“Am I well?” She repeated the question Faith had asked her, closing her eyes as she leant against a Corinthian pillar in the dim passageway between the receiving room and the stairs to the upstairs bedrooms. She almost dismissed Faith’s concern with a trite or flippant response that helped keep her distance. It did not do to form confidences. No girl here was entirely trustworthy for survival often depended upon sacrificing someone else. Madame Chambon had spies everywhere, and every potential escapee or undeclared guinea resulted in serious consequences.
In the gloom, Faith’s eyes were luminous. Hope wondered suddenly how she’d come to be here. It was not something she generally asked. The answer was usually a lie anyway.
“I have been better.” She drew out the sentence as if it cost her a great deal; which it did, for her heart was so heavy she wanted to sink to the ground and put her head on the wooden floor and simply dream herself somewhere else.
“You’re not…hurt?”
Very occasionally a girl was physically abused, though not often. In this respect, at least, Madame Chambon was a good protector, though of course she was protecting her assets. An abuser might find himself suffering a range of humiliations the reason for which he’d be left in no doubt. After that, he’d be blackballed.
Hope smiled wanly and put her hand to her heart and the other girl nodded, her expression one of surprising empathy.
“I hoped one’s heart might have hardened so this didn’t happen,” she admitted in little more than a whisper. She couldn’t risk being overheard.
Faith ran her hands the length of her long-line princess dress. She looked very beautiful, her pale skin a striking contrast with her thick golden hair that was arranged in a complicated series of braids coiled around her head. “You’ve been here a little more than a year?”
“Longer.”
“You count the days?”
“I do.” Hope made an effort to breathe properly as she drew herself up. “No point in dwelling on what can’t be changed though. If we can’t choose our destiny, we must make the best of it.”
“But is this the best?” Faith clasped her hands in front of her. “Surely…?”
“No fallen woman is ever granted a second chance.” Hope spoke the truth harshly. “I’d take a job as a servant if I could get a character, but my past will always catch up with me, and I wouldn’t know the first thing about blacking a grate. I’d be found out because word travels.” She never poured out what was in her heart, but something in Faith’s sympathetic look of enquiry invited confidences. Now that she’d started, she seemed unable to stop. Bitterly, she went on, “No, there’s nowhere to go and nothing I can do. My name will always be as black as my heart supposedly is. But I had hoped today to be granted a little dignity.”
“Dignity?”
Hope laughed harshly. “Dignity in not being forced to thieve, if only to protect someone I love dearly. There! I’ve just confessed to being a thief. Do you think regret ameliorates the crime? It never did in any court so I don’t expect lenient treatment. Oh God!” She clutched her side and closed her eyes as she sagged against the pillar. Speaking the words made it worse, not better.
“Oh, Hope, you are not in love?” Faith said it as if it were the most dire of circumstances, which of course it was. “You’ve not done this because someone you love asked you to?”
“I don’t love this man!” Hope spoke scornfully. “He’s made me do something against my will in order to protect someone close to me. A family member but…” She thought about it truthfully and then admitted as if only acknowledging it for the first time, “Yes, I am in love with the man I visited this afternoon, and he’s the one I was forced to steal from. If he doesn’t already know, he soon will, and then he’ll feel none of the love he professed for me today.” She stopped suddenly and gave a wan smile. “Too much information, Faith. You should not have asked.”
The other girl gripped Hope’s hand in a quick squeeze and said in a rush, “You don’t know how much it means to me that you make a confidante of me. I have no friends. No one here I trust. I trust you, though. You do not speak behind one’s back; you keep to yourself. I know you didn’t choose to be here. I won’t ask why you are. But you’re the only one who’s been kind to me. Even just a little. If I can ever do anything to help you, I would.”
She said it with such fervour Hope was touched.
But what help could Faith offer her? Hope was doomed. She forced herself to open her eyes if only to offer the other girl a little of what she clearly craved: understanding, if not gratitude.
“You are kind,” she said, her heart so heavy it physically weighed her down. “But now I must rest. And for once…I think I might take something. Madame wanted me to engage with the gentlemen in the drawing room before Lord Westfall visits, but I really think I cannot.”
“It must be hard to see…a gentleman when you’ve just come from the man you love.” Faith spoke urgently, following Hope a little way along the passage. “Please, Hope…”
Hope turned, staying her words with a gentle finger upon her lips. “Ah, Faith, I hope you get out of this line of work before it’s too late.”
She didn’t want to hear any more. Shaking her head to deter the girl from continuing after her, Hope picked up her skirts and made for the sanctuary of her room.
Lord Westfall would visit her in two hours after he’d been to his club and before he hit the gaming tables. She suspected it was likely he would make her some kind of offer. If she’d not seen Felix again, she’d have accepted. One man was better than many, and it would give her a measure of security she’d never enjoyed.
But Felix was imprinted on her mind, just as the essence of him permeated her body. Even though she knew he’d not repeat the offer he’d made when under the influence of love and lust and fired up by their lovemaking, Hope didn’t think she had the heart to even contemplate accepting a similar offer from another man.
