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 up to the waist, beneath which he was naked. His body was perfect. He was lean, his muscles hard, his dark chest broad, his shoulders strong.

Sensing her presence, he slowly lowered his arm and opened his eyes—an extraordinary midnight-blue. Delphine’s heart turned over. They remained fixed on her face, and she could feel her cheeks burning, but she could not look away …

AUTHOR NOTE

MISS CAMERON’S FALL FROM GRACE was an exciting book to write—what I like to think of as romantic suspense. All my novels are historical romances set in varied backgrounds, and I’m equally comfortable writing stories in the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. I love inventing characters whose stories are worth telling, and I like my heroines to be strong-willed, with a spark of life and determination.

As in my other books, my heroine has hopes and ambitions—until she meets Lord Stephen Fitzwaring, and then she has hopes and dreams of a different kind.

I wanted to write an intensely romantic story. I hope I have achieved this in my latest novel, and have managed to create an enjoyable escape for you, the reader.

About the Author

HELEN DICKSON was born and lives in South Yorkshire, with her retired farm manager husband. Having moved out of the busy farmhouse where she raised their two sons, she has more time to indulge in her favourite pastimes. She enjoys being outdoors, travelling, reading and music. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure. It was a love of history that drove her to writing historical fiction.

Previous novels by Helen Dickson:

THE DEFIANT DEBUTANTE

ROGUE’S WIDOW, GENTLEMAN’S WIFE

TRAITOR OR TEMPTRESS

WICKED PLEASURES

(part of Christmas By Candlelight)

A SCOUNDREL OF CONSEQUENCE

FORBIDDEN LORD

SCANDALOUS SECRET, DEFIANT BRIDE

FROM GOVERNESS TO SOCIETY BRIDE

MISTRESS BELOW DECK

THE BRIDE WORE SCANDAL

DESTITUTE ON HIS DOORSTEP

SEDUCING MISS LOCKWOOD

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Miss Cameron’s

Fall From Grace

Helen Dickson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

Summer—1810

It was not Delphine’s habit to visit bordellos, but she had a duty to ensure that Maisie, who had disappeared from the orphanage, was safely with her mother. Granted, this particular bordello was of a most prestigious kind, but although the location was not beyond criticism, it was certainly no place for a lady. The genteel world of Delphine’s mother and sisters, however, had begun to matter less and less of late.

Delphine was usually accompanied by one of her mother’s footmen who drove her in the carriage, but today he had duties at the house so she’d gone to the orphanage alone. Two of the children had gone down with temperatures and a rash. After isolating them and on the point of leaving, one of the warders had informed her that Maisie was missing. Delphine had a good idea where she could be found—there was nothing for it but to go after her.

The evening was warm and sultry and oppressive, the kind of oppression that comes before a storm. Mrs Cox’s was an imposing three-storey building, and torchlights burned on each side of the red-painted door. Delphine was admitted to this house of assignation by Fergus Daley, the man Mrs Cox employed to keep order within the house and the rougher elements of the district out. The purple livery he wore looked out of place on his huge frame. The bones of his face were pronounced, with a lantern jaw sharp enough to cut paper. His crooked nose, which had been broken several times during his years as a pugilist, and his eye sockets set deep beneath his heavy brow gave his face a sinister look. But now he smiled, for Miss Cameron was a regular visitor to the house when she was looking for young Maisie.

‘Welcome to our house of pleasure, Miss Cameron,’ he greeted jovially in a deep, baritone voice, his expression warm and welcoming.

‘House of depravity, more like, Fergus,’ she replied in hushed tones as she placed her brown-leather bag containing medicaments and dressings on the hall table, ‘but don’t tell Mrs Cox I said so.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, miss,’ he replied, giving her a conspiratorial wink. ‘I think I know why you’re here—and I don’t think it’s to sell your body for what pitiful rewards a common man could offer you.’

‘How right you are, Fergus—not even for the king himself. I can only hope my parents never learn I come here.’

‘Not from me, Miss Cameron, and while you are here, you are solely under my protection.’

‘That’s a comfort to me, Fergus,’ she said, standing back to allow an inebriated gentleman to sway past and disappear into the salon, his clothes in some disarray. During business hours there were always gentlemen present.

‘If it’s young Maisie you’re looking for, she arrived an hour since.’

Delphine uttered a sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness. I do wish she wouldn’t run away like that. If only she knew how much trouble she causes. She’s just a child. She shouldn’t be here.’ What Delphine said was true. She’d been doing her charity work in and around the area of Covent Garden and St Giles long enough to know that wealthy and depraved gentlemen of the city would pay a fine price for girls as young as Maisie.

Fergus nodded towards the curved staircase. ‘She’s with Meg—or the Luscious Delphine as she’s calling herself these days.’

‘She does seem to have taken a fancy to my name,’ Delphine remarked, laughing lightly, ‘although last month it was Gorgeous Louella and the month before that Sweet Angel. I find her peculiar taste in names rather odd. She seems to change it whenever another takes her fancy. It must be very confusing for her clients—but I suppose it adds to her mystique. Can I go up?’

He nodded. ‘She’s no clients tonight—which you can put down to Will Kelly. He was here earlier.’

Delphine glanced at him in alarm. It was no secret that Fergus had no liking for Will Kelly, nor the devious and often brutal way he went about procuring girls for Mrs Cox’s brothel. ‘Has he hurt her?’

‘You’ll see for yourself—but I swear I’ll swing for the bastard if he lays a finger on young Maisie and he knows it, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, Miss Cameron. Go on up. I’ll have to tell Mrs Cox you’re here.’

‘Then I’ll disappear before she sees me.’ Delphine was hoping to avoid seeing the strict madam of this establishment.

With such an impressive array of whores available, Mrs Cox’s business profited from well-heeled and aristocratic customers. Mrs Cox—if that was indeed her name—always dressed plainly in a black gown, her greying hair pulled severely back into a knot at the back of her head: the very picture of respectability. She might have been someone’s grandmother, but Delphine knew she was not. Mrs Cox had lived a life and knew how to make it pay.

She was very proud of her establishment. Some of the girls were brought to her from the provinces by the ruthless procurer Will Kelly, who took a fair cut of the profits from the brothel’s immoral earnings. Mrs Cox chose the other girls from poverty-stricken backgrounds and girls whose indiscretions had made them outcasts from their own kind. She taught them how to give pleasure by offering clients temptations to which they could yield. Love didn’t come into it—what went on in Mrs Cox’s establishment made a mockery of love.

From the spacious hall—which was hardly what one would expect of a bordello, with its light oak-panelled walls and black-and-white-tiled floor—Delphine, hearing excited ribald laughter and raised voices, glanced into the main salon where young women in various stages of undress were lolling about on sofas. She had been to the house several times during the day and thought nothing of it.

Tonight, the sight of scantily clad female bodies both shocked and excited her. The flimsy garments clung to their figures, showing off curves of pearly flesh gleaming in the soft light. The tantalising half-sight of their bodies weaving into the heady scents of perfume was more arousing to the gentlemen pawing them than nakedness would have been. The girls were taking refreshment with clients before going upstairs. Sometimes the gentlemen preferred girls to come to their places of residence, a service they were charged extra for—and as for what happened after that, well, it was no business of hers.

The salon was elegant with its dark-blue carpet and crystal chandeliers. Occasional tables and padded chairs were scattered about and scarlet-velvet curtains, deeply fringed with gold, hung at the windows. Venetian mirrors adorned the walls, along with gilded lewd pictures of nudes in elegant poses. There were ferns in jardinières so tall they almost reached the high ceiling; plinths on either side of the room held beautiful, life-sized Italian marble statues of male nudes of such quality one would expect to see them in the house of a nobleman, not in a bordello.

