‘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?’
Smotherin
g 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 b
ody, 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.’
Miss Cameron's Fall from Grace Page 3