Fair Cyprians of London Boxset

by Beverley Oakley

  Whatever Felix’s feelings for her, there’d been no time to explore the intimacy sufficiently for Hope to take the risks she might have done had she known Felix deeper, for longer.

  Adopting a falsely light tone, she said, “No, Daisy, I am irrevocably of the demimondaine class, and the demimondaine exist purely to amuse gentlemen like Lord Westfall. Neither he nor any of his friends would dare upset the natural order of things and outrage society by considering marriage to a woman like me.”

  Daisy sighed. “But them’s the ones what put ya where ya are. It ain’t right an’ it ain’t fair.”

  “Life isn’t fair but we all have to make the most of it. Now, am I ready?” Hope asked, turning the subject briskly. “Lord Westfall has been kept waiting long enough.”

  Madame Chambon’s curved staircase was designed for theatrical entrances, and Hope had perfected sweeping down it to a fine art.

  The response from his besotted lordship was predictable and gratifying.

  “Exquisite! You are a diamond of the first water, Miss Hope,” he declared, holding out his hand to assist her from the bottom step. “You do me proud. Are you ready for a night of entertainment?”

  Hope smiled. The idea of being escorted straight to Lord Westfall’s townhouse for an orgy of sex was not appealing, but if she could become mindless after a few champagnes and some exuberant dancing, it would go some way towards dulling the pain that throbbed behind her eyes. Whatever bedroom delights Lord Westfall had in store could then be dealt with more tolerably.

  She gazed at him over the top of her fan, employing the artful trick Madame Chambon taught her girls that suggested barely contained excitement at whatever delights the gentleman at hand might have in store.

  “It sounds too wonderful,” she murmured. “Where are we going?”

  Lord Westfall then proceeded to list an evening beginning with a play in Covent Garden followed by some gambling, and finally dancing at the premises of a popular London demimondaine.

  “It sounds exhausting,” Hope commented, as Lord Westfall helped her into his carriage.

  “Ah, amusement. You’ve proven yourself a young woman of stamina on many an occasion. I’m sure you won’t be too exhausted for the culmination of our evening.”

  “I await it with pleasure.” Hope fanned herself vigorously, careful to ensure her eyes sparkled at him from above the ivory points. Fortunately, Lord Westfall would be easy to manage and was among the more desirable of protectors, given that she needed to look to the future.

  The future. She tried not to allow herself to be cast down by despair as the image flashed into her mind once more of the printed notice in The Times announcing Felix and Annabelle’s betrothal.

  Tomorrow, Hope’s own sister would be making a match to a man every bit Lord Westfall’s equal. Their mama had done well to pay for the accoutrements that would be required to fit Charlotte out as a contender for a gentleman of such address. Perhaps she’d remarried. Hope had heard nothing in two years about her family other than the news of Charlotte’s impending nuptials. She’d only learnt of the death of her father from Wilfred two weeks after the event which, perhaps, explained why the two letters she’d sent had gone astray or been ignored. Either was possible, though she presumed the latter to be the case. After Papa had died, Mama must have washed her hands of Hope.

  Hope had never known another mother—her own mama’s name had never been mentioned—and she’d been eight when she’d deduced through something a visitor had said that Mama was not in fact her real mother. When she’d questioned her father, he’d said the matter was not to be spoken of again. Hope and Charlotte were equal in both their parents’ eyes.

  But that had not been the case. Hope knew that.

  The play was entertaining, the gambling not so much. Lord Westfall drank too much, and persisted at the gaming table long after his luck had run out. Until, seizing Hope by the waist, he insisted she throw the dice, after which he was on a winning streak, and his jovial spirits had returned.

  At last, Hope persuaded him it was time to move onto Skittles Parlour and was glad at the opportunity to converse with some of her friends there. Several of the lavishly bejewelled courtesans clinging to the arms of their respective aristocrats were graduates of Madame Chambon’s.

  When a lively waltz began to play, Lord Westfall took Hope onto the dance floor where he proceeded to display his expertise as a dancer.

