minutes ago and certain I’d not have the strength to crawl from my bed, but your delightful little proposition has fired me up.”

Faith darted back at his approach, but he gripped her shoulder to stop her fleeing and barked out the order, in French, to the seaman behind her, to fetch Mr Westaway.

“I’m already here,” Crispin announced, arriving behind Faith and attempting to pull her to his side.

“The little wench has offered herself to me, Westaway, so hands off, thank you.” Harkom waved a pistol in his face.

Faith died inside to see the expression on Crispin’s face, and to realise how badly she’d compromised both their safety.

“Yes, she came here, of her own volition, and offered herself to me if I’d allow you to return home safely. Isn’t that sweet? Especially considering the way you treated her all those months ago. Now” With a jerk of his wrist, Faith found herself in the circle of Harkom’s arm, before he’d pinned her by her neck, his other hand holding the revolver.

“How easy to claim self-defence for your death, Westaway,” he snarled. “But that would be letting you off too easily. No, you can come in and watch your beloved debase herself at my command. And you will die, knowing that her fate is to do the same for the pleasure of the various Far Eastern nabobs who are willing to pay a high price for an English princess with the treasured golden hair and white skin.”

Unable to move, Faith shuddered as he caressed her cheeks, sliding his hand the length of her neck to skim her décolletage.

“Stop!” Crispin lunged forward but was halted by a sharp crack as Harkom fired in the air.

“Yes, loaded, in case you thought otherwise. Now, would you kindly step inside, Miss Montague. I’ve been waiting for this a long time now.”

Faith screamed and gripped the lintel as Lord Harkom proceeded to pull her inside, slamming the door in Crispin’s face.

“You can listen to her wail and beg, Westaway!” he shouted. “Unfortunately, I can’t do what I have to do and keep my pistol trained on you.”

Raising his leg high, Crispin kicked at the door, but it held fast. He could hear Faith’s whimpers within and the sound of Harkom’s harsh laughter, before the thud of a body landing on the ground.

He tried to kick in the door, but it was solid, and locked.

“Faith! Are you all right! Harkom! For God’s sake! You don’t need to do this to have your revenge on me. You can shoot me now if it’ll please you! Let her go!”

Another muffled cry from Faith was too much. With a howl of rage, Crispin hurled himself against the door, but still it would not yield.

“You might have more luck if you had a key, Mr Westaway.”

Crispin turned at Lady Vernon’s silken tones. She looked like a crow of ill portent as she hovered at the end of the corridor, her back to the light so Crispin could see only her illuminated form. And then he heard the clink of keys, and saw she held up the keyring upon which a dozen keys dangled.

“No! Don’t, please don’t!” Faith’s cry from indoors was tortuous, but Lady Vernon seemed unaffected.

“Don’t try to take it from me or I’ll cast it overboard,” she warned as he began to stride towards her. “I’ll give it to you on one condition.” The sea was only a few feet from her. She could throw it over her shoulder with ease, and he would never have it.

“What is your condition?” There wasn’t much time, but if he could save Faith from Harkom’s final assault he’d agree to anything.

“I fear we’re being followed.” With a jerk of her thumb she indicated a schooner much closer than Crispin would have believed. There was no time to investigate further, but it seemed to be heading straight for them. “If we are apprehended, you’d better swear on your life that you’ll say Harkom took me captive, as Faith’s chaperone. Do that, and not only will you have the key, you’ll have my testimony as to what he’s been doing. Otherwise,” she shrugged, “I can’t see there will be any case for Harkom to answer. Not to mention there’s the matter with the letter from your fond, cash-strapped mother. Your real mother, that is.”

“Give me the key and you have my word.”

And then

it was in his hand, and Crispin was striding back down the corridor, inserting the rusty key, and thrusting open the doorway upon a scene of vile degradation.

Faith knew there was no point in struggling, and yet she could not do otherwise. To submit without a fight went against any grain of survival instinct she had, while the hope she could cause Harkom damage made the penalty she’d pay worth it.

“You are more a fighter than I gave you credit for, Faith. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to break you in,” he panted as he caged her body with his.

“I’ll die fighting, Lord Harkom,” she vowed, jerking her head upwards to try and bite his ear.

He slapped her then, and she yelped with the pain, her world hazing into red and black for a moment before her consciousness became refocused on what he was doing with his other hand.

She tried to wriggle free for it was now beneath her skirts, while his other was busy unbuttoning himself. She felt like a moth in the maw of a giant, deadly spider, and her efforts were futile.

Tags: Beverley Oakley Fair Cyprians of London Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net