Miss Cameron's Fall from Grace

Mr Oakley was thinking along similarly approving lines as he considered her. She was wearing an open jacket of brown velvet with brown ribbon around the edges and a coffee-coloured dress and brown poke bonnet with tendrils of deep-red hair escaping its confines. Most prim, he thought—in fact, she didn’t look at all like the red-haired siren the landlord of the Blue Boar had described to him when he’d enquired about a clean and comely lady with whom his master might pass the night away while he was in London. But then, these ladies of the night were full of surprises.

The landlord had assured him that Mrs Cox’s establishment operated affluently and was one step above the other brothels—and such was the excellence of Delphine’s technique that she would make love an entire night without ceasing, at his master’s pleasure.

He smiled, a sudden charming smile that quite transformed his big face. ‘I believe you can—or perhaps I should say you can help my master. Yes, indeed! I am sure you can be of great help.’

‘Would that not depend on what is wrong with him?’

He raised one of his bushy eyebrows. ‘In a manner of speaking. All I can say is that he’s in great need.’

‘Is he sick?’

‘I suppose you could say that. My master—I am what is termed as his batman—the Colonel Lord Stephen Fitzwaring is home on leave from Spain, where he’s been with Wellington fighting the French. Fighting has taken its toll on him, I’m afraid.’

‘I see,’ Delphine replied, thinking rapidly. She was sure that she didn’t see the half of it—whatever it was—but on the face of things, if the man was wounded then, even though it was beyond her capabilities to cure him, she would make an assessment of his condition and ask Dr Grey, who often ministered to the children at the orphanage, to take a look at him.

‘Mr Taylor, who keeps the Blue Boar at the end of the street, assured me there is no one better equipped to relieve my master’s—er—’ he coughed as he sought the appropriate word ‘—discomfort.’

In her complete naïvety and gullibility, Delphine smiled broadly, finding it hard to believe her charitable deeds had attracted so much attention. She was acquainted with the landlord of the Blue Boar—a kindly man who donated regularly to the orphanage—and if Mr Oakley’s master was suffering from some kind of discomfort, then it did not strike her as odd that Mr Taylor would recommend her. She had waved to him from across the street earlier and, aware of Maisie’s habit of visiting her mother, he would have known she would be at Mrs Cox’s establishment.

‘If you will come with me, I will take you to him.’ Mr Oakley was watching her with interest. ‘I am sure you can accommodate each other. My master will be most generous.’

At the mention of money and considering how it could benefit the orphanage, Delphine looked at him levelly. ‘Indeed I hope he is. I do not give my services for nothing.’

His brows went up at that. ‘My master would not expect you to. Dear me, no! Though, I must say, most persons of your profession seem to care for everyone.’

‘Not everyone, Mr Oakley. Only those I believe can be helped. Your master is an amenable gentleman, I hope?’

‘Most of the time. There are times when he looks far more fierce than he really is.’ A smile touched the corners of his lips. ‘Don’t mention that to anyone else, or you’ll ruin his reputation.’

‘Reputation?’ Delphine tipped her head to one side, casting him a sideways glance. She was becoming more intrigued by Mr Oakley’s master by the second. ‘Does he have one?’

‘Of the worst sort,’ he averred flatly, shooting her a teasing look.

‘Then spare me the sordid details. I shall be seeing him for no other reason than to make him feel better. Is there no woman in his life to look after him?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Mr Oakley replied. ‘In Spain, a beautiful, voluptuous señorita is most enamoured of him and often keeps him company, but Spain is a long way away. My master is one of the finest men I know. He has a most tremendous strength of mind and a will that has carried him through many a battle. Because he is so strong-willed, he seldom encounters opposition from anyone—unless it be from the enemy Bonaparte!—which is why you may occasionally find him somewhat … dictatorial.’

‘I see,’ Delphine said stiffly. ‘Thank you for that insight into your master’s character, Mr Oakley. I shall remember it. Where is he?’

‘I left him abed at the Blue Boar. Are you prepared to come with me now?’

Delphine held up her bag and smiled. ‘I have everything I will need in my bag.’

