Miss Cameron's Fall from Grace

by Helen Dickson

  At that precise moment Delphine became convinced that there were no eyes in all the world bluer than the ones that settled on hers. Staring into those darkly translucent depths now, she found it easy to imagine a woman being swept away by admiration for him without a single word being uttered.

  ‘Thank you, Stephen. It is important to me to know that.’ Seeing his expression darken, Delphine regretted her blunder about other women. She so wanted to believe him, to trust him, but how could she when there was so much about him, about his life, that she didn’t know? She laughed to dispel the seriousness of the moment and looked across at him through lowered lashes.

  ‘Now, I believe our meal is ready—and I am ravenous. I shall join you when I have changed my gown.’

  Stephen seemed reluctant to end their conversation, his countenance appearing aggrieved, prompting a mischievous response. Rising to her feet, Delphine sank into a deep, playful curtsey. ‘I shall take my leave of you now, my lord,’ she quipped.

  His gaze was drawn to her bodice, which displayed a generous view of her breasts. Seeing his eyes flame, she put up a hand to cover her décolletage. His composure slipped.

  ‘Devil take it, Delphine! Don’t tempt me. You will soon come to know that I am not made of stone. Indeed, I can foresee our relationship coming down to a simple test of endurance, with one or both of us being pressed to the limit.’

  ‘Restrain yourself.’ She laughed. ‘They say it is good for the soul.’ And with that she went to change.

  * * *

  When they finally settled down to eat, Delphine was delighted to discover Mrs Crouch was also a wonderful cook. With few ingredients to hand, she managed to prepare a mouthwatering dish of mutton and vegetables, followed by delicious baked apples and thick cream.

  They sat on either side of the long table in the hall and, as they ate, Delphine was conscious of Stephen’s presence, of his long fingers as he held his knife and fork. For most of the time he maintained an easy conversation, regaling her with tales of his life as a boy at Tamara and his exploits in Spain, but Delphine was aware of the ever-present tension inside her as she endured his disturbingly intimate, lazy gaze. Silence prevailed between them as they ate their main course, for Stephen’s appetite for food had waned with the blunt realisation of his own craving for carnal appeasement. His wife looked unbearably lovely, her rich hair a vibrant cloud in the candlelight, so very young and so vulnerable.

  Unable to stay silent any longer, Delphine put down her knife and looked across at him. ‘Kindly say what is on your mind, Stephen,’ she urged, ‘for it appears you are more interested in watching me than in eating this delicious food Mrs Crouch has prepared for us. Come, I am listening.’

  Stephen’s mouth quirked thoughtfully as he continued to stare at her in silence. If he were to do as she asked and make her privy to his thoughts, he would likely shock her senses and send her fleeing back to London.

  As the recipient of that intense, midnight gaze, Delphine grew increasingly uneasy. She could only believe that whatever he was about to say would not be to her liking and he was reluctant to tell her. ‘I really wish you would not do that.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Stare at me so intently. It makes me feel I am being dissected.’

  Stephen looked at her, grinning wickedly. ‘Then I shall strive most heartily to improve my manners and not stare at you—difficult as that will be. You are extremely lovely to look at with your hair tumbling about your shoulders.’

  Delphine’s heart slammed into her ribs. ‘I cannot imagine why something as trivial as my hair piques your interest so.’

  As he leaned back in his chair, Stephen’s attention never strayed from her. She really was quite lovely in her finery, a simple gown of saffron and gold that brought out the lights in her hair, and his gaze feasted eagerly on her face. ‘To a man, a woman’s hair is never trivial. Imagining how it feels in one’s hands can become a man’s obsession.’ He paused to imagine curling a loose tendril of her hair around his finger. ‘I well remember the occasion when it was spread across my pillow.’

  Waves of heat flooded through Delphine’s body at his words as the image of her hair spread across his pillow flashed across her mind, pursued immediately by what had followed. She reminded herself of his callous indifference to her feelings at the time, and of her own pain, throwing the ice-cold water of reality on the hot, inexplicable hunger flaring inside her, a hunger she could see reflected in the intensity of his gaze.