Lifting her skirts slightly Delphine began to climb the stairs. The air was sweetened by perfumed candles. Reaching the top, she went down one of the two landings, halting at the door at the end. Knocking gently and hearing a voice telling her to come in, she opened the door and entered a rose-pink boudoir. Its furnishings were surprisingly cosy; facing Delphine was a dressing table littered with cosmetic pots, perfumes and a silver-backed hairbrush, the border of the gilt mirror carved with cherubs.

Meg was reclining on a low couch, toying with her dyed red hair. With her big blue eyes, full soft lips and luscious form, there was little wonder men couldn’t resist her. Expecting her visitor, for she knew Delphine would come after the child, she gave her husky laugh and stretched luxuriously like a cat, raising a shimmering leg and admiring its shapeliness whilst watching Delphine out of the corner of her eye, trying to gauge the effect of the voluptuousness barely contained within her violet-silk robe. When she registered neither shock nor horror in Delphine’s countenance, she rose, drawing the robe tight about her body.

‘I suppose you’re looking for Maisie.’ She nodded towards the ten-year-old child asleep on the bed. ‘She went to sleep straight away. I didn’t want to wake her.’

‘No—of course not. I had to come, Meg, to make sure she was safe. I know Mrs Cox thinks I ought to mind my own business, but anything could have happened to her.’

A wry smile twisted Meg’s lips. ‘Mrs Cox? Don’t be fooled by her.’

‘I’m not.’

‘She’s a trollop as old as sin, but she’s right. You should mind your own business,’ Meg remarked, sitting back on the couch.

‘I come here because I care.’

‘Why should you?’ Meg said, with a haughty toss of her head. ‘You with your fancy name and fancy clothes and all your airs and graces. Why would someone like you care about people like me and my Maisie?’

‘Because I do. I do care about you and Maisie, otherwise I wouldn’t be here—and as for my name, you appear to be making good use of it.’

‘Aye—maybe. I like it, that’s why, but I don’t own it and there’s the difference. You don’t belong here.’

‘Neither do you, Meg. None of the girls do—and Maisie certainly doesn’t.’ Delphine glanced across at the sleeping child curled up against the pillows. She was an extremely pretty child, with large green eyes and an abundance of light blonde hair, and she remained devoted to her mother, despite her neglect.

Meg shrugged. ‘I can’t help it if she keeps on coming. And as for the others, it’s become a way of life for them—most of them driven to it by one hardship or another.’

‘Don’t make it a way of life for Maisie. She deserves better.’

‘I have to make a living,’ Meg replied, her voice hard and flat.

Delphine crossed the room and crouched on the floor beside her. ‘You don’t have to stay here. Take her away, Meg. Somewhere decent. I’ll help you all I can.’

‘I don’t want charity; besides, I can’t leave. You see, this is where I want to be—where I choose to be.’

‘Why? Because it excites you? Because you can’t leave Will Kelly? For heaven’s sake, Meg, look at you,’ Delphine hissed, taking one of Meg’s arms and shoving up the sleeve to reveal a host of bruises, some purple and some yellowing with age. ‘He’s a cruel, overbearing bully. I simply cannot for the life of me understand why you tolerate his ill treatment.’

Meg shrugged, jerking her arm out of Delphine’s grasp and pulling down her sleeve. ‘I’ve had worse. He does care for me.’

‘Nonsense. He merely seeks to use you. If he cared for you, he would not have brought you here. You know full well, Meg, he may be all flattery and honey when he’s sober, but once he starts drinking—well—I’m the one who patches you up. I’ve seen the results of his behaviour once too often. Oh, Meg, please think about it.’

‘I try not to think. I accept what there is.’

‘Don’t give him the chance to hurt you again. I implore you.’

Meg’s face clenched up like a fist as she fought to keep her voice under control. ‘I need no instructions from you on how to conduct myself.’

‘Of course not—but really I am most concerned about you.’

‘Save your concern for someone else,’ she grumbled ungraciously. ‘I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.’

‘Are you?’ Delphine pressed. ‘I beg you to go away somewhere—for Maisie’s sake as well as your own. She is but a child and deserves better than this. You once worked in the theatre as an actress, touring the provinces. Could you not go back? It has to be better than this.’

Meg’s lovely face became almost ugly as she looked down at Delphine. ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to gain by this,’ she said nastily, ‘but I’m not going anywhere. I can look after myself—as I’ve always done. I won’t leave Will. I can’t.’ She looked away. ‘That’s the way it is.’

Unable to understand Meg’s loyalty and devotion to Will Kelly, Delphine’s heart sank with defeat. Meg had grown partial to Will’s silken tongue and good looks whilst on tour with an acting troupe; when he’d offered to take both her and Maisie to London and a better life, she’d packed her bags and gone with him—to Mrs Cox’s place, to become one of her whores. Now she was at the service of any lecherous rogue with gold in his pockets and Maisie stayed in the nearby orphanage. Will was the first man Meg had loved. She would do anything to keep him. He had been the first male to reject her, scorn her, beat her, awake in her all the fury of which only hell has the like, yet she would not leave him.

‘And Maisie? Can you look after her?’

Meg’s eyes narrowed and anger sparked in their depths. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but don’t,’ she said fiercely. ‘I’m her mother—not a good mother, I admit, but I am still her mother. Do you think I’d let any one of the dirty brutes who come here touch her? I’d kill her and myself before I let that happen—after killing the man who tried.’

Delphine nodded. ‘I know you would. But there are men who come here who would take a young girl—whether she was willing or not.’

‘They won’t. You don’t understand one thing about me. Do you think I don’t worry about Maisie? That’s why I put her in the orphanage. If anything should happen to me …’ She swallowed audibly, weakening and allowing her emotions to show. ‘I worry about what would happen to her.’

‘Nothing is going to happen to you, Meg, but if it did, then I would do my utmost to take care of her.’

Hope welled in Meg’s eyes as she gripped Delphine’s hand. ‘Would you?’ she whispered. ‘Would you do that for me?’

‘Of course I would.’

‘You promise?’ Meg urged, her eyes dark with anguish.

For the first time Delphine heard a tremor in her voice. She was conscious of strong conflicting urges—though she ached to vent her impatience, she was tempted, too, to put a sympathetic hand over Meg’s. She resisted both compulsions and forced herself to think calmly for a moment about the promise she was about to make should anything happen to Meg. Her heart sank precipitously at the thought.

‘Yes, Meg. I promise. I would see that she came to no harm.’

‘Thank you.’ Her voice trembled on the words, and she looked away, jaw clamped tight. Then she looked back at Delphine, eyes bright and tearless. ‘You should go. I’ll see Maisie gets back to the orphanage. I’ve no customers so she can stay with me tonight. I’ll take her back in the morning.’

Delphine rose, standing for a moment in grave silence. ‘Very well,’ she said eventually, gazing at the sleeping child. ‘But think about what I’ve said, Meg. Take Maisie away and put this place behind you.’

Without another word she left, exceedingly vexed by the interview. She was anxious of the influence this place would end up having on Maisie, for deep in her heart she knew Meg would not leave while Will Kelly continued to have a hold over her.

She paused, hearing a moan, and lingered at the top of the stairs, transfixed. Someone had left a bedroom door ajar in his haste to bed his companion. Overcome by a strange sense of curiosity, she moved hesitantly towards it and peered through the crack.

One of the girls was doing what she was paid to do. Delphine flinched, about to draw back—but she could not.

At first she felt shock, then she felt her body growing warm. Her spirit seemed suddenly quite apart from her body. Like a rabbit before a stoat, she was mesmerised. Two naked bodies, arms and legs entwined as they writhed and sprawled on the bed, moved in a voluptuous rhythm. Against her will, Delphine felt her body respond to what she was seeing. Her pulse was beating faster; every nerve seemed to tingle.

