Miss Cameron's Fall from Grace

by Helen Dickson

  Stephen arched his dark brows and eyed her with dry amusement. ‘I like your use of the word conform, my love. Dare I hope you will be willing to conform in other areas of our marriage before the night is over?’

  Laughing lightly, she picked up her cloak and handed it to him to drape around her naked shoulders. ‘As to that, Stephen, you will have to wait and see.’

  As he escorted her down to the waiting coach, Stephen’s mind was already drifting ahead, to the moment when that glorious mantle of deep-red hair would be spilling over the pillows of his bed and his bare chest, and her supple, silken body would be writhing in sweet ecstasy beneath him.

  * * *

  As they left the house, a figure came creeping along the far side of the street, silent as a shadow, and disappeared down the basement steps.

  The long black coach sped through the streets, the four black horses tossing their heads in the pouring rain. Glowing shards of light from the lamp posts flickered over the gilt trim of the coach as it splashed onwards. Inside the equipage, rain drummed on the roof. In a strange mood, but by no means dispirited by the rain, Stephen looked across at his wife.

  Euphoric anticipation seemed to increase inside him the closer they got to their destination. He was exhilarated at the prospect of appearing at the ball with Delphine by his side. Ever since he’d returned from Spain he’d been dreaming of the time when he could show her off—what better place to fulfil that dream and present her to London society as his wife than at the home of the Earl and Countess of Darrington? The ball, which was being held at Chevington House, their magnificent mansion in Piccadilly, was seen as the most important event of the year.

  The reason for his desire to be seen in society with Delphine eluded him. He told himself that after two years of marriage it was high time they were seen together as man and wife, but it was more than that. Delphine was in his blood, in his heart, and her smile and most innocent touch almost sent his desire spiralling out of control. There was a provocative sensuality about her, a natural sophistication, a sparkle and vivacity of spirit that drew people to her, and he wanted everyone to know, tonight, that she belonged to him.

  He brushed off any dark musings he might have had as the carriage slowed, reaching its destination. A footman hurried forwards to open the door, holding an umbrella high to shield them, running to keep up with them as he escorted them under the portico. They entered the mansion’s interior, almost blinded by countless chandeliers and candles in crystal sconces.

  When the formal announcement of their arrival had been made, they sauntered casually through the crowded hall. Several people glanced curiously their way before realising who they were. They knew Delphine because of her connections, but the devastatingly handsome Lord Fitzwaring had not been seen in society for a long time. As whispers began to spread, completely impervious to the stir they were creating, Stephen tucked his wife’s hand possessively in the crook of his arm, pleased that she’d done as he asked and left her hair loose, drawing it back in a ribbon to match her gown. Elegantly they ascended the elaborately curved staircase to the ballroom, the music growing steadily louder.

  Reaching a long landing, they passed several reception rooms where tables had been set up for the customary light supper served at midnight. Stephen lifted two glasses of red wine from the tray of a liveried footman, passing one to Delphine.

  ‘For courage.’ He grinned. ‘You might need it.’

  Entering the ballroom, they stood against one of several columns to sip their wine and watch the dip and sway of the dancers, not unaware of the hundreds of heads that swivelled to ogle them. Almost immediately people converged on them in an endless stream, good-naturedly welcoming Stephen back to London and utterly charmed when he proudly introduced Delphine to them, pressing invitations on them before moving on.

  ‘I do wish everyone wouldn’t stare at us so,’ Delphine whispered apprehensively when, miraculously, they found themselves alone. Yet there were moments when she sensed a jealous malevolence in the attitudes of some of the ladies, whose eyes openly admired Stephen from behind a fluttering of fans, drawn by the aura of restrained power and masculine vitality that emanated from him.

  Stephen flicked a glance at those around them, then looked down at Delphine’s lovely upturned face. ‘I can see that,’ he agreed drily. ‘Does it bother you?’

  ‘No, but I have an aversion to being the object of everyone’s curiosity.’

