Suddenly, the door was open and Crispin’s tall, straight form was silhouetted in the doorway for a split second before he hurled himself onto Lord Harkom.
It was enough to knock him off her and, taking advantage of her reprieve, Faith rolled out from beneath him, finding sanctuary half under the bed.
Crispin’s eyes were trained on Lord Harkom, while Lord Harkom’s pistol was trained on Crispin.
“You’d die for her?” spat Harkom. ”Gutter scum? You’re more of a fool than I thought. A pretty face that will corrode soon enough, and then what will it all have been for? Well, it doesn’t matter, does it, for you’ll be dead!”
And then there was another commotion, outside, followed by the sound of splitting wood before the boat was jolted as if it had been sideswiped by a much larger vessel.
Faith screamed as Harkom’s weapon discharged.
Chapter 31
It had been a long journey home. Faith had been screaming, her body covering Crispin’s, when the boat was boarded and newcomers had spilled into the room.
More evil was about to render her more helpless.
If Crispin were dead, she wanted to die too. What was left for her if she was dragged home and forced to fend for herself, yet again? Her only refuge was Madame Chambon’s, and who knew how involved she was in the evil trade Lady Vernon and Lord Harkom had dabbled in.
So, she’d simply buried her face in Crispin’s neck, sobbing as she felt his weakened hand upon the back of her head; sobbing even more when she’d heard his whispered, “I’ll make sure you’re looked after, Faith.”
How could he look after her? The bullet wound to his chest had caused a spreading stain that she’d tried to staunch with her skirts, but still the blood oozed. He’d die from loss of blood before he died from anything else, and Faith would be watching, unable to do anything.
Her mind was so focused on Crispin’s needs, she gave no thought to Lord Harkom until she heard a masculine voice she could not place—although she was sure she’d heard it before—bark out a directive to someone else, and then the pounding of feet before a groan of pain.
“Harkom! That’s enough!”
Turning her face only so she could observe what was happening out of the corner of her eye, she saw a stocky young man bending by the prone figure of Lord Harkom, who gave a yell of pain as he was rolled over and his arms were tied behind his back.
“Christ, I’m not going anywhere! Can’t you see I’ve taken a bullet?”
And indeed, a spreading pool of blood near his shoulder bore testimony to the claim.
But he was not mortally wounded as Crispin was. If Faith wasn’t focused so wholly on protecting Crispin from evil, she’d have hurled herself on her violator and clawed his eyes out.
“Faith? Faith, are you all right?”
With an effort, she turned her head, blinking dazedly to find herself staring right into Lord Delmore’s eyes.
“Crispin’s been shot,” she wept, the tears starting to flow. “Lord Harkom shot him.” With the emotion unleashed, she found she could not stop, and as Lord Delmore put his arms about her to draw her to her feet, she still could not stop. “He’s dying,” she whimpered as she pressed her face against Lord Delmore’s chest.
“We’re going to do everything we can to help him; make sure that doesn’t happen,” soothed Lord Delmore as he patted her on the back before pushing her away in order to kneel beside Crispin.
“I’ve seen men worse than that come off the battlefield, and live. Come with me, Faith. The boat’s waiting.”
Shocked, Faith locked eyes with the last person she expected to see on a boat so far from home. But as she suffered to allow herself to be led by the woman she blamed for causing her downfall, she realised too that Miss Eaves must have acted swiftly and boldly to have effected the rescue that had just taken place.
“I had access to a much faster vessel than the one Lord Harkom enlisted to take you away,” she said with a smile as she helped Faith across the deck and to the railing, where a sleek schooner was moored beside the leaky tub they inhabited.
“It’s my father’s. He’s sailing around the world and happened to have come into port just two days ago, so was available to take us on this little jaunt when I woke him last night having enlisted Lord Delmore’s help.” Her smile broadened as she released her grip on Faith’s arm so that Faith could take the hand offered by a waiting crewman who stood on the rocking deck of the Clever Amy. “Yes, I do want to make it as a newspaper reporter and a woman on my own terms, but it does help to have well-placed connections; I admit it.”
“Your father?” Faith gaped as she took in Miss Eaves’s words before a strident American voice made her turn, and she was confronted by a tall blonde man in a cream suit built like a wrestler. He was shouting orders to the crew to bring the wounded and the bound Lord Harkom down the ladder, but at the same time there was an air of life about him that suggested he was enjoying himself enormously.