When she reached her room she sank onto the bed and put her head in her hands. Felix had been animated when he’d last gazed at her. What did he think of her now? If he’d not yet discovered evidence of her betrayal, it wouldn’t be long before Wilfred made sure he was under no illusions as to the truth of Hope’s blackened soul.
With a whimper, she curled herself into a ball and huddled on the bed, though it was difficult to breathe due to the restraints of her clothing.
Again, her mind drifted back to the day of the Hunt. She remembered the freedom she’d enjoyed when she’d donned her riding habit and joined the other riders. Secretly. Oh, but her mother had been furious, though her father had applauded her when he’d heard of it. What an ally he’d been, she thought with a pang. The only positive side to the fact he was no longer alive was that there’d be no risk of him learning of her sinful life.
Outside, the bell tolled midnight.
In another hour, Lord Westfall would arrive. Perhaps she could sleep a little. She was bone-weary. She sat up and consulted her appearance in the mirror. Madame Chambon would have noted with disapproval her failure to present herself earlier for general conversation with the gentlemen who crossed their threshold. However, if Hope’s presence had been essential she’d have received a summons, but Madame Chambon knew Hope had entertained a gentleman in the afternoon and would again just after midnight. A girl needed her rest, and Hope would not be disturbed while she prepared herself for Lord Westfall. Vivacity and a sharp mind were requirements of the job.
Sitting in front of the mirror, she tidied her hair, the ringlets not quite as perfectly formed on account of her afternoon exploits. Her body sang at the memory.
But she’d be lanced by Felix’s scorn next time she saw him.
She began to remove the pins that secured her elaborate confection of ringlets until her hair hung loose past her waist. Dear Lord, she needed to breathe, too. She undid the fastenings of her cuirass and skirt then unlaced her corset.
She’d only just slipped on a silk dressing gown when there
came a sharp rapping at the door and a muffled voice amid feminine protests was heard just outside.
Hope turned the doorknob, and to her amazement, Felix burst in. His eyes were bright with a fervour very different from their mutually satisfying lovemaking of a few hours earlier.
“It’s all right, Faith,” Hope said over his shoulder, as calmly as she could. “I will see him. He’s the gentleman I spoke of. In the meantime, please don’t let anyone come in.” When Faith had disappeared, closing the door, Hope retreated into the centre of the room, meeting his passion with cool dignity. “So, what can I do for you, Mr Durham?”
Broad shoulders and injured masculinity seemed to dominate the room. While he glared at her, Hope shored up her defences. She was in vulnerable territory here. Charlotte was to be married in less than three days, and Hope dared not test Wilfred’s threats. So, she raised a faintly supercilious eyebrow and put her hands on her hips, wishing with all her heart she could wipe the glower from his face with the words he wanted to hear.
He did not advance. He did not cast his gaze over her modest room or the bed, merely glared at her from the doorway. “I cannot conceive of your motives in doing what you did this afternoon, Miss Merriweather, so I decided I had to hear what you thought you were about from your own lips.” He was breathing heavily; his hands fisted at his sides.
“What exactly are you referring to?” She made sure there was no chink in her tone that would give him reason to suspect she was playing games. No, she was Hope Merriweather, hard-hearted prostitute, and he was nothing but her last assignation.
“Making me fall in love with you all over again. Stealing from me.” His nostrils flared. “Mocking my manhood.”
“I am guilty of just one of those things you listed.”
He shook his head and lowered his voice as he advanced a step. “Hope?” His voice cracked just a little and she turned her head away. She couldn’t go through with this if he persisted in this manner. But…she had no choice.
“I thought you cared for me.” He looked truly as if his heart were about to break. “No, I shan’t hurt you. I’d never do that. But you stole from me to give to Wilfred Hunt. What is he to you?” He cleared his throat and gathered his defences, it seemed. “That is the question I am here to ask.”
“What is Wilfred Hunt to me?” Hope repeated the question musingly as she traced a pink goose-down-filled swirl upon her eiderdown with her forefinger. Oh, he was so many things. Seducer. Or was that putting too fine a point on it. Rapist? Yes, but men in his position didn’t go to court for doing what he’d done to women like her. With her father dead, Wilfred—rapist, seducer—had become, ironically, her protector. And now he was protector of her sister’s happiness. Or rather, he’d forced that role upon an unwilling Hope.
And by God, it was unwillingly that she said, “He is the man to whom I offered my allegiance. Long before you reentered my life, Felix. I did what he asked in this instance because of what I owe him, and therefore, I did it simply because he asked it of me.”
His expression was steely. She wondered if he’d taken opium though she thought not.
“I’ve come from the gaming tables. I was at my club before then, and I’ve had some to drink, but by God, this comes straight from the heart.” Taking two steps towards her, he seized her waist and drew her against him, pushing his face close so that she could feel his breath on her lips. His closeness made her feel faint with longing, but his anger would always now be between them.
Because of what she had done.