  Hope was sorry when the polka that followed it sapped his lordship of his remaining energy, and she was suddenly alert with fear and acute feeling when his place was taken by a newcomer desiring to partner Hope.

  The two men greeted each other affably, Lord Westfall surrendering his soon-to-be mistress saying, “Be my guest. Hope has more stamina than I do. I’m sure she’ll lead you a lively dance.” He thought he was being funny with the double entendre which Hope ignored, but which caused Wilfred to laugh more loudly than was warranted. He, too, looked as if he’d had too much to drink.

  “You’re looking as beautiful as ever, my lovely Hope,” Wilfred remarked, as he twirled her into the centre of the dance floor. It was a slower waltz, to Hope’s annoyance, so conversation was possible. The last man she wished to converse with was Wilfred Hunt.

  She stared stonily over his shoulder. “I saw your sister’s engagement notice in The Times. You must be pleased.”

  “I am pleased that my sister is happy. And my parents. It’s a fine match.” Wilfred’s smile was as artless as if he were discussing the marriage of a couple of acquaintances.

  “So, you have achieved your aim.” Hope was silent as she went through the elaborate lengths to which Wilfred was determined to damn her in Felix’s eyes.

  Wilfred merely inclined his head.

  “Then perhaps, since you had already achieved your aim, you then felt it was not necessary to give Felix the promissory note I took from him?” She smiled sweetly as she caught his eye, and pushed her point in case he’d been too obtuse to understand to what she was alluding. “In view of the fact that it would be a small kindness to atone, in part, for what you have done to me.”

  Wilfred’s mouth turned up at the corners. It was one of those small, self-satisfied, gloating smiles that made her vision go black, for that’s how he’d always smiled at her when he knew he had the upper hand. How he did love to trade on his superior position. He had Hope exactly where he wanted her.

  “Of course I gave it to him. And of course he was distraught. Understandably so.”

  The music trailed off, and Wilfred led her off the dance floor. Seeing Lord Westfall occupied, he caged her hand on his arm and continued walking her through the merry throng.

  A large withdrawing room just beyond where the dancing was taking place was empty. Leisurely, Wilfred closed the door behind them, muting the noise as they gazed down onto the gaslit street.

  “Why do you hate me so much?” Hope asked, turning, resting her elbows on the window ledge. It was colder here. The fire was not burning as brightly as it was in the makeshift ballroom.

  “On the contrary, I desire you more than I desire any other woman alive,” Wilfred replied conversationally. “The fact that I can’t afford you is what eats away at me. You can’t imagine my regret at having to pension you off to Madame Chambon.”

  “Really.” Hope’s tone dripped scepticism. “I had very little say in the matter, as you recall.”

  Wilfred shrugged. “As I’ve told you before, you were costing me a fortune, yet you showed no gratitude after your mother disowned you, leaving me the only person in the world concerned for your welfare. You were hardly a pleasure to come home to, and I was the one person standing between you and the gutter.”

  “And what else might you have to say to me, Wilfred, when you know I am to become Lord Westfall’s mistress?” she asked. “What might he think if he came upon us speaking so intimately now?”

  Wilfred shrugged. “You’re not his mistress yet, which means you are anyone’s—at the right price.
Perhaps I’m negotiating. It might be in your interests if I raise your price.”

  “You really think you could tempt me back into your bed?” Hope resisted the temptation to be more cutting. Wilfred could be unpredictable when his manhood was at stake. Yet she couldn’t help herself, saying under her breath, “Alas, you’ll never be able to afford me now, Wilfred. I would not offer you what you want at any price.”

  He considered her a moment, his gaze speculative. “What about if I put in a good word for you to Felix? It might soften the rage and disappointment he showed when I revealed your touching loyalty towards me after I told him that our tender feelings for one another were the reason you stole the promissory note in order to return it to me? You could have us both. I don’t mind sharing.”

  She stared him down. “I’d not trust you to follow through, even if you gave me your word.”

