Fair Cyprians of London Boxset: Books 1-5: Five passionate Victorian Romances

by Beverley Oakley

  The sun coming in through the window behind him highlighted his slender but athletic physique but it wasn’t before she was in his arms that she could see how his eyes glowed with raw desire.

  “My love, you’ve no idea how impatiently I’ve waited for this moment.” He held her close, his breath hot against her ear as he murmured, “I painted you as you lay in the bath, with the sun burnishing your hair like a halo, dreaming of a time when I could see you just like that with no one but the two of us.”

  “And that moment has come.” She twined her arms behind his neck and nuzzled him, breathing in the scent of him with rapture before he scooped her up and lay her on the bed. He joined her, holding her against his side while he kissed her eyes, her nose, her mouth, pausing to whisper, “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  She didn’t, and her breath hitched, every sense suspended as she waited tensely. What would he say? He couldn’t live without her and would she be his mistress? Or that she was the most intoxicating woman he knew, but this must be a secret between them? He loved her, but his father would never allow their union?

  Silence stretched between them as a myriad of possibilities jostled for primacy. Faith couldn’t be disappointed by what she knew was coming. She simply had to work with what she was offered.

  “I want to marry you. I will marry you.” He was above her now, his chest bare, his eyes boring into her with a fervour she could not believe was feigned.

  Shocked, she couldn’t answer but he went on, “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t feel the same way about me. You’re not one to give away your affections lightly, Faith. I’ve observed every nuance of you…the way your skin flushes when you’re happy to see me, or irritated by your chaperone, or pleased with the way you see the painting taking shape. You’re the perfect muse, but that’s only part of why I need you.” He was speaking faster now, the words tumbling out as if he had to persuade her to reciprocate his feelings. “Yes, I need you, Faith, because I think you are my perfect foil. My helpmate. We would be good together. A union in perfect symmetry. I am better with you by my side. Less selfish, more careful. I need to be careful with a painstaking eye to detail to be good at my job.”

  “Painting?”

  “When I am a diplomat.”

  “But how can I be a diplomat’s wife?” For the first time, she felt truly panicked. The thrill at hearing him put into words the depth of his feelings for her had given way to the practicalities. Little matter that she’d come to the country for the single purpose of receiving just such a declaration only to throw it back in his face, claim her reward from Mrs Gedge, and thus be free.

  She would no more be free than a slave from Africa if she were forced to give up his love.

  “I love you, Faith. My commitment is not in doubt.” He stroked her cheek and gently kissed her mouth, his words more important than his desire, which was apparent as his body pressed against hers. “Is yours?”

  She shook her head, and in a fresh burst of ardour pulled him down, her hands sliding to his trousers, indicating her impatience that he divest himself of all impediments to furthering the intimacy between them.

  “I love you.”

  “Say my name.”

  “I love you, Crispin.” The words came out on a sigh of happiness, made wonderful and magical…and pure...by the fact they were spoken in truth. And she was pure, wasn’t she? Pure in the Biblical sense. She’d not lain with another; she’d given her virginity to this man, and she had every right to claim his love and whatever else he offered.

  That she was a creature bred for revenge need not enter into it. Faith had lived by her wits, and the prize was freedom. Never had she doubted she’d get what she wanted for she was cleverer than Mrs Gedge, cleverer than Madame Chambon, and cleverer than Lady Vernon. If Mr Westaway…Crispin…wanted to marry her, she could make a plan that would enable it to happen.

  “You are not the shy creature I thought you at first,” he whispered, rising above her to unfasten the front of her dress and sliding his hands inside. “But you’re a great deal more buttoned up than you were yesterday,” he added, referring to the fact she wore a corset and underclothing beneath her ensemble.

  “You’ll have to make me less buttoned up,” she giggled, rolling onto her side so he could slide off her skirt, then onto her back so he could unlace her corset, and finally, giving him unfettered access to her combinations. “If romance can survive all that, I am completely yours.”

