Fair Cyprians of London Boxset

by Beverley Oakley

  Lord Maxwell blanched and held his son’s look for a long moment until Crispin broke the silence. “Or do you think it’s the learned behaviour and ability to conduct oneself appropriately in the social sphere to which one is to be elevated that defines a true lady or gentleman?”

  He smiled to see his father’s internal battle. Crispin’s own shock at the discovery of his likely parentage had been replaced by acceptance. So much had happened between learning the information, and now.

  “For if that’s the case, then Faith and I were made for each other. Don’t you see, Father. Each of us has been elevated from our humble origins. Each of us has been taught how to behave in the sphere our benefactors intended for us—as one of the top ten thousand.”

  Lord Maxwell had recovered himself. He did not even refute Crispin’s insinuations that he might believe his parentage was more humble than he’d believed. He began to pace, his hands behind his back.

  “You’ve proved yourself a finer diplomat than anyone expected.” His voice was gruff. “You need a wife who can adapt to the restrictions and the expectations…the loneliness of being in a foreign country, even. I see that. I see how loneliness for you, my boy, can be a danger.”

  “So, this is the basis on which you would sanction my marriage to Faith?” Crispin was careful to spell it out. “Because she knows how to behave, she’s decorative, she’ll keep me occupied and, in Germany, she’ll be out of the glare of inevitable interest.”

  Lord Maxwell stopped and inclined his head. “These are not inconsequential considerations.”

  “But you are not disposed towards withholding your endorsement?”

  “I am not…on condition you continue in your current position.”

  “You know of my love of painting.”

  “Of course, I do, boy, but there’s a time for everything. You need to put food on the table. So, have your wedding, leave the country and, in a year or so, if you still wish to paint, then I shall give you my support.”

  This was more than Crispin had expected. But would Faith understand just how momentous this was? He swallowed. The kernel of doubt that had been initially motivated by fear of his father’s reaction turned to doubt that Faith would consider this an acceptable compromise.

  He turned to find her gazing up at him, a faint smile about her lips, her beautiful eyes filled with understanding.

  “I think what your father proposes is very wise,” she said, putting her hand on his arm.

  “You do?”

  She nodded. “Sometimes we need to make sacrifices simply to keep a roof over our heads or to satisfy those upon whom we depend.”

  Her understood her meaning. It was the only way she’d survived.

  But there was more.

  She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “Your father has only your best interests at heart. He wants to see you succeed. No parent wants to see their children make a mistake that can destroy their lives and that can never be undone.”

  “I won’t give up…” He’d nearly said ‘my painting’ but then he’d long ago realised that his painting was not the most important thing in his life. “You, Faith. I won’t give you up.” The words sounded impassioned, even to his own ears but he didn’t care.

  Faith smiled. “Your father’s not asking you to do that and, besides, even if he did I’d ensure I was too forceful for that to happen.”

  “It would not be necessary, I assure you,” he murmured, longing to kiss her.

  “No, I think I’m confident on that score,” she replied with a soft, happy laugh. “But your father is right. You need a profession until you are established as a painter.” She paused, “And if what I’ve heard from Miss Eaves is true, her uncle is very keen to offer you all the patronage you need from that quarter.”

  Crispin looked from his father to Faith and could hardly believe his good fortune. He had the backing and the love of both. He had the loyalty of the woman he adored while a promising career as a painter beckoned.

  “I think I have everything I could wish for,” he said, feeling bemused, quite suddenly. “What about you, Faith? Is this what you want?”

  Faith gazed up at the man who promised her more than she could ever have dreamed of.

  It was almost too much to take in. Within seemingly a few heart beats she suddenly had security. She had freedom and respect.

  And she had love.

  The love of a man who had proved he had the courage of his convictions. Crispin had set out to protect her when he still believed the worst of her. But his loyalty to what they had once shared had driven him on. What else would account for his actions of the recent past?

  “You are what I want, Crispin,” she said, softly, so only he could hear. “I don’t care if you’re a diplomat or a painter, I just want us to be happy together.”

  “I think she’ll be good for you, my boy.” Lord Maxwell must have heard for he looked approvingly at both of them. “Just make sure you really are the man she thinks you are.”

  Faith recognised how his gruff words might be interpreted by a sensitive young man as doubt edged with criticism. She’d rarely encountered a kind word, herself, until she’d met Crispin.

  “Have no fear on that score, Lord Maxwell,” she said, gripping Crispin’s hand, tightly. “If you could have seen the heroic way he faced down Lord Harkom who was holding a gun, you’d be agitating that he receive a medal of valour.” But as she tipped her face to Crispin’s, her words were only for him.

  “We will be good for each other, Crispin. And I promise I shall never let you down.”

  “I know you won’t, just as I know my own mind, Faith.” His eyes glowed with feeling as he took both her hands in his, ignoring his father behind them. “I didn’t realise how much I wanted to keep painting until I met you. But with you as my wife, I know I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to do justice to your beauty and your goodness with more than just a paintbrush.”

  Still holding her hand he gave a sharp tug so that she had no choice but to stumble after him, through the open door and into the passage where he pinioned her against the wall and kissed her soundly.

