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 horse. Do you remember how you looked?”
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 until 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.”
“Probably? I thought you enjoyed it.” With an effort, Hope kept her voice light as she leaned across the bed that separated them to reach for the money.
“I believe you’re weighing up an offer from Lord Westfall. I heard it at my club.” He closed his eyes briefly as if in pain. “He’s a great deal richer than I am.”
“But not as handsome as you, Felix. Or as satisfying a lover.” Hope plucked her dressing gown from the end of the bed and shrugged into it, careful to appear heedless of his feelings. “He’s due here shortly, so I must prepare myself. You realise what Madame Chambon would do if she caught you trespassing? I don’t know how you slipped past her guard, but let me reassure you that I enjoyed our little session very much. I’m sorry I stole Wilfred’s promissory note from you. That was naughty of me but I’m glad you’re not too angry. I’m glad you came back for more of what we enjoyed this afternoon.” She tucked a curl behind one ear and gave him a meaningful smile. “And I hope that when you’ve fulfilled your matrimonial obligations and given Annabelle the husbandly attention every new wife deserves, you will call on me again.”
Hope had no concern whatsoever for Annabelle. Charlotte was a different matter. Until her sister was safely married, she wasn’t about to put a foot wrong.
“I suppose if I’m in the market for sex with no strings attached and no danger of my heart becoming engaged, then a heartless jade like you would suit my purposes.” He finished buttoning his jacket at the door then bowed his head. “It was, perhaps, a good thing we’ve had this conversation. It’s brought me clarity, for I’d always believed you felt…something…for me.” He touched his heart. “Something that might have grown into what I felt for you. Now I realise you always were the hardened little trollop my mother called you and, certainly, this way of life has hardly softened you.”
Chapter 11
Hope threw herself face down on the bed and held her breath as she listened to his footsteps pounding down the passage. She was unprepared when the door was pushed open and Faith’s voice floated tentatively through her distress.
“I…I’m sorry to interrupt.”
The soft hand of sympathy that the girl laid on Hope’s bare shoulder was too much. For so long, Hope had bottled up her emotions so that even she might have believed Felix’s assessment that she had no heart. Until the storm of emotion hit.
“Hush!” Faith climbed onto Hope’s bed and wound her arms about Hope’s shoulders. “Hush, you don’t want Madame Chambon to hear you.” She sounded frightened. “I shouldn’t have let him in, but when he said you’d visited him earlier this afternoon and hinted at what you felt about him, I’d hoped he might …” Her voice trailed away.
Hope tried to bring her sobs under control. If the other girls heard, Madame would be here in a flash demanding to know every last detail, and declaring roundly her disgust that Hope had failed in one of her primary duties: to be impervious to all feeling when it came to the gentlemen. Hope had never received one of her famous lectures, though girls who’d been so foolish as to have fallen in love had.
Hope rubbed her eyes. “Hoped he might what? Ask me to marry him? That doesn’t happen at Madame Chambon’s.” She gave a bitter laugh.
“But if he was here, why didn’t you tell him what you really felt? He might have set you up. Isn’t that what all you girls want? A steady gentleman who is kind, and for whom you might feel a little tenderness.”
Hope shook her head. “I couldn’t tell him, though how I longed to.”
“Why not?”
“Because unless he marries a certain young lady, I’ve been assured by someone that my sister will learn the truth of what I am, which will threaten her magnificent marriage which is to take place on Saturday.”
“Oh. Blackmail.” Faith nodded slowly. “That’s a difficult one. Still, there’s always later.” She brightened. “Once you see your sister safely married, you can approach your young man and tell him the truth. Even if he is married, to someone else, he’ll be glad to know what you really feel for him. And then he might offer to set you up.”
Hope shook her head. “I don’t believe I’ll ever have an opportunity to tell him how I feel. Not when there is a malevolent gentleman who is determined to kill all feeling between Mr Durham and myself. And so, I must get used to the fact that the one man I’ve ever had feelings for is lost to me.” She drew in a shuddering breath and apologised. “I don’t know why I’m allowing myself to behave so foolishly when I knew long ago our love was doomed. Why, at fifteen, when I used to steal glances at him in church, my mother would kick my ankle and whisper that a future viscount, Mr Durham, would never look at a penniless female like me. A governess was what I was destined to become, and she always said I must remember my place.”
She saw Faith was dressed for entertaining. Her hair was curled and elaborately pinned, and she wore a silk princess-line gown in palest blue with an elaborately looped bustle skirt and train.
Hope laughed, her look admiring, as she attempted to steer the conversation from her own distress. She sat up, settling herself a
gainst the bed end. “You’d turn every head in the room if you were being presented at court.”
“My father is a silk weaver. Who knows but he wove this.” Faith touched the fabric reverently.
Hope put out her hand and touched the girl’s silk-clad shoulder. “And so you must look like a duchess to entertain the gentlemen. How long have you been here?”
“Eight months and I’ve never been with a gentleman.”
Shocked, Hope looked from Faith’s exquisite ensemble to the girl’s beautiful face. “But Madame Chambon teaches you the graces with everyone else. She teaches you how to entice the gentlemen with gestures and wit. She pays for your clothes”
Faith shrugged. “My benefactress pays for my clothes and for my lessons.”
“Your benefactress? She pays for you to live here?” Hope wasn’t sure how to go on. “What do your parents think about that?”
“Of course they don’t know. I was dismissed from my position as a housemaid one night after the young gentleman of the house took liberties. And Miss Gedge, an elderly lady staying at the house rescued me and, true to what she told my parents, has been responsible for turning me into a lady.”
Hope couldn’t fathom it. “A lady? Here? At Madame Chambon’s? Who is this Miss Gedge? Have I seen her?”
“She’d never come to this house. She’s a real lady. But I meet her for tea at Fortnum & Mason’s once a month where she ‘puts me through my paces’ as she calls it.”
“And is she satisfied with your…progress?”
“When I saw her yesterday she seemed satisfied.” The girl pressed her lips together. “Mrs Gedge smiled—which is rare—and touched my cheek. She called me her ‘beautiful weapon’.”
“Hope!”
The two girls drew apart guiltily as Madame Chambon threw open the door and beheld the miscreants with a fiendish glare.
Forsaking Hope Page 9