She drew a long, shuddering breath. What was happening to her? The two people she was observing were strangers to her. How could their impassioned movements awaken these dark longings in her blood? Loose women, she knew from her mother’s lectures, were the only women who took pleasure in such things. Attempting to calm her mind as well as her body, she shrank away, her body trembling. She felt like a little girl at a keyhole.

Suddenly she was snatched from her preoccupation by the sound of a voice close at hand. It was a loud, brutish voice, belonging to a heavily built man with thick fair hair and a coarseness that dominated his heavy features. As he ascended the staircase, his dark gaze assessed her with a scathing vulgarity. He wore a coarse linen shirt stained with food and ale, and dark-velvet trousers fastened with a wide belt.

This was Will Kelly, a swaggering, ill-mannered brute who drank, gambled and seduced his way through life. He had close-set, foxy, clever eyes that missed nothing and a way of looking at Delphine that made her flesh crawl. He carried with him a smell of the poverty-ridden streets that turned her stomach. When she had first laid eyes on him, his manner had conveyed to her that this was a man of intense cunning, utter ruthlessness and terrible danger.

He watched as she approached him, standing with his feet wide apart and his huge fists resting on his wide hips, his grey eyes cold and unfriendly.

‘So! What have you been up to, Miss Cameron? Interfering again?’

‘Not at all,’ Delphine replied haughtily, determined to remain unruffled, even though beneath her skirts her legs were trembling at his nearness. ‘I’ve been to see Meg—and there’s no need for you to shout; my hearing is perfectly sound.’

‘Not thinking of entering the profession, are you?’ Moving closer, he reached out his gnarled, dirty fingers and gripped her chin roughly, turning her face from side to side, showering her with spittle as he spoke. ‘You’re comely enough, I’ll give you that—a tempting wench.’ He grinned lewdly. ‘I’m a reasonable man. We could come to an understanding.’

Delphine glowered at him, pushing his hand away. ‘Do not touch me. Do you honestly think that I would consider giving myself to the likes of you and the men who frequent this place? Never.’

He laughed sneeringly. ‘I’ve met many haughty women like you, Miss oh-so-high-and-mighty Cameron. There was a French bitch who considered herself a prize for the most handsome rogue in Paris once. In a matter of days she came crawling, begging me to take her to bed. Then there was a beauty from Kent. Oh, yes, she was an arrogant bitch. But little more than a week of my hospitality brought her to see the light and she came to me willingly,’ he boasted with a triumphant laugh.

‘Do you mean to frighten me with that repugnant account of your conquests?’

His eyes raked her boldly and a repulsive smile twisted his lips. ‘If I wished to frighten you, I would drag you into an empty room and listen to you scream. I’m a strong man and I can’t say I don’t enjoy a fight, but I do not wish to frighten you, only to point out the advantages of my protection should you decide to join the ladies in Mrs Cox’s fine establishment. You’ll not find boredom here.’

‘That will never happen. I came here to find Maisie and for no other reason.’

‘Ah—young Maisie,’ he drawled, an interested, dangerous gleam entering his narrowed eyes. ‘Now, there’s a pretty little thing. She’ll be a beauty one day—’ his gaze narrowed ‘—just like her mother. Imagine how popular they would be, working together—mother and daughter.’

Delphine went cold, suddenly fearful for Maisie. Was this to be her lot, her destiny? No, not if she could help it. Will Kelly’s eyes were watching her sharply. Deliberately she considered his gaze, but she knew that he none the less sensed her deep, desperate need to protect Maisie. She had given him a weapon.

‘You leave Maisie alone, Will Kelly. She is nothing but a child. Meg would kill you before allowing you to get your filthy hands on her daughter.’

‘Meg would have no say in it. If she opposes me, she’ll rue the day. Don’t fool yourself. Maisie is in my hands. She’ll make a fine whore—just like her mother.’

‘Never. At least, not while I have breath in my body.’

Without another word Delphine swept past him. As she made her way down the stairs she felt both angered and unsettled by her encounter with Will Kelly, but nevertheless she considered Maisie safe for the time being.

She was also affected by what she had witnessed prior to Will’s arrival. The air around her still shimmered with the heat of what she had seen. Her whole body had ignited and she was still afire. It was a wonder she didn’t burst into flames.

There was no sign of Fergus in the hall, so she picked up her bag and opened the door herself. A man stood on the doorstep, about to raise the heavy brass knocker.

‘Excuse me. My name is Nicholas Oakley. I’m looking for a lady by the name of Delphine,’ he said in a pleasant voice.

Delphine looked at the stocky, broad-shouldered, neatly dressed man. ‘I’m Delphine Cameron. May I help you?’

He didn’t look like a man who would visit a bordello, nor did he look ill. In fact, he appeared healthier than most, his face weathered by wind and sun, but hale and full-fleshed.

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.

He fell asleep with Delphine in his arms. Forgetful for the moment of how the situation had come about, the feel of him so firm and strong infused her with a sense of security. Its curious comfort made her spirit dissolve like ice in a noonday haze. It was the first time any person had ever held her and the unexpected need of a lonely girl to be held broke loose and mingled with untold fears about her empty future. They found their outlet in tears.

She wept with the stranger’s arms fast around her, breathing in the essence of him, and in so doing—even though she did not know this man, her only knowledge of him carnal—she sensed part of his spirit was empty, lonely and bereft, because, like her, he, too, had no one.

Though there was no strength left in her limbs, she sought to hold fast to the moment lest she lose some portion of it to the oncoming demands of sleep. But her eyelids were heavy, and she felt herself drifting away.

Stephen opened his eyes and quietly studied the face on the pillow beside his own, taking pleasure and becoming lost in the exciting beauty of her. Long sooty lashes fanned flawless skin, her mouth softly pink and tempting. A wealth of hair the colour of ripe chestnuts, streaked with red and a deep burnished gold, spread over her shoulders and breasts, dewy white as though they were lit from within, glowing and gleaming in the soft morning light. She lay limp against him and he shifted slightly in bewilderment, staring at the flecks of blood that stained the sheet they lay beneath.

He was confused by the memory of her reaction to last night; even though his brain had been befogged by alcohol, he remembered her own confusion when she had entered the room—and her inexperience in bed. Why had she allowed Oakley to bring her if she was a virgin? Was she compelled by poverty to take up the occupation of prostitution? He sighed, resting his head back on the pillow and closing his eyes. A virgin was the last thing he’d been expecting last night. They often spelled trouble and he always made an effort to avoid them, taking his pleasure with experienced creatures.

On his first night in London after months of fighting in Spain, after a night in an overcrowded tavern, he had instructed Oakley to find him a lively wench with emphasis on comeliness and cleanliness. No, he thought, looking at the woman asleep in his arms, a virgin had been the last thing he’d expected—and, he observed, as his eyes coursed slowly over her figure, admiring the well-turned hips, sensuous thighs and gracefully curving back, she was a beauty at that. At that moment, more than anything he wanted to take her once more, but in the cold light of day, his senses returning, he could not. Had she then made the smallest gesture that she was willing, he might have taken her quickly, but she was no longer merely a body, a thing of the flesh.

Her expression was one of peace, of perfect tranquillity. He put a finger gently to her face and brushed a wisp of hair from the sweet curve of her cheek. She did not speak or move, only opened her eyes. They darkened almost to black as the pupils dilated.

Delphine stared up at him, her mind slowly coming together from the depths of sleep, and saw that she nestled against a warm, hard chest. Stephen Fitzwaring was looking down at her, his breath stirring the hair on her brow. There was no denying that he was handsome, physically magnificent. She might even have dreamed of such a man at one time, but never in those dreams did she imagine that she would be made to fulfil his basest desires.