Mr Oakley raised his brows in awe as his mind conjured up the delectable items that bag might contain; items she would no doubt use to titillate his master.

Delphine was not thinking logically. The mortal danger she might be incurring did not enter her mind. She had long ago acquired the habit of ignoring other people’s advice and plunging into situations with no thought for the consequence.

‘Lead on, Mr Oakley. Let us see if we can make your master feel better, shall we?’

But time was of the essence for Delphine. If she hurried, she would make it home in time for her mother’s musical evening; woe betide her if she was late. Her charity work often provoked trouble with her mother. Privileged by birth, Delphine had been drawn into such pursuits by her Aunt Celia, who had instilled into her the duties of a gently born woman to the less fortunate.

The Devil finds work for idle hands, she had said, then she had smiled, adding, or I should say, there is always work for a spare pair of willing hands. In an attempt to invest her empty life with meaning, Delphine had been more than willing. She was the youngest of five children—all girls—and, disappointed that the last of their last offspring had not been the much-wanted son, her parents had not even bothered to announce her birth.

Neglect bordering on rejection beat a bitter note in Delphine’s heart. All her life, doubts had drummed heavy blows upon the crumbling walls of her confidence. In her parents’ eyes she could never be the woman her sisters were: beautiful women who attracted men wherever they went.

She did not like to dwell on her inadequacies, but when she was in the presence of two exquisite creatures like her twin sisters, she was painfully aware of her unfashionable reddish hair, her too-large mouth and the light scattering of freckles across cheekbones that were much too high.

From childhood she had been trained to detachment, but she was none the less human and thought life in her parents’ house very cruel and so very lonely that she had long ago made up her mind to be her own woman. She would defy convention and be true only to herself.

And so she had thrown herself into her charity work, becoming closely involved with the homeless and destitute children and venturing into dark places not one of her four pampered older sisters could have imagined.

Most of her work was carried out with other charity workers at the orphanage in Water Lane. Not all the children were orphaned; some, like Maisie, had been abandoned by their parents. When she wasn’t at the orphanage, Delphine was forever organising fund-raising events and annoying her mother by lobbying her friends for donations. From the beginning, charity work had given a purpose to her life. She could breathe, could live, could give of herself at last.

On entering the orphanage for the first time, the things she had seen had upset her terribly. Her aunt, a spinster who had made charity her life’s work, had a natural air of authority, which she shared with her brother, Delphine’s father. She had told Delphine that to do this work well she must remain detached. She must not let emotion get the better of her. If she did this, she would control others—and herself.

Delphine had taken this advice and used it as best she could. Working among the poor, she was surprised at the intensity of her feeling and compassion, so long suppressed, and wondered whether her work was in fact altering her, turning her into a more passionate human being.

Her skin still burned from what she had seen at the bordello; her face felt as if it were glowing with fever as she followed the stranger. She hated the streets at night. There were ghosts in these streets that sometimes made her tremble with fear. It was all a million miles away from her mother’s genteel world; violence was endemic in London. Muggers and cut-throats roamed the streets virtually unchecked; anyone who walked alone at night took a serious risk.

Delphine decided that, once she had seen the gentleman, she would ask Mr Oakley to order her a chair or a hackney to take her home. Her eyes were cast down to the ground, but the night above stretched black and clear and infinite, the stars burning with their own fire.

They reached the Blue Boar, entering by a back doorway. It was a busy night at the inn. She followed Mr Oakley up a narrow staircase. He stopped at a door and opened it, standing back for her to pass through.

‘I shall leave you to it.’ Without another word he left her, closing the door as he went.

Delphine stood just inside the room. She could hear a man’s heavy breathing, but apart from that it was quiet, the light dim. It was a small room, but well furnished, and on a bed a man lay asleep. His arm was raised to cover his eyes, a bandage wrapped round his wrist. Assuming the wound it covered was the reason Mr Oakley had brought her to the tavern, she moved towards the still figure.

She opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment she was unable to utter a word. This was a man the like of which she had never seen before. A sheet covered him to the waist, beneath which he was naked. His body was perfect. He was lean, his muscles hard, his dark, furred chest broad, his shoulders strong. Sensing her presence, he slowly lowered his arm and opened his eyes—an extraordinary midnight blue. Her heart turned over. They remained fixed on her face and she could feel her cheeks burning, but she could not look away from him.

This man was quite exquisite, perfect, and Delphine, untouched by any kind of passionate emotion, felt her heart take flight. She was aghast at herself, staring like an ignorant girl. When he saw her a slow, appreciative smile curved his firm lips. It was such a wonderful smile and Delphine, poor naïve innocent, felt a thousand emotions explode inside her head all at once. She was lost. Bewilderingly, heart and soul, lost.

‘Well, well,’ he drawled groggily, ‘what have we here? Such a prize I did not expect. Oakley has surpassed himself. What kept you?’

Delphine realised suddenly that she had been holding her breath from the moment she had entered the room. She had come with the sure knowledge that this man was ill. Now she lost some of her certainty. The gentleman was most handsome, about thirty-one, haughty looking, his body as lean and supple as a sword. His finely chiselled features were clean-shaven and golden skinned. His thick, curly gleaming black hair—slightly flecked with silver at the temples—was dishevelled and those midnight-blue eyes now gazed warmly into hers. His voice—slurred with sleep or alcohol, she could not decide which, but strongly suspected it was the latter—was deep and golden like his skin. ‘I—I came as soon as Mr Oakley asked me to.’

‘Good old Oakley. Always a man of his word, is Oakley—and I can see he’s done a handsome night’s work finding you.’ Thrusting the sheet away and exposing his nakedness, in one swift movement he was off the bed and walking slowly, deliberately, around Delphine as she stood rooted to the floor, drowning in a well of embarrassment. He touched her with only those deep-blue eyes, yet they were enough, boldly, rudely evaluating every angle of her assets. He paused in front of her and smiled broadly, extremely pleased with what he saw.

A cold dread grew deep inside Delphine and she clutched her bag to her bosom, trying hard to focus her eyes on something other than his nakedness. She was beginning to wonder what she had let herself in for. Outwardly she appeared calm, but the emotional frenzy raging within her was beginning to sap her strength. She was both tired and confused; she was also angry that Mr Oakley had lured her into a trap.

‘I was under the impression that you were sick or injured in some way,’ she said crisply. ‘Since that does not appear to be the case, I will bid you goodnight, sir.’

He laughed softly, barring her path of escape with his naked body. ‘Not yet, my sweet. What is your name?’

She raised her head, jutting her chin. ‘Delphine. Delphine Cameron.’

‘Delphine.’ He sighed. ‘A lovely name—a fitting name for a lady. I am Lord Fitzwaring. My friends call me Stephen. Can I offer you some wine?’ He indicated a decanter on a small table.

‘No. I would rather not.’

Stephen chuckled, taking her bag and carelessly tossing it into a chair by the bed. Before she could protest he had whipped off her bonnet and removed the pins holding her hair up, watching hungrily as it tumbled over her shoulders. The glow of the lamp brought out the fire and vibrancy in the thick tresses. He marvelled at her beauty. Long, wavy hair the colour of rich mahogany framed a perfectly proportioned face, her skin a creamy hue. Even through the fog of alcohol he concluded the girl was beautiful. Her cheekbones were high beneath large and slanting eyes, dark brown, mysterious and magnetic and flecked with green. Her nose was small and straight, her mouth soft and sensitive, luscious and pink.

‘Well,’ he murmured, ‘I am well satisfied with Oakley’s choice.’

He moved closer, slipping his arm about her narrow waist and drawing her into his arms in one rapid movement. At his touch, a tingling, magnetic touch, she was drawn to him as the needle on a compass is drawn north. But Delphine had no compass to guide her through this strange, alien territory, a dark and seemingly dangerous place she had stumbled blindly into. It was her fault, she thought despairingly. If anything awful should happen to her, she would be to blame. Except that she did not know quite what she had done wrong, or what she might have done differently to prevent it.