  She forced herself not to look away. ‘Is it the priority of all men to concentrate on what a woman is like on the outside? Are they not concerned with what we are like on the inside?’

  Her question brought a leisurely smile to his lips, showing incredibly white teeth. ‘Where women are concerned, not all men look very deeply.’

  She arched a lovely brow, giving him a look of disdain. ‘You do not have a very high opinion of the character of your own sex, Stephen.’

  He grinned, a mocking gleam in his eyes. ‘True. Love turns some of them into complete idiots.’

  ‘Why do you speak of love in so derogatory a manner?’

  ‘Do I? I apologise, Delphine, but discussions of this sort bring out the worst in me.’

  ‘Then let us not discuss it.’ She stood. ‘I think I shall retire to bed. It has been a long day and I am tired after the journey.’

  Stephen sighed in exaggerated disappointment. ‘What a shame. I was enjoying our conversation.’

  ‘There is always tomorrow,’ she murmured as he rose to his feet. ‘I am surprised you find conversing with me enjoyable.’

  ‘You can hardly fault me there.’ His tone was equally soft as his eyes caressed her warmly. ‘You sorely test my restraint, Delphine.’

  ‘Restraint?’ She raised a delicate brow in disbelief. ‘I have seen no evidence of such.’

  He grinned roguishly. ‘If you really knew, you’d think me a scoundrel.’

  ‘I already do.’

  Meeting his gaze, she paused a moment. Her heart was troubled, the heart that she had thought stone cold, incapable of ever being warm and loving. It would be wonderful to let this strong husband of hers take her in his arms, his life—his bed. How well she remembered her response to the hard demands of his body—so wanton she had been ashamed. He had awakened some warm and sweet thing that had been satisfying.

  Afraid of the way he was looking at her and the path her thoughts were wandering along, she almost danced away as he approached her and with a toss of her head made her way up the stairs.

  * * *

  After a fitful night’s sleep and a busy day making a list of all that needed doing in the house, feeling restless and in the need of some fresh air, Delphine walked down to the rocky cove, uplifted by the smell of the sea. Perching on a large flat rock, she looked around, relieved to find the beach deserted.

  The cove was secluded and cut deep into the craggy cliffs, the sandy beach scattered with boulders. At high tide the waves crashed against the rocks with an explosion of white foam, filling the caves with water, but the tide was low now and the sea was calm and gleaming like glass. Gulls wheeled and squawked overhead, their white wings bright and shining, and two herons foraged among the reeds higher up the beach.

  She heard soft footfalls on the shingle behind her, but did not dare to turn round and face her husband. After a moment she turned her head slightly and watched him approach. A smile curved her lips, inviting him to share the moment. His face remained expressionless as he came to stand beside her. His feet were bare, his trousers rolled up to his knees and his white shirt open at the throat billowed in the gentle breeze.

  ‘I saw you leave the house and thought you were heading here,’ he said good-humouredly.

  She gave him a sidelong smile. ‘I couldn’t resist taking a clos
er look at the sea—and it’s such a lovely day.’ Her gaze drifted back to the horizon, to the play of light—pink, mauve, gold and saffron—above the deep indigo of the sea.

  Stephen’s gaze did not follow. Instead he looked down at her, watching the bright rays of the evening sun strike gleams from her hair—the play of the light on her face and lips, the soft lustre of her dark eyes, held him in thrall. In repose, her chest rose and fell; her hands were clasped round her drawn-up knees. The picture she presented held an innocence, a sparkling freshness he was not too jaded to see.

  ‘You looked deep in thought,’ he remarked softly, leaning casually against her rock. ‘I hope I am not intruding.’

  She sighed and shook her head. ‘No, not really, and you are right, I was thinking. I was thinking that if ever I feel a need for peace and quiet, to put everything into perspective, this is the place to come.’