Because of what he believed was her duplicity, a falsehood she must perpetuate if she were to live with herself. For her sister’s sake. Hope had lost all hope that something good might come out of the life to which she’d been reduced, but Charlotte balanced on the cusp of a future that was bright and full of…hope.
For a split second, she wondered if he’d strike her, out of character though that would have been. She’d have expected it from Wilfred.
Instead, Felix put his hands on her cheeks and, suddenly and with no warning, his lips to hers.
The sensation sucked all resistance from her. She felt her nipples puckering and that strange, desperate need in the pit of her stomach that made her cleave to him.
There was no resistance between their embrace before the fire and his lifting her onto the bed. No dialogue, no protests, nor words of love even. Their actions came from base desire, on her part as much as his, despite his anger, despite her grief over what might have been and what was forever destroyed by Wilfred.
For Felix now was taking his pound of flesh. He felt betrayed and now he was making her atone. She should have felt diminished, resisted.
But she wanted what he did as much as he did.
She rolled on top of him, her mouth fused to his as she worked the buttons of his trousers while her silk dressing gown fell away, exposing her breasts.
Heat speared her as he latched onto her right nipple, suckling, as she shimmied his breeches down past his knees until he was almost as naked as she was.
Just as she wanted him.
She had the power. On top, caging his body with hers as he laved at her breasts with his tongue, she wriggled into position, grasping, pumping his member while their breaths intertwined, mingling with increasing excitement.
Their bodies were attuned, their desires on par.
But their minds were so very much at odds.
He thrust into her when she was more than ready, her womb quivering with need, her entrance slick with want. And when he climaxed, she came too; her cries and gasps triggered by the sensation of being wanted by the only man for whom she’d felt desire, even if his lovemaking was driven by something so far from what she’d have wished.
“And this is what you enjoy with Wilfred Hunt?” he demanded, rolling onto his side when his panting had subsided sufficiently to speak, and his anger was finely tuned enough to turn its blaze upon her.
Enjoyed? That’s hardly how she would have put it, but she had to maintain sufficient barrier between them until Felix had asked Annabelle for her hand in marriage. Every word she said now, every action, risked her sister’s future happiness, but if somehow she could successfully navigate a tenuous path towards a future rapprochement between her and Felix, she would try.
“I am not in the habit of comparing lovers,” she said, sitting up and encircling her knees with her arms as she tilted her head to look at him. Hurt and anger blazed from his entire body, so she turned away. It would take so little to sink into his embrace and cling. He mustn’t know how much she wished only for him.
He put his hands behind his head as he contemplated the ceiling, the covers twisted about his shapely flanks. “You are the only woman I ever wanted.” He spoke softly, his voice heavy with hurt and recrimination. “That night, at the Hunt Ball, I realised my obsession with you was not going away.”
“Obsession?” He’d not used the word before though it was what he’d insinuated, and it’s what she’d felt for her own part. A deep, abiding obsession that simply grew more acute with every encounter.
“Whenever I came down from school, then later, university, I always hoped I might see you. It’s the only reason I attended church so meekly and obediently in accordance with my mother’s wish every Sunday. And you smiled at me, Hope.” He cleared his voice. “You gave me hope that you returned my feelings for you. The look on your face when you gazed up at me from the ground where you’d fallen from your horse. Do you remember?”
She smiled. The memory of every second of that day had sustained her through many a terrible ordeal—the handsome viscount’s son, galloping after her, separating from the rest of the party, their shared laughter as they dared each other to more dangerous jumps over fallen tree trunks and hedges, until Hope’s mount had balked at a jump, and she’d flown through the air and landed on her back on a soft, grassy knoll.
The horror and concern upon his face as he loomed above her, the distance between their mouths lessening unti
l it was inevitable they’d kiss. And the rude interruption of Annabelle’s cries.
Annabelle had galloped over, enquiring with false solicitude if Hope was uninjured but her interest—no, longing—for Felix was unmistakable while her suspicions had clearly been aroused.
Not that there’d been anything to be suspicious about until that moment. And even that had not, in fact, amounted to anything.
“It’s true; I wanted you, but I also knew there could be nothing between us,” Hope said slowly. “It had long been assumed that you and Annabelle would make a match, so I was not about to go breaking my heart.” She swallowed, painfully, but said brightly, “And now you and Annabelle will make the match that will please your mamas. I am quite clearly ruined for you, but I was always warned by my mother to be careful around you for she feared I might be preyed upon for something other than marriage. It’s the danger facing every penniless young woman with any claim to beauty.”
“And you assumed I’d behave like any young man trading on his privilege to get what he wanted, even dishonourably.” He didn’t look at her as he rose from the bed and began to dress. His tone now matched hers: cool and detached. “You never took the trouble to know me, Hope, but if that’s how you believe my character was formed, I suppose it would only ever have been about the sex. You enjoy that part, at least, it seems. Nothing more.” He spoke through his teeth as he shrugged on his jacket, then did up his collar before reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a roll of banknotes. “How much do you charge for fifteen minutes of sex? I’m not in the habit of these kinds of transactions. One hundred?”
“That’s more than generous.”
“I’ll make it two. It will probably be the last time.”
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