That was the moment when she realised full well where she was and what she had done—what she had allowed to happen. She had been bedded by a complete stranger. The passion that had earlier heated her blood with lust now blazed into fury and shame. The infatuation that had betrayed her honour was decimated by her own disgust. A gasp of anguish tore itself from her lips before she could strangle it. Throwing off the protective arm, she sat up, clutching the sheet over her bosom, her body trembling, her hair falling in soft disarray over her shoulders.

‘How do you feel this morning?’ Stephen asked, as though she had been his willing partner in carousing the night away.

‘How do you expect me to feel?’ she whispered hoarsely, wriggling to the edge of the bed and lowering her legs over the side, amazed and shocked to find she was still wearing her stockings. ‘I want to get dressed.’

‘If you must.’ His eyes passed over her with a leisurely ease and he reached out a hand to caress her thigh, laughing softly when she shrank further away from him. ‘Would you like me to help?’

‘Please don’t touch me again,’ she managed to utter, horrified and shocked to the core of her being by what she had done. ‘You’ve done your worst—you’ve defiled me, you—you lecher—now leave me alone.’

He heaved himself out of bed and, to Delphine’s relief, pulled on his trousers. ‘Such cruelty. And if I don’t?’ he teased, walking round the bed to stand in front of her, hands on hips, not touching, but near enough that she was trapped and could not move without coming into contact with him.

‘I’ll scream the place down.’ Tall though she was, he topped her by a full head.

‘I doubt that would do any good.’ He grinned quite devilishly. ‘Oakley knows better than to interrupt me when I’m entertaining a lady.’

‘A lady is exactly what I was—my life one of chastity and restraint, before I encountered you,’ Delphine cried wretchedly, pushing him away and beginning to pull on her underclothes, though she found it impossible to stop her violent shaking and her thin petticoat offered little protection. How she wished he would complete his dressing and put on a shirt. ‘What you have done to me makes me feel like a … a scarlet woman.’

The silver, early-morning sunlight drifting through the window glowed on his bare chest, showing him lithe and dangerous like a panther. Her nerves stretched taut, she raked her trembling fingers through her hair, combing it as best she could before securing it in a knot in the nape of her neck. Leaning on the bedpost with his arms folded across his chest, Stephen continued to watch her. When her gaze fell on the blood that stained the rumpled sheets, her cheeks flushed scarlet: her shame was complete.

Stephen shifted his gaze from her angry face to the bed, then back to her, and their eyes met. She was a most desirable young woman, but with a subdued, ladylike composure. The bold ones always drew immediate attention, yet they could not always keep it. Delphine Cameron was of prime quality and, until her encounter with him, unsullied. His awakened passion had made him more forceful than he’d intended and he did not recall her saying no.

‘I now understand the truth of your inexperience, Delphine. I do not know why you agreed to let Oakley bring you to me—that is your affair—and if you are now full of regret then that, too, is your affair, but I cannot regret trying you before other men. Nor do I feel any guilt over the pleasure you have given me—although if you choose to be a woman of pleasure, then you need to be taught the finer arts of the profession. You are very beautiful. Such spirit and passion—a woman worthy of being loved. It would be a task for any man not to want to make love to you.’

Delphine’s face reddened at his words, at what he incorrectly imagined she aspired to be. But she could not escape the fact that the second time he had made love to her had held some surprises, for she had not found him quite so loathsome then. And now, at this very moment, she wanted more than anything to run her hands across his muscled shoulders and down his chest. Her gaze lingered about his narrow waist and hips and taut, flat stomach. She trembled, her eyes darkened and instantly slid away from him, as if the temptation was more than she could bear.

She reeled with self-disgust at what she threatened to become—that most despised of all women: a loose woman. She had sampled the pleasures of the flesh, craved it. She was dissolute, wanton—but it was this stranger who had made her so. He had unleashed that wantonness within her and now she was afraid of herself.

‘You were like a breath of fresh air,’ he went on softly, ‘after an evening spent in an overcrowded tavern. You have the kind of beauty that would tempt a saint.’

‘In matters of debauchery you don’t need anyone to lure you.’ She bestowed on him an accusatory glare before lowering her gaze, reluctant to meet his eyes as she hurriedly fumbled with her bodice. She turned aside to hide her nakedness from him, but his hands came to assist, fastening the catches of her gown. When his fingers lingered on her neck she gasped and moved away, casting a quick nervous glance at him, fearful of what might happen if he came at her again, for she was absolutely certain she could not withstand his persuasive, unrelenting assault.

‘Please do not touch me again—I beg of you,’ she pleaded. ‘You have done me a grave injustice. Have you no conscience? I am not a strumpet, nor do I wish to be.’

Stephen’s eyes narrowed at her words, the seeds of doubt beginning to take root. ‘But Oakley found you in a whorehouse, did he not? That was his intended destination last night.’

‘Yes, that was where he found me,’ she confirmed, her voice ragged with emotion, ‘but I was there looking for a missing child. Working at the orphanage and treating young and old for minor ailments is my profession, Colonel Fitzwaring, not prostitution. Your Mr Oakley led me to believe you were sick and in need of attention. I now fully comprehend the misunderstanding—on both our parts. Mr Oakley was looking for a woman by the name of Delphine, a woman at the bordello who has assumed my name for no other reason than because she happens to like it. It is unfortunate for me that I did not comprehend this at the time.’

Stephen nodded his head slowly as he began to understand the mistake. ‘Yes, it was—and very stupid.’

‘How could I know that I was about to fall prey to a degenerate, unprincipled libertine?’

Stephen scowled. ‘That bad?’ he asked softly. ‘No matter. It’s too late for recriminations now. The deed is done and there is no going back.’

‘And I am totally ruined,’ she said, her voice thick with recrimination. ‘You callous beast. I am flattered that you found a romp on the bed with me entertaining, Colonel, but I truly wish you had sought a woman who would appreciate your advances rather than one who loathes you. Does it not concern you that you raped me and that I do not wish to be here?’

Stephen studied her with a great deal of interest. ‘It is beginning to and I cannot say that I blame you. Although, as I remember it, you had plenty of time to warn me of my error before we got to bed.’

He stared down at her. He was sorry for what he had done, for not bothering to find out more about her and for not taking the time to make love to her properly as she deserved. He longed to explain away the extraordinary circumstances and his own behaviour, to lay the blame elsewhere, but he could not. He shook his head and the shamefaced, penitent cast of his features softened. His eyes were steady and honest, and he did not avoid her gaze as he spoke.

‘I will not lie to you, but last night I truly believed you were—’

‘A whore,’ she provided for him coldly.

‘Yes—that. Men are weak creatures, Delphine, when their manhood is involved, and cannot resist a beautiful woman. But I swear I would not have touched you had I known you were chaste.’ A small smile broke across his features and he moved to stand closer to her. Before she could protest, he took her hands and drew her to him. ‘However,’ he murmured, his eyes lingering on her lips, ‘I did touch you—and more than that. And now I am reluctant to let you go. So a kiss before you leave me, Delphine—something I can remember you by. Let us see if I can thaw some of that ice from your lips.’

So saying, he lowered his head and placed his lips on hers, kissing her long, almost lovingly, arching her body against his. He ravished her mouth, savouring the honey sweetness of her lips and the intoxicating nearness of her body, and all logical thought flew from his mind. He held her to him, luxuriating in the feel of her, the warmth of her, her desirability. One of his hands rested in the small of her back, holding her to him, fusing their bodies together so that Delphine was aware of his arousal. It was becoming increasingly difficult to imagine her leaving him just yet. Damned if it wasn’t. But Delphine had other ideas and took his bottom lip between her teeth to nip it fiercely. Cursing, he set her away from him, tasting blood in his mouth.