  “My darling, I relish the challenge.” He kissed her on the nose. “And your humour. Lady Vernon doesn’t know the half of you, does she?”

  “Lady Vernon thinks she does.” Naked at last, Faith revelled in the way his eyes feasted on her breasts. She breathed deeply, causing them to rise and laughing when the invitation was so implicit, he lowered his head to take one nipple in his mouth.

  “Too divine,” she whispered as sensation snaked through her limbs and coalesced at the juncture of her legs. The weight of him on top of her was unbearably wonderful, and she felt all powerful at the feel of his erection pressing against her. She’d seen naked men aroused before and been disgusted. But Crispin was too beautiful for words. Tender and kindhearted, masculine but conscious of her needs, she was not going to let him go.

  To be joined with him again was to reinforce their bond. Unbreakable. That’s what it would be. Faith had never loved before this. It’s how she knew what it was. She’d observed him with the same intensity he’d observed her. She knew his moods, understood what drove him, sympathised with the obstacles placed in his path.

  Well, there would be obstacles they both must face, but face them they must. If this truly were love, as each believed, then they would overcome.

  Arching her back, she guided his hand to her mound, as if by accident, gasping at the pressure so that he blinked in surprise for just a second before he did exactly as she’d hoped he would.

  Dear lord, but he was good. Her legs went slack and she was aching for him before at last he was inside her. With a gentle sigh, she grasped his buttocks and moved with him in glorious harmony.

  Until both could take it no more and came together in a shuddering climax.

  “We shall marry as soon as possible.” His voice was urgent as he held her close, both still breathless from their love-making. “I can’t bear the thought of being parted from you a moment longer than necessary.”

  “Your father will object. We need to be careful.” Except that it was Faith who needed to be careful. Mr Westaway’s father was less of a danger than Mrs Gedge.

  Crispin seemed reluctant to accept this, and Faith was relieved when he finally agreed not to make any immediate announcement.

  She’d been about to slip to the floor and start dressing but she needed to secure his promise and a promise was more easily extracted with skin to skin contact.

  Madame had taught her that.

  “Promise me you won’t say anything until I say tell you it’s all right to do so, Crispin? Please?” Playing for time was of the essence. She needed a few days in which to plan, to set in motion a means by which Faith could extricate herself from the tentacles with which Mrs Gedge intended to bind her.

  She did not feel she was abusing Crispin’s faith in her. If he loved her and could be confident the girl he wanted to make his wife was a virgin when he first made love to her, and if he still wanted to marry her, knowing she was penniless, and despite his father’s anticipated opposition, what did the rest matter?

  She put her finger to his lips as she rolled on top of him, then stroked his face. “Let this be our secret, Crispin, until the painting is finished.” She kissed his chest. “Don’t signal to Lady Vernon your feelings just yet. Can you do that?” Playfully, she added, “Though if you want to write me love letters to make up for what you don’t say to me in person, that would be very acceptable.”

  “My most beloved Faith,

  You are the moon, the sun, and the stars. When I conjure up your image, it’s i
mbued with a magical glow for you have lit up my life. In just a few days, I know that everything worth having is invested in you. I do not write these words lightly. I have lived, and I have loved, but I’ve never known what love was until I met you.”

  With hope and faith that you return the love I feel for you, and excitement for our future as husband and wife, I’ll end with a reminder that surely must not be necessary—only two more hours until we can meet again…no one but the two of us.”

  Faith kissed the envelope and leaned back on her window seat, gazing at the sky and the distant green verdant hills, bathed in evening light as if they were imbued with everything Crispin, she believed, seemed to feel right now—hope and…faith.

  Yes, he had faith in her and in a shared future. And Faith had every expectation that her own cleverness would trump anything Mrs Gedge or Lady Vernon might conjure up to shackle her.

  Life had never been so thrilling.