Covering her mouth with his, Stephen engulfed a stunned Delphine in a heady scent, not unlike brandy. Too shocked and surprised to resist, she trembled, holding herself rigid in his arms. She felt as if she were detached, seeing herself from outside her own body; in this trance-like state, she was amused when she felt him deepen his kiss and from a low level of consciousness grew a vague feeling of pleasure as she became caught up in the moment. She had never been held so close by a man before. It was an extraordinary sensation to feel the heat of his body so close to hers, to feel the muscles in his chest and arms and legs, his slim hips pressed to her own. Had the circumstances been different, she might even have enjoyed the sensation.

When he raised his head there was fire in his eyes. With swift dexterity he removed her jacket and took her in his arms as she stood frozen in stunned silence. Once more he proceeded to kiss her lips, with a hunger that alarmed her. When he released her, she was astonished to feel her dress fall away, settling about her feet. As his arms once again enfolded her in a grip of iron, her body full against his, Delphine little realised the devastating effect her soft flesh was having on him as he crushed his mouth to hers, invading, demanding, taking everything with a sensual, leisurely thoroughness, aching to sample the woman more meticulously.

Delphine’s mind reeled from the intoxicating passion of his kiss, from the smell of him—a combination of sandalwood, alcohol and bodily scents—and the touch of his skin. The trembling weakness in her limbs attested to its potency. It really was a very strange situation, she thought coolly, her mind numbed with shock, and he, a very strange man—and, following what she had paused to watch at the bordello, she was in a very strange mood. She was conscious of her increased pulse rate—due to nervousness and trepidation, no doubt—but what to make of the weakness in her legs and the warm, glowing feeling low in her belly she truly did not know.

Reason began to flood back to her as she felt his hands wander all over her body. She fought and twisted within his embrace, for with sudden clarity it dawned on her just what he had in mind. She quickly realised her disadvantage; his grip was no longer like iron, but like finely tempered steel, and her struggles were in vain, for it was impossible to free herself. Still holding her, with an easy pull on the fastenings of her chemise he separated it from her body, spilling the full glory of her breasts before him. The only garments that remained were her drawers and white silk stockings.

Smothering a shocked gasp, at last Delphine managed to extricate herself from the embrace, at the same time catching both his hands and pushing him back.

‘Sir, your eagerness astounds me,’ she gasped, clutching her precarious modesty close, pressing the fullness of her bosom upwards until it fair besotted her assailant’s senses, ‘but I am not who you think I am and I really must go.’

A half-frown, half-smile crossed his face. ‘I know not where your duties call you, sweet Delphine, but they can wait. At this moment—’ Delphine saw the hard, flint-like gleam in his eyes ‘—I must have you.’

His arms scooped her up and, in a single lunge, they were on the bed. The heady scent of her gentle perfume, mingled with the essence of pure woman, filled Stephen’s head and warmed his blood. The heat of his hunger spread with eager bounds through his loins.

Delphine started violently as her bare thigh brushed his and she felt the scorching heat of his flesh. She rolled away from him and came to her feet on the far side of the bed, but was halted in her intended flight when he rolled after her, shot out his arm and with a deep and throaty laugh jerked her back on to the bed. Her naked breasts were crushed against his chest as he bore down on her, his lips upon her neck insistent, his breathing uneven. With definite panic rising, she pushed hard and for a moment was free of him.

‘Sir, please,’ she begged with quiet desperation, managing to keep her voice from betraying her alarm. ‘Let me go for just a moment. There will be plenty of time later,’ she cajoled in the softest tones. ‘I shall return as soon I am able.’

‘Don’t be a tease.’ His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded with desire and he smiled with wicked enticement as he divested her of her drawers. ‘If this is a game you play, Delphine, I ask you to stop it now. Your maidenly blushes are a conceit. I want you—why else would you be here?’

Smothering a shocked gasp, again she moved to the side of the bed, and again he caught her round the waist with a strength that did not surprise her. Though she shoved at his hands, she could not escape; purposefully he drew her toward him. Kneeling on the mattress, he lowered her to its softness and, before she could move, his arms came down like sinewy pillars on either side of her, trapping her between them. He lowered his weight until he lay upon her, pinning her beneath him; it seemed that every move she made only abetted his unswerving seduction. She could no longer escape that long blade of passion that seared her thighs and made her quake. Raising his head, he stared down into her eyes and smiled slowly.