‘And you call yourself a soldier—a commander of men?’ Delphine exploded in disgust, choking on sobs and angered by the tears that blurred her eyes. ‘Where have you learned your manners, Colonel? In the hovels of Spain?’

Ignoring the pain from his injured lip, with his hands on his hips he stared into her tear-bright eyes. ‘So the kitten has found its claws. You have a sharp tongue, Delphine, and teeth to go with it. You cut me to the quick. I do not recall any such protestations when we were in bed.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ she uttered derisively. ‘You were disgustingly drunk.’

His gaze travelled the length of her slim, lissom body, her breasts rounded beneath the tight bodice of her gown. The tall, shapely figure could not be hidden even when she was fully clothed, nor could her natural grace be disguised.

‘Not so drunk that I did not know what was happening,’ he replied, softening his tone. ‘The second time I made love to you, I would go so far as to say you found pleasure in the act.’

Infuriated, Delphine swung her bag at him, missing his face by a mere inch when he sprang back. He had not expected physical violence from her.

‘Next time I shall not miss,’ she promised heatedly.

He cocked a sleek black brow. ‘Is there to be a next time?’

‘Only if we should have the misfortune to meet,’ she cried, angrily wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. ‘Touch me again and you will be singing in soprano for the rest of your life. Now kindly call your Mr Oakley and have him order me a carriage. The sooner I am gone from this place—and from you—the better I shall feel.’

Deeply touched by her obvious distress and cursing himself for being the cause of it, in an attempt to ease her wretchedness he said, ‘As a gentleman I can hardly send you on your way without escort. I do not wish to pry, but if you will name your destination, I will deliver you there without further ado. I assure you most humbly that you need have no fear of me.’

‘Indeed? Forgive me, but I must disagree. I prefer to see myself home.’

‘As you wish. You are not my prisoner. You may leave directly if you so wish.’

‘I cannot do that. I entered your room unobserved; I would die of shame if anyone should see me leave.’

‘Then I will get Oakley. I would go myself, but I fear these tight breeches leave nought to the imagination. The embarrassment would be all mine.’

Delphine’s eyes travelled downward innocently and she was immediately sorry. Blood rushed to her face and she turned away. He was right; his physical state could not be concealed. She was thankful when a hesitant knocking came at the door.

Stephen smiled, amused by her discomfort, and went to open it. ‘I must pay recompense to the time you have given me, Delphine. What is the going rate?’ As soon as the words had left his mouth he regretted them. Hurt and humiliation filled her eyes.

‘How would I know that? As I have told you, I am no whore. You owe me nothing. I have my pride, Colonel, and will take nothing from you. However, a generous donation to the orphanage on Water Lane would not go amiss.’

‘I will see to it.’ His eyes darkened and he frowned slightly, his gaze holding hers. ‘For what it’s worth, I do not blame you for being angry. I feel wretched about the way I treated you. My conduct was inexcusable.’

His frankness startled Delphine and for a moment she was caught off guard. ‘Yes, it was,’ she said softly.

‘Subtlety is not my strongest suit, I fear, but if you wish to slap my face, it is at your disposal.’

Delphine slowly shook her head, still startled.

‘I would not blame you.’

As they stood silently looking at each other, Delphine felt a curious sensation for this man stir deep inside her—this man she had every reason to despise. He would escape retribution for what he had done to her, for she knew she could never speak of the shameful night past. Her body trembled so violently that she almost swayed off her feet. Last night she had suffered the depravity of a man. Last night had also provided a chilling insight into her own body and how wanton she could be.

When Stephen turned from her, Delphine saw her reflection in a cracked mirror across the room. Rage and fury roiled within her and bitter tears stung her eyes. Traitor, she silently spat at her image. You let him bed you. Shameless hussy! Have you no honour?

No answer came.

Stephen opened the door to admit Mr Oakley, who smiled sheepishly at her, but she returned the smile with a glare, whereupon he turned to his master, quite confused. A penitent smile curved Stephen’s lips. Perplexed, Mr Oakley glanced at the bed, his eyes widening when he saw the stains on the sheets. Stephen met his gaze and nodded the silent response to his unasked question.

‘It would appear you were mistaken, Oakley. This Delphine is not the Delphine you sought. It is unfortunate, but there we are. Arrange some transport for her, will you, and I am sure she will appreciate it if you see that she leaves the inn without being observed.’

Putting on her bonnet and picking up her bag, Delphine couldn’t exit the room quickly enough. She followed in Mr Oakley’s wake, hoping never to have the misfortune to see Colonel Fitzwaring again. A fierce hatred for the man burned inside her with an all-consuming intensity. She would never forget what he had done—and certainly never, ever forgive him.

She was still in a state of considerable shock after what she had endured, but seated in the hackney on her way home to Mayfair, she had yet to comprehend the full magnitude of what had transpired. A conflict raged inside her between shock and anger. Shock that such a thing should have happened to her, and anger against Colonel Fitzwaring for having done it—the most dreadful thing that could happen to an unmarried girl of her class. She froze as the situation and the seriousness crystallised in her mind. It seemed, suddenly, as if all her innocence had vanished. Indeed, there was a fearsome new depth to life that she had never known before.

Delphine was the daughter of Lord John Cameron and his wife, Evangeline, and they lived in one of the elegant houses lining Berkeley Square. Delphine was on the point of letting herself in when, as if on cue, the door was opened by Digby, the butler Delphine had known all her life.

‘Good morning, Digby,’ she said, entering the hall. She had no doubt that, like everyone else in the house, he would be curious to know her reason for remaining out all night—and with not a word to anyone. God help her if the truth came out. ‘Is anyone risen, or are they still abed?’

‘Lady Cameron is in the drawing room. She was most concerned when you failed to come home last night and rose early. She instructed me to tell you to go straight in the moment you arrived.’

Delphine’s heart sank. She had wanted to bathe and change her clothes before she faced her mother’s wrath, but it would seem there was nothing for it.

‘I see. Then I shall go in. In the meantime, have one of the maids prepare me a bath, will you, Digby?’

Delphine’s mother was seated in her favourite chair by the window. Although it was still early, the day promised to be as hot as the one before; the room was already sweltering and her mother was fanning herself. Of medium height and slender, her greying dark hair perfectly arranged, Lady Cameron’s anger was palpable to Delphine the moment she entered the room. With compressed lips the older woman looked her over in a strained, suspicious manner and began wielding her feather fan more swiftly, a sure sign of exasperation. Its quiet swishing in the silence of the room jarred Delphine physically. She crossed the room and clung to the back of a chair to steady herself.

‘Good morning, Mama. I apologise for giving you cause for concern.’

‘Concern?’ she snapped crossly. ‘You knew perfectly well that I wanted you to attend my musical evening last night. Not only did you fail to attend, but you didn’t even bother to send word that you would be out all night! This is most improper. Where have you been? I demand to know. And just look at you. Your clothes look as if they have been slept in.’

‘I—I was at the orphanage until quite late. Two of the children have gone down with something. I stayed to help. By the time I’d finished it was too late for me to get home, so I decided to remain there the night.’

Her mother’s eyes narrowed with angry suspicion. ‘I do not believe a word of it, Delphine. You are lying; I know that for a fact. When you failed to come home I sent a footman to the orphanage to fetch you. He was told that you had already left. I shudder when I think of the type of people you consort with. Celia has a lot to answer for.’

‘It wasn’t Aunt Celia’s fault.’ Having been caught out in a lie, Delphine knew she would have to tell her mother some of the truth. ‘I—I went in search of a child who’d gone missing.’

‘And did you find her?’

Delphine nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Where?’

‘She—she had run away to be with her mother—at Mrs Cox’s bordello, at the other end of Water Lane.’

