Читать книгу Miss Cameron's Fall from Grace - Хелен Диксон, Хелен Диксон, Helen Dickson - Страница 8

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.