  ‘And is that how you feel at this present time?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. Marrying you has changed my life so much—more than I could ever have imagined.’

  ‘I hope it will turn out to be for the better.’

  ‘As to that, we shall have to wait and see.’ She glanced up at him and smiled. ‘I am sorry, Stephen. I cannot blame you if you think me odd. I have always found something wanting in my life, whilst having an absolute sense of knowing there was so much there I could not see. It’s a certainty that should make the whole world shine. I am not very good at obedience and accepting poverty—my parents can attest to that—not when I have always had so much. Everything I do—whether at home or in my charity work—presents some kind of conflict.’

  Stephen grinned. ‘You sound like a mystic.’

  ‘I don’t mean to. I’m not a very practical person, but I am realistic. I have such a sense of duty for what I do, yet I long to be free and want to rebel at every turn. I wanted to help and care for people—for the children at the orphanage—but whatever I did was never enough. I also want beauty in my life, and passion, but it eludes me. And yet I sense there is another world around me—and I can never express how I feel—not to anyone.’

  ‘You have just done so—to me.’

  ‘I know and it is strange—unless it’s because that is what you are, a stranger, and it is easier to talk to someone you do not know.’

  ‘Perhaps you are right; I will remember what you have said today.’

  ‘Will you? I wonder,’ Delphine murmured, stretching out her legs on the rock. ‘I saw you taking a swim earlier.’

  ‘At Tamara I take an early swim every day, whatever the weather. As a boy I would watch the ships sail by and dream of being a sailor, sailing across the Atlantic, round Cape Horn and up into the China Seas.’

  ‘But in the end you became a soldier. Did you deliberately pursue such an adventurous life?’

  ‘My father was a soldier. I was commissioned into the same regiment.’

  ‘Are you like him?’

  He nodded. ‘In many ways. With a parent’s concern for his only offspring, he sought to share the wisdom he had gleaned from his own experiences. He taught me not just with words, but by example, showing me the true meaning of duty and honour. He taught me that compassion, fairness and integrity were some of the characteristics a man could lay claim to both as a soldier and a gentleman, and that the weight of responsibility had to be carried gallantly, no matter how it might weigh heavily upon a man at times.’

  ‘He must have been a fine man.’

  ‘He was—the best.’

  ‘And it is obvious to me that you enjoy being a soldier. You are almost married to the army,’ Delphine said wistfully.

  ‘Not really,’ Stephen answered. ‘I enjoy the adventure and the excitement, but it has its downside—when bullets begin flying. When the war in Spain is over I want to settle down with a family just like the next man and live out my days at Tamara in contentment.’

  ‘And love?’ she dared to ask.

  ‘Is for fools,’ he replied quietly.

  ‘Not everyone would agree with you. My sisters fell in love with their beaux at first sight and after a month declared they wanted to marry them.’

  ‘Then I hope they will be happy, but this affliction of the heart, which is claimed to be love, is mere lust parading in moral guise—a trap to snare a man into the bonds of marriage.’

  ‘And you do not believe love has anything to do with marriage,’ Delphine returned, deriding his cynicism. ‘I agree that love is a contract based on bartering oneself for security. Where love is concerned, it must have the foundations of trust and fidelity and should be fettered.’

  ‘Love is inconsistent, a contradiction of emotions, whereas desire and lust are honest emotions.’

  Delphine shook her head. ‘Desire and passion do not last. True love is to give oneself unselfishly and unconditionally. But I forget, you are a soldier—tough and invulnerable. No doubt your training has taught you that a man need trust none but himself—and use women for naught but pleasure.’

  He grinned. ‘Well, it would seem I have married a romantic,’ he declared. ‘I agree that desire, lust, passion—call it what you will—is good while it lasts. But it is fleeting; doused by the boredom of familiarity.’