  ‘Then let us dance before we are inundated once more.’

  Disposing of their glasses, he held out his hand to her and Delphine automatically placed her hand in his. She could not remember the last time she’d danced, but she managed to follow Stephen as he began to guide her through the first steps of the waltz. His arm was tight about her waist, forcing her into nerve-racking proximity with his powerful body. He danced, she thought, with the same relaxed elegance with which he wore his superbly tailored black evening clothes.

  * * *

  Two hours later, having danced every waltz with her husband and drunk more champagne than she had ever consumed, she was feeling delightfully gay and light-headed—so much so that she was bolder than she had ever been when Stephen held her in his arms. On meeting his gaze, she was mesmerised by the tenderness she saw in his eyes.

  Holding her close, Stephen allowed himself to indulge in savouring her supple grace in the movements of the waltz, undressing her with his eyes. His pulse drummed in his ears. He wanted so much to touch the line of her neck, the curve of her cheek, to feel her silken skin beneath his fingertips, to explore the lush ripeness of her body with his hands and his lips. No man could look at her without feeling the stirring of desire. But there was something more in his hunger—a deeper need.

  ‘I enjoyed our picnic,’ he said. ‘What are your plans for tomorrow?’

  ‘I haven’t had time to think. Suggest something—something we can do together. Something we’d both like to do.’

  Stephen’s heart slammed into his ribs. He stared down at her, tracing with his gaze the classically beautiful lines of her face, the brush of lustrous ebony eyelashes, and saw the invitation in her imploring dark eyes. Hope and disbelief collided in his chest. His arm tightened about her waist and he bent his head to hers. ‘Would you like me to suggest something we can do together before that? Something we will both find—pleasurable?’

  Delphine trembled with happiness as she felt his warm breath caress her cheek. She knew what he wanted. Her body recognised it instantly, making her flush and shake as she always did when he touched her. She slanted him a look from beneath her long sooty lashes, a mischievous gleam entering her eyes, knowing perfectly well what it was he wanted, but deciding to play the innocent.

  ‘Well—we could play cards—or chess.’ She smiled up at him playfully. ‘I’m very good at that.’

  His lips curled in a half-smile. ‘Minx—I’m sure you are, but if my memory serves me correctly, you are also very good at something else.’

  ‘Why, what can you mean?’ she gasped, pretending innocence.

  ‘You know perfectly well.’

  His voice was rich and hypnotically deep. He did not release her. His hand encircling her waist tightened, and his long body pressed itself closer to hers. She remembered how it had been between them in the beginning, the muscular hardness of him and the icy, needle-sharp chills that were her own response to his touch. The smile slowly faded from his lips and those compelling, incredible dark-blue eyes stared down into hers. His powerful, animal-like masculinity was an assault on her senses. She was unable to resist him. With a melting deep inside her she felt her body offer itself to this man and in that instant they both acknowledged the flame that ignited between them. Right there in the middle of a ballroom in full view of London’s elite, they exchanged a silent carnal promise as binding as any spoken vow.

  �
�I want you,’ he breathed, his eyes locked on hers with a smouldering intensity. ‘Come with me.’

  In those three quiet words, three simple words, somehow there was a promise of an entire life to be lived if only she could take the chance. A sense of possibility came over her then—a kind of lightness. She took a deep breath and stopped dancing.

  ‘What are we waiting for?’

  As if moved by forces beyond his control, Stephen inclined his dark head in recognition of the contract conjured between them. He escorted her from the dance floor; within minutes they were in the coach.

  Sitting next to Delphine, Stephen took her hand. ‘Is this more to your liking?’

  His voice was seductive, persuasive; in the moonlight shining through the window, his eyes gleamed darkly. She could smell his skin, his hair, and she could feel his presence. Like a magnet, it was drawing her to him; she no longer had the will to resist, nor did she want to. A smile played on his lips. Looking at him, she was filled with a delicious sense of expectancy. He moved nearer and touched her hair.