“Miss Montague?” Coming out of a barked command to one of his crewmen, he offered Faith a deep bow. “I’m Ellison Eaves; pleased to meet you. My daughter didn’t do you justice when she described you, my dear girl. What an ordeal you’ve been through! Amy gave me the barest of details so you’ll have to fill me in on the return journey. I look forward to it, though I promise you, it’ll take half the time that old leaky sieve took to get you this far.”
Faith was saved having to answer by the arrival of the captain of their vessel with whom Mr Eaves dealt very cordially, before Amy’s father pulled out a fist full of notes, which he proffered to the captain with the instruction that if he were called upon to supply further details, he’d be sure to remember who the real villain of the piece was, indicating pointedly the form of Lord Harkom who was being carried, groaning, along the gangplank.
Faith stood forlornly at the railing, as she watched Crispin being carried with a great deal more tenderness than his lordship, out of the cabin and across the deck. Gripping his hand as he passed, she was relieved to feel the gentle pressure in return, and she released it to follow the group into one of the commodious cabins where, to her surprise, Miss Eaves appeared, saying, “Stay here with him, if you like. We’re about to set course for England, so make your appearance whenever you’re ready. There’ll be a good meal laid on, and I’m sure you could do with a fortifying brandy.” She ran the back of her hand across her forehead. “I certainly do after the events of tonight, though I’ll have to keep a clear head in order to write my story.” She pumped Faith’s hand energetically. “I can’t thank you enough, Miss Montague, for providing me with the copy I need to keep my name front and centre. This time, though, I hope I can go some way towards making up for the last article.”
Faith clenched her jaw. “I really don’t care what you print, Miss Eaves. All I care about is Crispin.” Despite starting so strong, her voice dissolved as she added, “I don’t think I could bear to lose him a second time.”
“Nor will you!” came Ellis Eaves’s robust tones as he appeared behind his daughter like a well-dressed hulking giant. “Can’t you tell the difference between a mortal wound to the heart and when a feller’s only been winged? Sure, there’s lots of blood to make the women squeal and despair, but it’s hardly mortal. Lord Harkom, though. Well, it’s touch and go with him, I’d say.”
“And Lady Vernon?” Faith swung around and searched for her amongst those milling about the deck of both boats. She’d not seen her since glimpsing her through the doorway after Crispin had hurtled in and torn her from Harkom’s suffocating onslaught.
“Lady who? Lady Vernon? Ah yes, I remember the name, but can’t say I’ve seen other ladies about the place other than you and Amy.”
“A deep breath for courage…all right, Faith?” In the corridor outside his father’s study, Crispin took Faith’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Remember, nothing he says can make a jot of difference to the fact that you and I are going to be married.”
He’d thoug
ht he’d suffer nerves in the lead-up to this historic confrontation, but for the first time, he felt a lightness of being he’d never experienced before.
And when his father issued the command to enter in his usual stentorian tones, he did not quake or wish himself a hundred miles away. Instead, he sauntered in and said, “Father, I want you to meet my future wife, Miss Faith Montague. We’re getting married at St Margaret’s on Saturday next and hope you’ll do us the honour of attending with your blessing.”
“Miss Montague…” He drew out the pause. “I’m pleased to meet you.” Lord Maxwell had risen from his chair at his desk and now indicated the cluster of seats by the fireplace. “You seem to enjoy the bright lights though I can see they might seek you out.”
Crispin was surprised to see the flare of admiration in his father’s eye.
“You and your compatriots made quite a sensation in bringing to justice one of London’s most surprising villains. Yes, involved in a grubby scheme we shall not mention for delicacy’s sake.”
“Faith’s actions were heroic.”
“I heard yours were too, Crispin. But I wonder…” He began to pace, and although he smiled at Faith, the furrow between his eyes didn’t augur well. “Have you truly considered the ramifications of this hasty marriage? Marrying between the stations, no matter how distinguished the behaviour of each party, is bound to lead to unhappiness.”
“If one’s status is determined by origins, then I understand that mine are just as lowly as Faith’s.” Crispin watched his father, closely. “Lord Harkom received a letter from an innkeeper’s daughter purporting to be my real mother.” Lord Maxwell blanched then tried to collect himself as Crispin went on, “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?” He chuckled. The pain and initial shock had long been replaced by acceptance.