  “And that’s just the beginning,” he promised, cupping her face, his expression adoring.

  Faith sank against him as she twined her arms around his neck and closed her eyes.

  “The beginning of a grand new life,” she whispered as a great weight lifted from her shoulders. The secrets and lies had been exposed and Crispin still wanted her. But the kiss had unleashed something hard to control and her body ached for him. Spirals of desire were shooting up her spine. She tightened her grip around his neck and pressed herself against him, her voice hoarse as she whispered, “If you really want to show me that your father has no hold over you, then kiss me again.” She laughed softly. “Prove that this really is a new beginning.”

  THE END

  Wedding Violet

  Chapter 1

  “Gad’s teeth, that was the best tupping I’ve ever paid for, my lovely Victoria!” Lord Belvedere regarded Violet with satisfaction as he reclined in all his youthful glory upon the pink satin counterpane of the iron four-poster.

  “It’s Violet, actually,” Violet said, pulling the bedsheets up to her chest as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

  Through the thin walls of Madame Chambon’s infamous house of assignation sounded the thumps and cries of the night’s trade. Strange that this had become normal to her now, she thought as she began to untangle her long dark hair with her fingers. Strange, too, the way she’d experienced real excitement from the moment the young nobleman had gazed into her eyes before kissing her. And then doing all those other things that constituted bedroom sport.

  “Actually, it’s the first tupping I have ever paid for—and worth every penny, my exquisite Violet.” Belvedere grinned as he met her look, then reached forward to draw her back down beside him. “Where did you learn those tricks?”

  “I could ask you the same, my Lord,” Violet replied, ge
ntly disengaging herself from his embrace so she could return to her task of ordering herself. For once, it was more than lip service. It was the best tupping of this strange, sordid year.

  It was also the first time she’d felt regret at cutting short a business encounter; something she’d have to do if she wasn’t to anger her most reliable and high-paying customer, Lord Bainbridge. He’d probably be pacing the length of the drawing room downstairs like a caged tiger by now.

  With an extremely satisfied sigh, Lord Belvedere put his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles. “And I would answer that pleasing a woman has always been a favourite pursuit of mine.” He continued to regard Violet with appreciation. “Now, surely I can persuade you to finish our delightful encounter with less unseemly haste. Let’s order a bottle of champagne and bring out the draughts board, shall we?”

  Violet flicked a quick glance at him as she leaned over to roll on one of the fine, white stockings she’d hung over the iron bed end. He really was rather a delicious specimen with his soulful caramel eyes. And that beautifully curved mouth was as accomplished at kissing as it was issuing quips that made her laugh. This last hour they’d done all that and more as they’d rolled about on the counterpane in Violet’s attic room, with its view of St Paul’s being its most redeeming feature. There weren’t many other redeeming features at Madame Chambon’s.

  Lord Belvedere looked in no hurry to leave. He stretched languidly, and Violet tried to hide her interest in assessing his unashamedly naked form. She’d never felt anything, other than revulsion, for any of the men she entertained in order to keep a roof over her head. Until now.

  “Yes, champagne and draughts is just the thing, I say!” He sat up, clicking his fingers as he joined her on the edge of the bed, their naked thighs touching before Violet pulled her chemise over her head.

  “I’m afraid no one is going to come running at your summons, my Lord.” With a dampening smile, she turned and presented him with her back, holding up the long laces of her corset in a clear implication that she needed his help. “Regrettably, our time together is at an end, and I’d appreciate it if you helped make me decent. I presume you have done this before?”

  “Naturally.” But instead of the tug of laces, she felt his arms go over her shoulders to fondle her breasts while he pulled her against him and nuzzled her ear. She could feel the swell of his erection against her behind while the whisper of his breath against her ear stirred her insides into an unexpected state of anticipation.

  The acknowledgement of this sensation of physical enjoyment was troubling.

  “Nevertheless, I have no intention of leaving before we’ve ended matters in a civilised fashion.” He kissed her shoulder and turned her to face him. “I realise there are men who consider it civilised, or within their rights, to pay an unseemly amount for sex and then leave the moment they come.” He smiled pleasantly at her as he stroked her cheek. “I, however, am a gentleman, and I like to reward good value. You, my dear Violet, have given excellent value.”

  Violet blinked, surprised at the pang of regret she felt at his impending departure until she remembered how important the no doubt hideously impatient Lord Bainbridge was to her long-term goal of escaping Madame Chambon’s house of assignation. Or bordello, nunnery, brothel, or whatever term it went by in the lexicon of the gentlemen who crossed its threshold in pursuit of London’s most sought-after companions. Ladies of the night. Lightskirts. Fair Cyprians. She’d been called many things, but she rather liked the way ‘my fair Violet’ rolled off young Lord Belvedere’s tongue. Just as she’d liked what young Lord Belvedere’s tongue had done to her in a myriad of other unexpectedly erotic ways this evening.

  “Madame Chambon will be most pleased,” Violet murmured, extricating herself from his grasp.