‘I see. So her mother is a fallen woman. And are you telling me that you actually entered that establishment?’

‘Yes,’ Delphine answered quietly. Her mother was a woman who had led a sheltered life in the exclusive part of Bath until her marriage. Her world consisted of daily promenades around Mayfair, shopping and sipping tea with her friends in the pleasure gardens, her evenings one long round of entertainment. She had never been to places like St Giles or Seven Dials, those stewpots of disease and depravity. She had never seen women like Meg or children like Maisie. She would never understand as Delphine and Aunt Celia did that Meg and women like her were driven to sell themselves on the streets out of desperation. She would never know how those women suffered.

‘The fist attribute of a lady is ladylike conduct, whether in public or in private, and conduct of all kinds must be governed by good manners. You, Delphine, have shown neither. Why do you have to be like this? Why can you not look to your sisters for example?’

‘I am not like my sisters, Mama.’

‘No, you are not. You are too outspoken, too disobedient—too much of everything, and you do things that no respectable young lady would contemplate doing. Courting danger, traipsing about the streets at night with cut-throats and ruffians on the loose and suffering all weathers.’

Delphine’s eyes grew moist with unshed tears. ‘Exposure to the elements is not suffering,’ she replied. ‘It is nothing compared to the pain of rejection. To be rejected by a father and mother for not being the son they had hoped for: that is true suffering.’ The words slipped from her mouth before she could check herself and her mother looked surprised and more than a little discomfited by her perception. Delphine felt as if a part of her had died. Her need to be loved and adored burned as brightly as ever, but her innocence was gone.

Pulling herself together with an effort, she continued. ‘I should not have spoken to you so, but your questioning has drawn from me that which we have never spoken of before. I have always been sensitive to the fact.’

Her mother got to her feet, her body ramrod straight, her head up. Her breathing was fast, her whole face alight with the force of her anger.

‘Your father and I have tried and tried with you, Delphine,’ she said. Her voice was tinged with sadness, but edged with self-righteous complaint. ‘We have done our best for you—given you everything. All you seem to care for is your charity work—there scarcely seems room in your life for anything else. I don’t know where it has come from, this fondness you have for simple folk. It may be counted a credit to your wisdom that you are fair and show consideration to them. Alas, this cannot hold true for those most near and dear to you.’

‘I am sorry, Mama,’ Delphine said awkwardly. ‘I do love you and Papa and all my sisters, but I also enjoy what I do.’

‘Sorry!’ Her mother’s voice was scornful. ‘Perhaps if you had been a dutiful daughter you would not feel so rejected. I am still waiting for you to explain where you have been all night. Am I to suppose that you stayed at that—that bordello?’

Delphine blanched and looked away. Lady Cameron came to stand in front of her and, taking hold of her chin, forced her face back round. Her eyes probed, delved into those of her daughter, trying to read in them the truth. She wrinkled her nose as though she could smell the physical contact. She knew.

‘You did, didn’t you?’ she asked in shocked disbelief. ‘Were you with a man? Answer me!’

With a pain in her heart almost too heavy to bear and tears not far away, Delphine nodded, unable to stop herself from telling her mother every sordid detail of what had happened to her. In the telling, she remembered when Lord Fitzwaring had taken her a second time, how she had stilled, knowing the struggle was over. He was the victor—though against a smaller opponent. She had known the relief of it, and in doing so had become aware of the smooth firmness of his flesh, his perfect body above hers, the strange attraction she felt for him and her own insatiable desire.

The end of tension from the struggle had given her a strange physical thrill. She’d realised with horror that despite her rigid self-control during visits to the bordello, she could fall prey to sensual delight as easily as the woman she had observed making love to a stranger; she had understood in that instant that men and women were drawn to each other for the sensations they could enjoy. If a man or woman found delight in the sensations, this was part of the way they had been created, part of nature’s law, and could not therefore be considered unnatural. But her mother would not see it that way.

Lady Cameron listened in horror to the words that tumbled from her daughter’s mouth. For a moment, only utter shock and uncertainty registered on her face. Then her eyes began to gleam as they had done on the day her eldest daughter had married Lord Rundell and her whole expression changed, leaving her face blank, but decisive. Behind the mask of dignified respectability, the ambitious mother had taken over, greedy for her children and determined both to avoid a scandal and to make the best out of an intolerable situation.

‘The man is a colonel, you say, in Wellington’s army. What else? Is he rich? Titled? What?’

‘He is Lord—Lord Stephen Fitzwaring. That is all I know about him.’

‘Your behaviour was reckless and totally irresponsible. Now you must pay the price. He will have to marry you, of course—and he will, if he is a gentleman, which I am beginning to doubt.’

Delphine had never seen her mother’s face as it was then. Her eyes were hard, looking through Delphine as if she were a whore rather than her own daughter. Her eyes dropped to Delphine’s waist and then back to her face.

‘What if there is a child? Have you considered that?’

A cold, dreadful shock seized Delphine’s every nerve and the blood drained from her face. In her innocence she had not thought of this; lying beneath Colonel Fitzwaring, she had not considered the full consequences of his act.

When Delphine opened her mouth to speak, her mother held up her hand, quivering with fury and indignation. ‘Be quiet. What you have done is nothing short of wicked. It pains me to say it, you—you Jezebel. I shudder to think how your father will react to this. You are a disgrace.’

John Cameron was a short, stocky man of Scottish descent, with whitening tawny hair and a temper that was easily roused. He was summoned right away and when he’d heard what his wife had to say, his anger was like an explosion.

‘I always knew no good would come of your visiting that orphanage—however good your intentions. No,’ he blustered, red to the ears and puffing out his barrel chest, ‘you’ve made your bed. Lie on it. You are absolutely ruined unless the man marries you. You do realise that, don’t you, Delphine?’

She straightened up and looked directly at her father. ‘I have made a mistake, a grievous and awful mistake, and I will have to live with the consequences—but marriage?’

‘Absolutely. Thank God the man’s credentials are fitting.’

‘He won’t marry me.’

‘We’ll see about that. If Fitzwaring thinks he can ruin my good name by seducing one of my daughters and then go flitting off back to Spain, he is grievously mistaken. He’ll pay for it; I’ll make damned sure of that.’

Helplessness, bleak as the grave, descended on Delphine, but she was powerless to speak, powerless to stand against the combined forces of her parents when their minds were made up.

Two days later her father summoned her. Fully expecting another scolding, she proceeded to her father’s study, patting her hair into place. He was standing with his back to the fireplace.

‘Come in, Delphine.’ He nodded towards the tall man looking out of the window with his back to her. With his feet planted firmly apart, his hands behind his back, attired in his military uniform of scarlet jacket and white trousers, he stood stiff and unyielding. ‘You are already acquainted with Colonel Fitzwaring, of course.’

Delphine’s heart gave a fearful leap. Her initial surprise at her father’s summons was stirred into a sudden tumult of emotions by Colonel Fitzwaring’s presence. He turned and looked at her with those incredible midnight-blue eyes of his. The glare of his red jacket hurt her eyes; for one wild, unreasoning moment her life flared into vivid, lively colour, her familiar surroundings fading away into the background. She was conscious of an unwilling excitement. In fact, much to her annoyance, she was very much aware of everything about him—the long, strong lines of his body, the skin above the jacket, tanned and healthy—and she was surprised to see faint lines of weariness on his face.

Conscious of those searing eyes on her, with trembling fingers she clutched the neck of her gown, remembering that dark gaze and its seeming power to strip the clothes from her, leaving her body bare. Yes, she remembered him. She knew him by her own response to him—needle-sharp chills—but there was no sign of her lover of three nights ago.

In an atmosphere bristling with tension, with an effort she said, in the coldest and most condescending manner, ‘Yes, we are. Good day, Lord Fitzwaring.’