  She closed her eyes and hugged the envelope to her chest. Crispin had written words that had found their way right to her heart. He loved her with the intensity she loved him. He’d put into words the very feelings she felt when she imagined him here with her and their life together.

  She’d have to make a copy of his words to keep. The letter itself would be her ticket to freedom in the eyes of Mrs Gedge. This would be proof Mr Westaway had lost his heart to her, and all Faith had to do in return was pretend to break his heart. Having spent the last three years of her life living a lie, it would be easy to execute this final, simple task.

  Yes, Faith was clever at the best of times. But when her heart was engaged, there was nothing she couldn’t do.

  Lord Delmore clearly could not keep away and had been reluctant to discharge the previous day’s business which had him visiting his solicitor rather than seated at Crispin’s right elbow and watching proceedings.

  A lot could happen in twenty-four hours, revealed his lordship a touch wistfully to Crispin, elaborating later that evening after Miss Montague had gone to her room to change into dry clothes.

  “There’s no point in my making a visit to the capital before the end of the season.”

  The two men sat in front of the fire with replenished brandy glasses as they waited for the return of the ladies and the edge in his friend’s tone had Crispin pricking up his ears although he suspected what Lord Delmore was about to say.

  “It’s quite clear you’re as smitten with the young lady as she is with you.” Lord Delmore paused and looked long and hard into the fireplace, while Crispin waited for what would come next as clearly his lordship was pondering something deep and hard. Finally, he looked Crispin in the eye. “Your father won’t like it.”

  Crispin wasn’t sure how to take this. His friendship with Lord Delmore was not deep though it had grown over the years. The older man clearly lacked society since the loss of his wife after their two sons had gone to the colonies. Was Crispin being spoken to like an errant schoolboy for losing his heart unwisely?

  Carefully he said, “I am twenty-six years old—”

  “Oh, you have a wise head on young shoulders and I’m not about to persuade you out of your infatuation or your one true love. Just be sure you know what sacrifices you will have to make before you act too rashly.”

  Crispin was well aware of the obstacles ahead. His father would be intractable. In fact, he could possibly prove insurmountable, which was why Crispin had been toying with other measures to spirit Faith away—elopement being one.

  “Lord Delmore, I am not a greenhorn, and I have known Miss Montague for some time now.” He hoped he did not sound too defensive.

  “Three weeks, I believe. I hope Miss Montague knows what she’s taking on. It won’t be easy for her, married to a man whose father exercises such fierce opposition as yours undoubtedly will.”

  Crispin felt the weight on his shoulders. If he’d had brothers, the burden of marrying well would have been shared. But Crispin was required to be everything to Lord Maxwell, and to fulfil his father’s expectations both in the diplomatic arena as well as the marital.

  “Initially, Miss Montague and I were very aware that a union between us would not be sanctioned by my father. We spoke about it openly at…the beginning.” He hesitated over this. The beginning was only a few days ago, and yet a meteoric shift had occurred within him. And her? She seemed prosaic about a match between them. She was husband hunting; she’d made no secret of that. But her feelings had undergone the same metamorphosis his had done. They must have, otherwise she’d not have given herself to him with the intensity she had. No well-brought-up young lady would take such risks unless her hearts was inflamed. For her, this truly had to be love. Passion. Crispin was an artist. He knew what fire in the veins made one do.

  “I cannot allow my father’s disappointment to stand in the way of my future.”

  “Happiness?” Lord Delmore asked at his hesitation, and Crispin said quickly, “My happiness is not the only factor here. I believe that I will make the kind of impression on the world and progress as my father desires far more effectively if I have by my side the woman I believe will complement me and make me proud.”

  For a long time, Lord Delmore considered him. Then he sighed and returned his gaze to the fire. “How can I offer an opinion when I’ve never known what you describe?” His shoulders were slumped, and the sounds of crackling wood and the ticking clock were very loud. “My marriage was one of convenience. It brought me two fine, prosperous sons and a beautiful daughter, and I had every reason to admire my wife. I know nothing of the fires of which you speak.” He touched his heart briefly. “Though having observed Miss Montague these past few days I can understand a little of what you mean. But you must do what you will, my boy, and accept the consequences.”