  It took Delphine a moment to answer, for he could not have made his feelings clearer, which only made her more determined to guard her heart. There had been a warning in his words, telling her not to expect more than he was prepared to give. If she had not known exactly how he felt before, she did now. She did not want him to feel like that about her. She did not wish to be a burden, endured but unwanted. Swallowing the pain his words had caused her and concealing her thoughts, she met his gaze calmly.

  ‘You have an uncommon honesty about such matters, Stephen,’ she said quietly. ‘Those are the words of either a confirmed bachelor, or a man who has been hurt by love—who finds love itself frightening.’ The darkening of his eyes and the tightening of his jaw told her she might have hit upon the truth. ‘Forgive me. I do not mean to pry.’

  His tone was mocking when he eventually spoke. ‘Have you no more questions? Is there nothing further you wish to know?’

  ‘If you want to tell me, you will.’

  ‘I do not always find it easy to say what I think and feel, Delphine. I am not accustomed to baring my soul—not yet. No doubt that shall come with time.’

  Whatever had befallen him had left scars and hardened his heart. Delphine felt she had revived painful memories for him and she regretted her curiosity. She wondered about the woman Mr Oakley had mentioned before, but although she would have liked to ask him outright, she found it difficult to ask him directly, fearing his displeasure.

  ‘Have a care,’ she warned softly. ‘One day you may venture too close to love’s flames and be burnt.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Will you teach me to swim?’ she asked suddenly on an eager note, considering it wise to change the subject.

  He looked at her with surprise, then laughed at the very idea. ‘You should freeze to death.’

  She turned her face up to his, which was framed by his dishevelled raven curls. ‘You don’t—why should I? I learn very quickly how to do things. I’m sure I should soon learn how to swim.’

  ‘I have every faith that you would. But it can be dangerous. The currents in the bay are strong, especially when the tide turns.’

  ‘I am not afraid of danger.’

  ‘No,’ he murmured, gazing at her. ‘I don’t believe you are. Are you not afraid that a wave might come and carry you away?’

  She gave a shake of her head. ‘Not in the slightest.’

  ‘Why do you want to swim?’

  ‘For no other reason than I want to. Do you disapprove?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Turning his head, he looked
at the sea in silence. After a moment, having made a decision, he said, ‘Very well, Delphine. When I return from Spain I will teach you how to swim.’

  ‘Do you promise?’

  ‘I promise—although I’m not sure how successful I will be.’

  The wind had dropped and the dying sun was warm. Soon that glowing orb would sink below the horizon and darkness would shroud the land, but for the moment it was a lovely time of day and they were both disposed to enjoy it. By unspoken consent, they put aside all disagreeable matters and talked of nothing in particular, only enjoying each other’s company.

  ‘Lord, I’m hungry,’ Stephen said suddenly. ‘Come, it is time for dinner.’

  Delphine could see hunger in those deep-blue eyes of his well enough, but she doubted very much that it was the kind of hunger anything in the larder could satisfy. She gave him her hand and he helped her down from her rock. Only then, standing directly before him, did she meet his gaze. His lids were half-lowered, his eyes dark. Delphine felt the breath catch in her throat; she hesitated, then, calmly, her lips gently curving, she turned her head in the direction of the house.

  ‘Yes, it is perhaps time we made our way back.’

  Stephen hesitated, watching her intently, then gently turned her towards him and cupped her face in his hands.

  ‘Do you know how difficult it is to hide the strain you are putting on me, Delphine?’

  ‘Strain? I cannot for the life of me think what you mean,’ she murmured, unable to look away from his lips only inches from her own.

  ‘It is true. I am exerting a great deal of gentlemanly effort not to capitulate on my marital rights.’

  She laughed lightly, nervously, feeling the heat warm her face. ‘I do not see why it should be such an effort. I am not fighting you, Stephen—and trapping a woman on the beach in an attempt to seduce her into a kiss is hardly gentlemanly.’

  He met her gaze, the tone of her voice telling him she was not rebuking him, that she did not mind being held thus. ‘Trapped? You are in no such position. If you wish to walk away, then you are free to do so. I will not stop you.’