‘Miss Cameron.’ He bowed, and there was a touch of irony in his mocking tone as he lowered his shining dark head.

Stephen’s blood was pumping through his veins. He had not expected Lord Cameron to deliver such a robust lecture on the rules he felt Stephen had broken. As a result Stephen was alert; his consciousness was fine-honed as a sharp blade. The black pinpoints of his dark-blue eyes shot fire.

Delphine had never seen such a look in a man’s eyes before. It reminded her of sparks shooting from the glow of a fire. His presence filled the room. He didn’t speak. Waiting, Delphine shivered. Silence was a weapon, she realised, and there were men who knew how to use it to deadly effect. Stephen Fitzwaring was one such man. It seemed no one was prepared to speak in his presence unless spoken to. He had the dynamism of a military commander and he was using silence aggressively, to assert his power.

‘You are here because my father asked you to come. Is that not so, Lord Fitzwaring?’

‘It is. You are well, I trust?’

Delphine actually flinched at the cold, ruthless fury in his eyes as they raked over her. She did not want to disappoint her father now, having decided the moment she’d set eyes on Colonel Fitzwaring to keep her composure, but the effort of holding herself in check in the presence of this arrogant man was too much.

‘As you see,’ she replied icily, suspecting he would rather face the full might of Napoleon’s army than be present at her home today, ‘I have survived our last encounter without scars.’ This was hardly the truth, but she would not grant him the satisfaction of telling him so.

The impact of his gaze was no less potent for the distance between them. He took a step closer, his powerful, animal-like masculinity assaulting her senses. Melting inwardly, she felt her traitorous body offer itself to this man; in that moment they both acknowledged the forbidden flame that sparked between them, both angered by their inability to control it. He raised one well-defined eyebrow, watching her, a half-smile now playing on his lips. He seemed to know exactly what was going on in her mind.

But Stephen would have none of it. The army was of the utmost importance to him—he had no time for marriage and affairs of the heart. A man who loved too well was vulnerable. Certainly he yielded to the desires of the flesh as much as the next man. Many women had passed through his life—some had faded from memory and a few he had felt affection for, but never doted on, excepting one, a beautiful, callous and treacherous woman, whom he had left with the bitter belief that love was only for the young and idealistic. He liked mature women, women who understood the rules of the game, women who accepted the fact that affairs ran their course and expected nothing more.

His main aim in life, while the military campaign was ongoing in Spain, was to concentrate on developing his mind and spirit for action on the field of battle—until he’d had the misfortune to encounter this infuriating, if beautiful, young woman. How could he have known that she was the daughter of one of London’s elite? His lust had led him into a trap of his own making—now he must pay the price of his passion.

Chapter Three

Lord Cameron looked at his daughter. He had not been made aware of the facts that had drawn Delphine into this man’s bed, nor did he wish to be, but unless the Colonel wanted to make a damned fool of himself and create a scandal, he would have to do the honourable thing and marry her. But she should be warned not to anger him overmuch, for, as he had discovered to his cost when he had sought the man out to confront him, the man had a temper and Delphine would do well to heed that.

‘Lord Fitzwaring has confirmed that you did indeed have … relations at the Blue Boar three nights past. Since I am a man of honour, I wanted to be sure of the facts before I asked him to do the right thing by you.’

Delphine tilted her head to one side as she considered her seducer coldly. ‘And will you, Lord Fitzwaring? Do the right thing by me, I mean,’ she said, resenting his effect on her, the masculine assurance of his bearing.

‘Of course. Your father and I have discussed the matter and it is our intention to see that you are cared for.’

‘Indeed?’ She laughed lightly, a laugh laced with bitterness. ‘I can vouch for my father’s concern, but when I recall your less-than-gentlemanly treatment of me on our previous encounter, you must forgive me if I doubt yours, my lord. Do you think it pleases me to plead for my salvation from the man who stole my virginity? Do what you will. Seek out your own pride and honour, but do no hope to find your conscience clean and laundered at my door, Colonel.’

Stephen’s face hardened and his eyes took on a malignant expression. ‘I would advise you to have a care,’ he ground out, leaning forwards slightly so that his furious eyes were level with hers. ‘I did not have to come here today. I could have pleaded ignorance due to my inebriated state at the time and told your father that he was mistaken.’

In no mood to be charitable or diplomatic, Delphine smiled mockingly into his eyes. ‘Your head was sodden with drink—that I do remember—and I also recall you have a rather attractive little mole on your—’

‘Enough,’ he thundered, thoroughly enraged by this chit.

Delphine watched the man’s temper fraying—his eyes were dark and strong emotion was choking him.

Bringing himself quickly under control, in a more reasonable tone he said, ‘I cannot do more than apologise for my conduct and offer recompense. I have told your father that I am willing to marry you and he has my guarantee that you will be supported in a manner suitable to your upbringing.’

Delphine’s lips curved in what resembled a sneer rather than a smile. She could sense the slowly burning anger in him at being manipulated into marrying her. ‘How extremely generous of you, Lord Fitzwaring. Where do you propose we start?’

Her father looked at her with cold eyes. ‘Enough, Delphine. You are too impertinent. You would do well to watch your manners. It is because of your disobedience and your determination to flout the rules that govern the lives of respectable young ladies that you find yourself in this mess. Can’t you get it through your head that you are sullied—damaged goods? By any moral code you are disgraced. If your affair with Lord Fitzwaring comes to light and it becomes known that you are no longer virtuous, every door in London will be slammed in your face.’

Delphine stiffened with indignation. ‘Papa, it was not an affair. I—’

‘Silence. Your mother and I always said you were a lost cause. This latest in a long line of escapades proves we were right. It is with considerable distaste that I do this, but I must, for your sake, insist that Lord Fitzwaring brings you to the altar.’

Delphine seethed with anger and humiliation. Her father was asking her to enter into a binding contract to change her life, something that would determine her entire future. She had seen so little of the world and knew so little of men. She had attended only a few sedate gatherings with her mother, only a handful of dances and soirées. She had not mixed in society like most girls of her age and all she had to measure Stephen Fitzwaring against were the men who came to call on her twin sisters, Rose and Fern, and the men who had married her older sisters. For the most part she found them boring and not in the least appealing. Stephen Fitzwaring was not like any one of them.

‘But I have no desire to wed Lord Fitzwaring.’

‘It is not open to discussion. He has agreed, though God knows that if I were a violent man I would take a horsewhip to him. Because of him, if this is not dealt with in the proper manner, you will be subjected to public censure and a scandal that will ruin you and make us a laughing stock. Which is why, two days hence, the two of you will be married by special licence.’

Completely taken aback, Delphine’s eyes widened with alarm. ‘Why the haste?’

Stephen raised a finely arched brow. ‘My duties call me back to Spain immediately,’ he informed her coolly.

‘Indeed?’ She tossed her head imperiously. ‘That is no great disappointment to me.’

Stephen’s eyes narrowed with irritation. ‘You are severely lacking in respect and discretion when you speak to me. When I am your husband, things will be different.’

His words failed to anger her. She gave him that amused smile, slightly scornful, such as she had seen her father give on occasion, which generally infuriated people.

‘When you become my husband, I can only hope the war with France is of long duration and that your military duties will keep you in Spain,’ she asserted. ‘Until then, if you address me in a civil manner, you will not find me lacking in respect. It is something that comes naturally to me, except when I meet intemperance.’

‘Enough,’ her father cut in. ‘Let us get on with it. There are arrangements to be made.’

‘Of course,’ Stephen said, speaking precisely. ‘Under the circumstances it would be best if Delphine remained here until I return from Spain. I shall then take her to my home in Cornwall.’

