Miss Cameron's Fall from Grace

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.’