  ‘At last I have you where I have always wanted you, my love.’

  ‘And you’re a rogue, sir, do you know that?’

  ‘I don’t deny it.’

  ‘I’d be an utter fool to let you take advantage of me.’

  ‘Be a fool,’ he begged, lowering his head, his lips nuzzling the warm, pulsating hollow of her neck. ‘We shall have some more champagne when we reach the house, to celebrate your folly.’

  ‘I suppose you think it will be easier if you get me drunk.’

  ‘You have me all wrong,’ he protested. His devilish grin was irresistible, especially to his young wife, already well on her way to being totally captivated. ‘I want to keep you well refreshed so that you stay awake. We have a long night ahead.’

  ‘You have been very patient with me, my lord.’

  ‘I’m glad it has not escaped your notice. I did not wish to rush you. I wanted you to be sure.’

  ‘I am sure, Stephen. Very sure.’

  And so she was until they entered the house. Mr Oakley was waiting for them, beset with anxiety. The news he had to impart was dire, for Maisie was not in the house. She had been abducted. That was the only explanation there could be for her disappearance.

  Chapter Ten

  Delphine was plunged into a nightmare. Her expression was one of deep shock, of the agony one feels when someone dear has been hurt. She closed her eyes, trying to shut the ugliness out of her mind.

  ‘Oh, God, no. It’s Will Kelly. He’s got her, I know it.’ She stood for a moment, doing her best to calm herself, for the thought of innocent little Maisie in the hands of that evil man was almost more than she could bear. She wanted to get to Mrs Cox’s bordello as soon as possible, for it was where the trail started. Pulling herself together, she rushed towards the door.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  She turned and looked at Stephen. ‘To find her. Oh, Lord, Stephen, we have to find her. How did he get into the house? Why did no one see him? We must find out where he’s taken her.’

  There was a stiffening in the lines of his face, a gleam of anger in his eyes. ‘Mrs Cox’s?’

  ‘That would be too simple. He’d know it would be the first place we would look—but it’s the only place we can go. We shall need help if we are to find Maisie. Will Kelly will have her well hidden, you can count on that. We need a first-class housebreaker, someone who can enter a building in moments without making a sound—someone who knows Will Kelly’s habits—the places he haunts—someone who is willing and able to help us. I know just the man, a man whose loyalty I can ensure—although you might find it shocking that I should. His name is Fergus Daley and he works on the door at Mrs Cox’s.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Stephen affirmed coldly. ‘I am shocked—shocked to think my wife counts criminals among her acquaintances.’

  ‘Fergus was always kind to me when I went looking for Maisie at the brothel. He’s gathered a harvest of hatred over the years for Will Kelly. He has always looked out for Maisie and will not take kindly to Will Kelly taking her into his clutches at last. Fergus may be able throw some light on their whereabouts.’ She strode towards the door. ‘We must go to Mrs Cox’s at once.’

  ‘No, Delphine. You must stay here—’

  She whirled round. ‘Do not tell me what to do, Stephen Fitzwaring. Maisie is my charge—in my care. We go together.’

  ‘No, Delphine. I absolutely forbid it,’ he began, his voice harsh, but she merely shook her head.

  ‘How are you to prevent it, Stephen? You surely know by now that I shall do as I please.’

  He cursed and passed a hand over his forehead, knowing it was useless arguing with her. Besides, she had more idea where to find the girl than he had.

  ‘As you wish. It will be all right.’ Resting his hands on her shoulders, he gently massaged her flesh, then turned her around and pulled her into his arms. She longed to let him console her, longed to melt against him and cling to his strength, but she was afraid they were losing time and pulled away.

  ‘I have to find her, Stephen. That poor child. I can’t let him…’

  ‘Stop it, Delphine. Do not allow yourself to think the worst. Look at you—you are trembling. I’ll order the carriage and in the meantime we must change these clothes, which would attract unnecessary attention.’