  “I have no interest in pleasing Madame Chambon.”

  It seemed Lord Belvedere was not going to be easily persuaded to leave. He cupped Violet’s chin, turning her head slightly so that she was forced to look at him. “If I’m cutting into the time of your next highly anticipated customer, then perhaps Madame Chambon will be pleased if I double your rate just so we can drink champagne and play draughts together for half an hour. I trust you can play draughts? It’s hardly a complicated game.”

  Violet considered him. She made no secret of it as her eyes roamed the length of him: his long, muscled thighs lightly dusted with the dark hair from which his manhood sprouted; further up, his well-delineated chest with its delicate nipples suggesting the first possibility of vulnerability. His mouth was the second. And it really was a lovely mouth, his lips soft though his jaw determined; as determined as his eyes as he stared back at her.

  He indicated the bell that sat on her side table. “Surely you need only to ring that and a servant will come running to do our bidding?”

  It was true. If Violet were creative enough, her next customer would be given the necessary excuse that would see him offered any of the other exceptional young women for whom Madame Chambon’s establishment was renowned.

  “Unless you would, in fact, prefer to be entertained by your next customer rather than drink champagne with me?” His voice was lower by several notches. Caramel and persuasive. Like his eyes.

  No, Violet had no desire to entertain Lord Bainbridge but nor did she want to anger him. Lord Bainbridge was well on the way to making her that offer of exclusivity which every girl at Madame’s craved.

  She licked her lips as she stared back at his lordship. She’d happily drink champagne with him. Heavens! She’d happily roll about on the bed with him for another session, which was unheard of.

  Violet contemplated her options. Perhaps denying Lord Bainbridge tonight might be just the ticket for hustling him along the road to setting her up in her own little ladybird’s lair so Violet could shed this hated life and plan her next elevation.

  Without a word, she picked up the little bell and sent the message for which his lordship was so eager. Champagne and a board game. What a perfectly delightful way to end an evening.

  * * *

  “Clever move, lovely Violet. You’re as inspiring on the draughts board as you are in bed.”

  Predictably, they were once again back on the coverlet, Lord Belvedere stark naked, Violet in only a peignoir, but he’d been true to his expressed desires. It seemed he really did want to end their session with some rivalry on the draughts board and some lively conversation rather than once again demonstrating his prowess as a lover.

  Violet watched his lordship toss back his champagne. His cheeks were flushed and there was an air of excitement about him, or suppressed emotion, that she’d not noticed before.

  With a gusty sigh, he set down his glass and sent Violet a long and level look as he leant back against the pillows. “Definitely a moment to celebrate. A lucky escape, if ever there was one.”

  Violet shook her head when he reached for the bottle on the bedside drawers and tried to top up her glass. “And what have you escaped, my Lord? A marauding tiger? The firing squad?” She tried to sound relaxed as she ran her forefinger over the smooth surface of the white piece she was waiting to move once it was her turn. She could see an opportunity that she suspected he’d missed.

  “Not quite, though, either way, my fate would have been equally unhappy.” Lord Belvedere leaned over, picked up his black, and neatly moved to take three of her pieces. “You thought I’d missed that, my love. But I’m not so stupid. Nor are you, for that matter.” Then, in a more robust tone, “I was to have been married tonight. Can you believe it, but three hours ago I was all dressed up and standing at the altar in my very finest.”

  “You were to have been…married?” Violet felt her first flush of panic for the evening as she tried to discern if the beautiful…naked…man before her was in earnest.

  If he was, then—what had she done?

  Sensing her discomfort, he patted her wrist. “I waited at the altar for more than an hour for the wretched female.” For the first time this
evening he looked grim. “Lord, I certainly had everyone’s sympathy by the time we all realised the game was over.”

  “I’m sorry.” Violet plucked at the silken folds of her peignoir and thought how strangely different men were from women when dealing with crises of the heart. Recalling the moment of realisation that the man she’d loved had let her down so terribly still sent ice through her veins, nearly two years later. But her first recourse had hardly been sexual diversion. A wave of self-revulsion engulfed her. Oh no, that had come much later. Though hardly at her behest.

  “Lord, you can’t imagine it! I’d arrived at the church feeling sick to my stomach with nerves but determined to do the right thing.”

  She searched for any sign of remorse on Lord Belvedere’s part for having assuaged his wounded pride in the arms of a…lightskirt—oh, how she did suffer at the term that indicated how far she’d fallen.

  But she could find none.

  He glanced at her, then looked away, stroking the glossy tops of the marble pieces as he added, reflectively, “Of course, I got what I deserved. The whole debacle was, after all, my fault.”

  “What was your fault? That she didn’t arrive?” Violet tried to imagine what scenario might have prevented an eager bride-to-be from making such an important appointment. Her self-recrimination of a moment before was replaced by a surge of anger towards the man in front of her. Somehow, she suspected, Lord Belvedere had evaded a marriage he didn’t want. Perhaps he hadn’t waited long enough. Perhaps he’d ensured his bride-to-be was detained on purpose. Oh, Violet knew of many underhand ways a man could slip and slide out of his obligations.