‘No, sir, you will not,’ Lord Cameron asserted forcefully. ‘As your wife my daughter’s place will be in your house. After the ceremony you will take her there directly. I am sure you will not be delayed too long in rejoining your regiment.’

Stephen turned his frigid gaze upon his future father-in-law. ‘And of course you insist upon that?’

His lordship fixed the colonel with an unwavering stare. ‘Yes, I do.’

A muscle twitched angrily in Stephen’s cheek. ‘Very well, although I shall have to leave almost immediately and will have no time to see her settled in.’

‘I think I shall manage perfectly well without you,’ Delphine said coldly.

Stephen looked at his future wife. ‘Marriage to me is what your father wants and marriage to me is what you shall have for the rest of your life.’

‘Do you forget there is a war on, my lord? Men are being killed out there. There is every chance you won’t return.’

He laughed low in his throat and his eyes were merciless. ‘Have no fear, Delphine. I have no desire to leave you too soon.’

‘There is the matter of Delphine’s dowry to discuss before you go. I am prepared to make a generous settlement.’

‘Keep it. I want nothing from you.’

His reply drew a surprised gasp from Delphine. Her father stared at the colonel for a moment, bewildered.

‘Did I hear you correctly, sir?’

‘You did,’ Stephen replied coldly. ‘I have no intention of taking payment for marrying my wife.’

‘But—it is normal practice.’

‘It is not a practice I approve of. I am capable of financing Delphine’s needs, Lord Cameron.’

‘I will not be a burden to you, Colonel,’ Delphine told him, ‘socially or financially. At least that way I can manage to retain some shred of self-esteem.’

Stephen looked at her with hard eyes. ‘As my wife, you will hardly be in a position to maintain yourself without me. You will find that out soon enough.’

With that he inclined his head to them both and walked to the door. Delphine caught a glimpse of his angry, aristocratic profile as he paused for a moment, then he was gone with only a pledge that he would not be late for the ceremony.

It was over. Delphine was now the wife of Lord Fitzwaring and on the point of leaving London. When they had left the church her face had been ashen. Impatient to dispose of the daughter who had fallen from grace, Lord and Lady Cameron had made it a rushed affair.

There had been no beautiful wedding dress, no bridesmaids, only a husband who despised her for forcing him into marriage against his will. When they had spoken their vows he had placed the ring on her finger and the traditional kiss on her cold, unresponsive lips. As Stephen raised his head, his taunting smile had seared her and brought a rush of angry colour to her cheeks. He was laughing cruelly at her and her pride was stung. She jutted her chin defiantly and glared at him.

‘Were I a man you would not sneer so easily.’

She saw his cheeks crease with a maddeningly slow and mischievous smile, and when he spoke it was for her ears only, low and unmerciful. ‘Were you a man you would not be in the situation you are now in, my love.’

Her temper flared and she tried to wrest her arm free from what to everyone present appeared to be a husband’s tender hand placed on his wife’s arm. To Delphine his grip was like a vice, which tightened as she tried to pull it free.

Lowering his head to hers, his warm breath fanning her cheek, seeming to enjoy her distress, Stephen murmured, ‘You cannot escape me, Delphine. I have a very possessive nature. You are mine, now and for ever, so smile and let everyone see how happy you are.’

Her face burned. She had little left to be proud of. Even her independence had been stripped from her and it goaded her that she must now rely upon this man for her support. ‘You must be the vilest of toads that I have ever had the misfortune to meet,’ she hissed.

He did not seem surprised or insulted. Undaunted, he lifted his brows quizzically, a twist of humour about his beautifully moulded lips. ‘This is a crushing moment, my love. I have been called some unflattering things in my life, but I have never been called a toad,’ he murmured, chuckling deep as he walked her back down the aisle.

The wedding feast had been a strained affair and passed quickly. The bride and groom were now about to depart on their journey to Cornwall. Standing in the hall Delphine was indeed living as in a nightmare. Only two of her sisters, Rose and Fern, had been present at the ceremony—although she had seen little of them since the morning of her return following her night with Lord Fitzwaring. She suspected that her mother had purposely kept them away from her lest she contaminate her precious darlings with her loose morals.

Her two older sisters were married and lived too far away to attend the wedding at such short notice. The twins had looked on in bewilderment, with no knowledge of what had transpired between their younger sister and the handsome soldier. They were so perfect, so fragile and dainty, with pale silk hair and rose-tinted skin, both dressed in identical gowns of the palest cream. Their eyes were an incredible bright blue, their mouths soft and tremulous. They were innocent and had perfect manners—in fact, they were everything Delphine was not and they were to marry into the aristocracy a few months hence.

Lord and Lady Cameron doted on their beautiful identical twins. All her life Delphine had longed for her parents to look at her the way they looked at Rose and Fern. Their haste to see her gone from the house was almost too painful to bear.

Now she bade farewell to the servants and family retainers who had gathered to say goodbye and offer their salutations and, unexpectedly, a few tears. She was particularly sad to bid goodbye to her Aunt Celia, who would miss both her and her help at the orphanage terribly. A level-headed woman who was usually in control of herself and any situation, she had been made privy to the circumstances that had brought about this hasty marriage. Aunt Celia’s usually stern face broke into a kindly smile and her eyes filled with tears.

‘God bless you, my dear,’ she said, embracing her tenderly. ‘I’m going to miss you for more reasons than you know. I am so proud of you.’

‘Proud of me?’ Delphine said sadly. ‘How can that be when I have disgraced you all?’

Celia smiled at her gently. ‘Nonsense. Sometimes a girl cannot help the things that happen to her. She is just a victim of circumstance.’

‘Or of a particular soldier,’ Delphine murmured sadly.

Celia laughed softly. ‘Yes, or of a soldier. But at least your Colonel Fitzwaring is a handsome soldier. When my dear brother told me of your predicament and said a colonel in Wellington’s army was to blame, I had cause to worry. I had visions of him being old and ugly and lecherous. I am relieved to find he is none of those things. I think he is quite magnificent. The donation he made to the orphanage was generous indeed.’

Delphine was genuinely surprised to hear this. When he had offered her payment for her services and she had suggested he make a donation to the orphanage, she had truly thought he would ignore her request. ‘I had no idea—although I’m ashamed when I think of the way it came about.’

‘Don’t be. It is done and life goes on.’ Celia gave her a final embrace. ‘Now you must go. You have a long journey ahead of you. Promise to write to me as soon as you get to Cornwall. I want to know all about your new home.’

‘I will, I promise—and please send me all the news about the children. You will keep a watch over Maisie, won’t you, Aunt Celia?’

‘I shall.’

‘And if anything should happen—if you have cause to feel concern for her safety—you will let me know.’

‘Yes. Now go along with you. I’m sure there are some poor souls in Cornwall in need of your care, Delphine.’

Delphine was hard put to restrain herself. Her throat was sore and her chest tight. She said goodbye to her sisters and her stony-faced parents. There was no appeal she could make. They did not touch her or tell her that they loved her. She turned aside hastily and strode away, for her husband awaited her in front of the house.

Inside the confines of the coach she felt miserable and alone. Her eyes stung as they left London behind. So much was bottled up inside her; now it seemed too much. It was choking her. She was a tight bubble of misery being squeezed and ready to burst at any time, but she would remain intact. She would weep no more.

The coach made good speed. Appearing to loathe the prospect of being alone with Delphine in the coach, Stephen, preferring to accompany Mr Oakley on horseback, was mounted on a huge black beast, its glossy black coat gleaming with every ripple of its muscles.

The coach rattled into the cobbled yard of a coaching inn where they were to spend the night. Stephen dismounted and, with an imperious edge to his voice, instructed the driver to be ready to travel at half past eight the next morning before handing the reins of his horse to a groom.

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