‘I will have you now, Delphine. I will pay you your dues when the sun comes up, so do not disappoint me and I shall make it worth your while.’

‘Oh,’ she gasped, feeling his hardness searching, probing; feeling the heat of his maleness. ‘What am I doing?’

He chuckled against her throat. ‘If you don’t know, sweetheart, who am I to tell you? You are a whore, my pet, and tonight you are mine.’

Delphine heaved beneath him, straining against the broad expanse of his chest, but his strength overpowered her struggles. It was too late now, he couldn’t draw back, not now, not with that urgent need, swollen and throbbing, demanding release.

A burning pain exploded in her loins and his face pressed harder against hers. Tears filled her eyes and she tasted blood as she bit her own cheek. Then his hungering mouth found her lips and he kissed her long and deep. The pain started to subside as he began to move within her, savouring each passing moment of pleasure.

With her eyes closed tight, Delphine lay unresponsive. She resolved that she would resist any intrusion of physical delight from anything his body would do to her. If she remained still, he could not reach her. His long-starved passion grew; he could no longer control himself. She was unaware how long it lasted, but when he pulled away from her she turned, pulling the covers over herself, covering her used body from his gaze.

Chapter Two

The second time he took her, a strange, new feeling began to bloom within her, a feeling she could neither quench nor deny. Delphine’s world began to tear itself free of all restraint. By now she realised her mistake in coming to his room, realised that he took her for a whore, but feeling the entire force of his will-power surrounding her, tempting her to do what she should not, she could not leave him.

He kissed her throat and murmured soft words. He touched her breasts with his fingertips, exploring their shape. Lightly, gently, and with the greatest of care, he squeezed her nipples until they began to throb and swell, and tiny threads of warmth began to radiate from them, spreading, growing, melting through her. The touch of his hands on her flesh destroyed her self-control; the heat of his kiss seared her lips, devastating her senses, rousing sensations that flamed through her body. She clung to him as she fought to cling to her sanity, trying to fight emotion with reason, but common sense eluded her.

Fear was gone now, gone completely, and she moaned softly as his hands continued their sweet torture. When he entered her she felt something new, something incredible, and she began to move as he moved, wrapping her legs around his, lifting her thighs and catching his hair in her hands, pulling it, throwing her head from side to side as the fountain welled within and began to brim.

To feel this way, to want this stranger with a hunger she could not believe, sapped all sense of honour. The desire that flared between them was so unexpected that it was in itself a seduction. One minute she was a tiger, the next a kitten, clawing, purring as the beauty became unbearable and she was lost, soaring into an oblivion that loomed ahead, awaiting with shuddering intensity. It came closer; he filled her fully and she held him inside her and clasped him and caressed him. She was completely absorbed, and through the veil of that absorption, a speck of light appeared, sharp as a star in a midnight sky. As it grew, she knew it to be something within herself, something that distinguished these moments of intimacy from everything that had gone before; she knew that she was linked to this man by something magical they both possessed—he to express, she to receive.

She was stunned by these thoughts at first, then fearful of what they could mean to her future; at that instant, as if he sensed the change in her, he opened his eyes and the pinpoints of fire in their depths linked with the light shining from hers.

‘What are you? Are you some kind of sorceress, or are you an angel, that you can make me feel this way?’

Again he claimed her lips and she could not have drawn away had her life depended on it. Then she felt a bliss so bright, so blazing, she knew she couldn’t possibly endure it, not a moment more. He shuddered and she was torn into a thousand shimmering shreds and cast into the abyss of ecstasy.

Dear Lord, what was happening to her—the helper, the do-gooder? Like some dreadful, insidious disease, the low life of the brothel had begun to infect her with its dark promise. Gone was the shining simplicity of her father’s house and the dignity and elegance of her mother’s world. What she felt now was every rotting desire that drove those who had anything to do with Mrs Cox’s bordello. Having been bedded by a complete stranger, having responded wantonly to his demands made her no better than they were.