“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 and has been taught how to behave in the sphere to which our benefactors aspired—as one of the top ten thousand.”
Lord Maxwell rose and began to pace, his hands behind his back.
“You’ve proved yourself a finer diplomat that 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 turned and inclined his head. “These are not inconsequential considerations.”
“But you are not disposed towards withdrawing 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?
When he turned to question her, her smile left him in no doubt as to her feelings, and joy surged through him. She understood. She truly understood how important his father’s approval and patronage was to their happiness, despite everything he’d learned about his true parentage.
“I think what your father proposes is very wise,” she said, putting her hand on his arm and smiling into his eyes.
“But not nearly as wise as what we propose to do together.”
“Get married?”
Crispin dipped his head to touch his lips to hers. “That’s only the start of it,” he whispered.
THE END
I hope you enjoyed Keeping Faith. To learn about new releases in the series and to get a free book you can subscribe to my newsletter here.
Other Books in the Series
Saving Grace (Book 1)
A courtesan seeking vengeance learns the truth behind her betrayal.
It’s 1878 and London’s most beautiful and hard-hearted courtesan, Grace Fortune, is preparing for her next job. She’s the special initiation ‘gift’ procured by a mother in fashionable Mayfair for her son’s twenty-first birthday.
When Grace discovers she is to be servicing the man whose secret she’d guarded at the cost of her once-secure position in a grand country house, she wants revenge.
But revenge has a strange habit of turning the tables.
(This book was originally published by Pan Macmillan Momentum and has since been revised.)
Heartfelt, sizzling and with a note of redemption that'll please even the cynics.
Forsaking Hope
Honour? Or her heart's desire?
Two years ago, Felix Lord Durham believed that Hope, the vicar's beautiful daughter, had chosen to live in Germany as a governess rather than accept the marriage proposal he'd hinted at.
Why else would she have failed to appear for their final secret assignation? Why else would Felix be given snippets about her new life on the Continent from various sources?
Now the divine "Miss Hope" is in Felix's bed - a surprise gift from his friends designed to lift his spirits and sourced from London's most exclusive brothel, Madame Chambon's.
Despite feeling betrayed, Felix can't bear to lose her again, but Hope Merriweather is bound to her new life by a dark secret. Having sacrificed the man she loves once already, she must choose again: Honour or her heart's desire?
Forsaking Hope is Book 2 in the Fair Cyprians of London Series but can be read as a standalone.
Buy here.
Keeping Faith
Revenge is sweet until it breaks your heart…
Four years ago, Faith’s mysterious benefactress falsely accused her of stealing and deposited her in Madame Chambon’s exclusive brothel.
There, Faith was to learn how to entrance London’s noble gentlemen with her learning in philosophy, politics and art.
Her body was to be saved for the greatest enticement of all: revenge.
Faith doesn’t care what she has to do. She lives only to fulfil a bargain that will set her free.
But when Faith is recruited as the muse of a talented, sensitive painter whose victory in a prestigious art competition turns them both into celebrities overnight, she discovers the reasons behind her mission are very different from what she'd been led to believe.
Now she is complicit in something dark and dangerous while riches, adulation and freedom are hers for the taking.
But what value are these if her heart has become a slave to the man she is required to destroy?
Keeping Faith is book 3 in the Fair Cyprians of London series but can be read as a stand-alone.
Buy here.
About the Author
Beverley was seventeen when she bundled up her first 500+ page romance and sent it to a publisher. Rejection followed swiftly. Drowning one’s heroine on the last page, she was informed, was not in line with the expectations of romance readers.
So Beverley became a journalist.
After a whirlwind romance with a handsome Norwegian bush pilot she met in Botswana's beautiful Okavango Delta, Beverley discovered what real romance was all about, saved her heroine from a watery grave in her next manuscript and published her first romance in 2009.
Since then, she’s written more than eighteen sizzling historical romances laced with mystery and intrigue under the name Beverley Oakley.
She also writes psychological historical mysteries, and Colonial-Africa-set romantic suspense, as Beverley Eikli.
With an inspiring view of a Gothic nineteenth-century insane asylum across the road, Beverley lives north of Melbour
ne with her gorgeous husband, two lovely daughters and a rambunctious Rhodesian Ridgeback called Mombo, named after the safari lodge where she and her husband met.
You can read more at www.beverleyoakley.com
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Beverley Oakley
www.beverleyoakley.com
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Keeping Faith Page 31