  “Hardly the kind of thing a man of honour wants to hear, Hope.” Wilfred put his fingers around her wrist, but she tugged herself free and, in a fit of chagrin, swept over to the fireplace, glaring at him as she leant against the mantelpiece.

  “Yours has never been a word of honour, Wilfred. Your word counts for nothing. And that doesn’t come from me. There are plenty who say it.”

  The flare in his eyes revealed she’d touched a nerve, though he contained his anger as he walked slowly towards her. Hope wasn’t frightened. She could hear the music and the hubbub of voices quite clearly on the other side of the door.

  She stood her ground defiantly as he loomed over her. “Look at you, Hope,” he sneered as he put his hand on her shoulders. She stiffened as he moved them lower, contouring her breasts, waist, and thighs in her clinging, ruched gown, so thoroughly upholstered yet so revealing. His nostrils flared. “Do you think you’d have been so expensively garbed if you’d remained at the vicarage? Your father was ever a disappointment to your mama. She complained endlessly to my own dear mater that she’d married a man of reasonable fortune who’d managed to see it all slip through his fingers.”

  Hope breathed through her clenched teeth as she stared up at Wilfred. “My Mama’s love of adornment was a large reason for Papa’s pecuniary difficulties. Papa could refuse her nothing. Yes, her complaints were as endless as her demands for fripperies. Until finally, there was nothing left with which to appease her. My father inherited a fortune and a harpy for a wife, and he was no financier, but he did not kidnap and keep captive unwilling females.”

  “Kidnap? Lord, Hope.” His mouth quirked. “You stayed with me for more than a year, but you were not a prisoner. It’s not as if I kept the door locked and you bolted within. You could have left at any time.”

  Hope shook her head. She’d been so proud of keeping her emotions in check, but revisiting the time when her life had changed so irrevocably was proving too much. “Where was there for me to go, Wilfred?” Her voice broke. She took a deep breath and managed to regain her composure. “After Papa died, when Mama wouldn’t take me back, how could I even get respectable employment when I had no character? And now, having destroyed every hope I ever had for happiness, you want to rub my nose in the dirt?” It was as inexplicable now as it ever had been. And the pain was just as acute. “Somehow, you think it’ll make you feel more of a man to have me agree to the grubby arrangement you just put to me—you and Felix. Yet all that business before regarding the promissory note and my character blackened in Felix’s eyes was so your dear sister’s happiness would not be imperilled?You’re a liar, Wilfred. You will never let me near Felix.” She heard the dangerous passion in her tone but couldn’t help herself. “I’m too dangerous. I might take something away from your sister, and I might take something away from you. So, you want to crush me.”

  Unexpectedly, Wilfred gripped her shoulders, bringing her face close to his. His eyes were black with anger. “By God, Hope, but for someone drilled in the noble art of the courtesan, you do not know how to please a man when it is in your interests.”

  Hope shrugged herself out of his grip and took up her argument from further along the mantelpiece. “If you wanted my love and respect, you’d have had to have had a modicum of honour, Wilfred. You destroyed every claim to honour when you bundled me into your carriage, took me to your lodgings, and…raped me when I was unconscious. There’s no coming back from that for me.” She trembled with emotion. “Or for you.”

  His eyes darkened and his lips twitched. “Is that the story you put about? Do you cast aspersions upon my honour behind my back? Why would people believe a prostitute who’s parted on acrimonious terms with her former lover?”

  “You were never my lover, Wilfred. I despised you from when you were a whining child. Felix was the boy I loved, and he turned into the man I loved. But your jealousy got in the way of that. You were determined that if I wouldn’t love you, then I would never have the man I really loved. Isn’t that true?”

  Advancing a few steps, he shook her roughly, and her jewelled comb fell out of her hair and skittered across the marble hearth.

  “Ever the bully, Wilfred!” Hope whispered as she bent to retrieve it, not prepared for the stinging blow he dealt her on the side of her head. Her knees gave way and she sank to the floor, staring up at him with more fury than fear as she touched her throbbing temple. “And so you hit me where no one can see the evidence of your violence. How manly of you.”