  “Do I have your support?”

  Lord Delmore raised his eyebrows. “Of course! She is a fine young lady and you a fine young man. You are clearly an excellent pairing. Whatever support is required of me, I will offer it.”

  Crispin was relieved despite the faint acid in his lordship’s tone. So, he truly had believed in a future with Miss Montague, for himself. Well, didn’t that, in its own way, support the match? “Thank you, Lord Delmore. I’m much obliged. One request.” Crispin smiled. “Please don’t make this public before I do. Miss Montague is as aware as I am of the likely opposition. I will need to choose my moment carefully.”

  “Perhaps when you carry off the art prize of the decade. When the public sees for themselves the qualities, not least beauty, of your muse, it will be entirely understandable why you’ve let your impulses get the better of you.”

  “That is how it will be regarded? When the public cannot base their judgement on her fine intellect? Indeed, that is what swayed me. Her beauty attracted me, but her beauty alone was not, to my mind, sufficient for me to gainsay my father. I believe Miss Montague has a mind that will be an asset to both of us.”

  “I hope your father will be so forward thinking.” Grudgingly, Lord Delmore added, “Though truth be told, it was the same with me. She does have a remarkable mind and a sharp wit. An intoxicating combination.” He raised his glass. “I hear the ladies returning now. Good luck, old fellow. May you navigate the potential pitfalls ahead with the greatest of ease. She will win your father over; I have no doubt. And that’s all you need to see this thing through as you would like.”

  Chapter 19

  Only a day left before they were to return to London. For nearly one whole blissful week Faith and Crispin had spent almost all day together and, latterly, much of the night.

  Her beloved worked at a feverish pace in front of his easel, sending her loving looks when he thought no one else was looking, and passing her notes and love gifts at every other opportunity. Faith had no shortage of tokens in both kind and in writing to attest to the intensity of Mr Westaway’s love. It thrilled her, and it filled her with a deep and satisfied sense of completeness. No one had loved her before. Not her mother or her father or a
ny of the gentlemen she had ever met.

  Crispin had his own reasons for keeping their relationship secret, and it suited Faith just fine. As she lay on the small iron bed they shared in the servant’s attic far from anyone else, she went over her best course of action. Crispin had briefly mentioned elopement. It was, in Faith’s mind, the best way forward. To be married in secret would guarantee her a passport to a trouble-free future. That she loved him with equal intensity was irrelevant in one respect; yet it was only for this reason she wanted to be certain of spending the rest of her life with him.

  Mrs Gedge wanted to ruin him. Wanted to see his heart broken. Well, what could she do after Faith and he were bound together in the eyes of god and the law?

  If she worried that Mrs Gedge would be vindictive, she tried to put those fears aside. Mrs Gedge had supported Faith for three years. Their monthly tea meetings had suggested a woman who was interested in furthering the prospects of her little protegee. Faith need only persuade Mrs Gedge that vengeance would hurt Faith in this regard more than it would Mr Westaway. Mrs Gedge had been a mother. She was a woman who knew how to love.

  She would understand.

  And if she didn’t, Faith would be in Germany before Mrs Gedge ever learned the truth.

  Now, as Faith sat at the dinner table opposite Crispin, Lady Vernon at her side, she couldn’t wait for the old woman to withdraw for the evening and so give the young people complete freedom. Faith didn’t care that the servants could not be unaware of what was happening. But this was a borrowed cottage. These were not Crispin’s servants.

  “I expect you are anxious for the next few days to be over.” Lady Vernon’s nasal tones cut into the silence as the parlourmaid removed the main course and brought in dessert. “What will you do with your winnings if you are indeed the chosen one, Mr Westaway?”