  * * *

  They had dressed in their darkest, plainest clothes in order to pass unnoticed among the labyrinths they might have to follow in their search for Maisie. The hour was after midnight when they reached Water Lane. Even at this hour it was a hive of bustling activity, with men and women propped drunk in doorways or carousing as they wended their way home. Stephen knocked on the door of Mrs Cox’s bordello. After several moments a bolt slammed back and the door opened.

  Fergus stood there. On seeing Stephen, believing him to be a client, his expression relaxed, but when he saw Delphine it sharpened with curiosity and then his lips broke into a grin.

  ‘Miss Delphine? Well, I never. What brings you here at this hour?’ Then he frowned. ‘It can’t be good.’

  ‘It isn’t, Fergus. We desperately need your help. A few days ago I took young Maisie away from the orphanage and I’m afraid Will Kelly found his way into the house and took her. We have to find her, but we don’t know where to begin looking. Have you any idea where he might have taken her?’

  Fergus caught on straight away. His face took on a hard, murderous look and his huge hands clenched into fists. ‘He’s got young Maisie, you say? God help him when I get my hands on him. He had a falling out with Mrs Cox and he’s not been here for months. He’s got a place of his own off Fleet Street towards the river.’

  ‘Do you know where it is? Do you think he might have taken her there?’

  ‘Aye, more than likely.’

  ‘Will you take us?’

  He nodded, looking at the carriage. ‘We can only go so far in your carriage. After that the streets are too narrow. We’ll have to go on foot.’

  Delphine felt her spirits begin to lift as they left the brothel. Now at least they had a specific trail to follow, but the look on Fergus’s face boded ill for Will Kelly.

  * * *

  They left the carriage on Fleet Street and headed in the direction of the river. It was an area notorious as a hiding place for criminals and brothels, which indicated the depths to which Will Kelly had sunk. The place they were looking for was called Maiden Yard, indicating the character of the place. A strong smell of chimney smoke was in the air and a low mist had descended, shrouding everything in a shifting, diaphanous whiteness. The buildings closed in on them, almost blocking out any remaining light. Delphine kept close to Stephen. They went through a labyrinth of winding, cobbled alleyways, each identical
and none giving any indication of where they might lead, but they hurried after Fergus, intent on finding Maisie.

  At last they arrived at Maiden Yard, a foul, reeking place. In the centre was a gutter in which all kinds of unspeakable matter flowed. There were decrepit buildings on all sides, sultry lights showing from several windows. Fergus pointed out the brothel tucked away in a corner, but it seemed startlingly clean in comparison.

  Fergus’s face was gleaming with anticipation. Then it darkened, caution reasserting itself. ‘If Kelly’s here, he’ll be caught red-handed.’

  Standing close to Stephen, Delphine felt her body shake as if her heartbeat were violent enough to choke her. Had Will Kelly seen them from a window? Was he even now trying to escape with Maisie out of the back of the house?

  ‘We cannot wait,’ Fergus murmured. ‘We must go in at once.’ With Stephen and Delphine close on his heels, he set off across the yard, moving light and easily despite his size, his huge feet making no sound on the stones.

  They found Will Kelly alone in a gaudily furnished room stinking of cheap perfume and liquor. He sat at a table pouring gin from a bottle and gulping it down. He looked up when they burst it, staggering to his feet. ‘What the hell…?’

  Bent on avenging young Maisie, Fergus lost no time in grasping him by the throat. Caught off guard, Will bore no resemblance to the swaggering, roving-eyed Will Kelly of old. He was a big, well-built man, but Fergus had the advantage.

  Will stared into the maddened face of his attacker. ‘Damn you, Fergus. I might have known you’d know where to find me!’

  Fergus would have hit him, but Stephen stepped between them, thrusting Fergus back. Fergus protested, but on seeing the glint of a pistol in Stephen’s hand levelled at Will Kelly, he moved back.

  ‘Where’s the girl, damn you?’ Stephen demanded. ‘By God, if you’ve hurt her in any way, I’ll make you rue the day you were born.’