  “Bitch!” He hissed, his hands flexing but Hope was ready, wresting herself out of his attempted embrace and landing awkwardly, though her voluminously swathed skirts broke her fall.

  “Don’t you touch me again!” she spat. “Ever!”

  “Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t do when your wares are available to any man who has the right currency!” Grabbing a hank of her hair, Wilfred pulled her to her feet and dragged her through the withdrawing room towards a door at the far end.

  Before Hope could scream, he’d clapped one large, sweating hand over her mouth. “You’re about to realise there comes a point where even the most long-suffering man must defend his honour,” he muttered as he manhandled her out of the room and along a passageway.

  He was too strong for her. Hope’s attempts to kick and bite her way to freedom were to no avail, and her first instinct after he thrust her through a door at the end of the passage was to take the deep, sustaining breath she so desperately needed.

  Though there was a bed by the window, Wilfred pushed her down on the cold stone hearth, straddling her as he clamped his other hand over her mouth. “You’re about to see how good you had it when you were first under my care.” He sounded both aggrieved and threatening as he pushed his face into hers. “If you’d only known how to treat a man as he deserves, I wouldn’t have to show you who’s the superior being. You always thought it was you, didn’t you, Hope, with your scorn and your ingratitude.”

  “The superior being?” Hope sneered on a lungful of air when he removed his hand in response to a sharp nip of her teeth. “Always the bully, Wilfred.”

  “It’s a clever man who knows how to get what he wants, even if that means using his superior strength, Hope,” he grunted, forcing her back to the floor when she struggled to rise, running his hands over her and groping her breasts before clamping her mouth again when she tried to scream.

  Hope fought with everything she had, but he was too strong, hiking up her skirts while she lashed out at him, clawing at his face, whimpering for mercy, and then in rage though it was hard to breathe. She thought she’d pass out, and perhaps that was a preferable way to suffer the indignity he intended to inflict upon her.

  But when his fingers parted momentarily and a sustaining draught of air filled her lungs, her seeking hands came upon something long, and hard on the ground behind her. Too starved of air to realise what it was, another gulp of oxygen made it clear it might be her only chance to gain the upper hand.

  Drawing back her right arm, she brought the fire iron through the air with all of her might, landing a slicing blow against the side of Wilfred’s
head.

  He released his grasp, yelping with pain, his fury prodded to a fine point before, almost instantly he was looming over her, his mouth a rictus of rage, eyes bloodshot with fury. His hand shot out to seize the poker from her but Hope was too quick. Rolling onto her side, she aimed the point for the region of his eyes, closed her own, and with all of the strength she had left, lunged forwards and upwards.

  A moment of silence followed. The world swirled behind her closed eyes in terrible shades of black and red.

  Then, upon a terrible cry of agony, Wilfred’s heavy body came down on top of her.

  Chapter 14

  “I don’t care if she’s preparing to see the Prince of Wales, I just need to know where she is!” Still panting from the exertion of his strenuous walk due to a hackney carriage accident which had made the roads impassable, Felix stood on the front doorstep of Madame Chambon’s Nunnery and stared down the broad-shouldered custodian who’d been brought in as a reinforcement by the young maidservant after she’d failed to send Felix on his way.

  “Where Miss ‘Ope ‘appens to be right now is nobody’s bizness ‘cept her own an’ the gennulman wot’s payin’ fer her.” The beefy fellow wore no jacket, and his muscles bulged beneath his shirt sleeves. He flexed his meaty fists.

  Frustrated, Felix raked his hand through his hair, replaced his top hat and turned on his heel. There’d be no satisfaction this night, it seemed.

  After his illuminating discussions with Charlotte and Annabelle less than an hour earlier, he’d left for his club. It was pointless trying to distract himself there. The fact was, despite the late hour and the fact Hope may well be entertaining, he had to see her at the earliest.