Delphine stood just inside the room. She could hear a man’s heavy breathing, but apart from that it was quiet, the light dim. It was a small room, but well furnished, and on a bed a man lay asleep. His arm was raised to cover his eyes, a bandage wrapped round his wrist. Assuming the wound it covered was the reason Mr Oakley had brought her to the tavern, she moved towards the still figure.
She opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment she was unable to utter a word. This was a man the like of which she had never seen before. A sheet covered him up to the waist, beneath which he was naked. His body was perfect. He was lean, his muscles hard, his dark chest broad, his shoulders strong.
Sensing her presence, he slowly lowered his arm and opened his eyes—an extraordinary midnight-blue. Delphine’s heart turned over. They remained fixed on her face, and she could feel her cheeks burning, but she could not look away …
AUTHOR NOTE
MISS CAMERON’S FALL FROM GRACE was an exciting book to write—what I like to think of as romantic suspense. All my novels are historical romances set in varied backgrounds, and I’m equally comfortable writing stories in the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. I love inventing characters whose stories are worth telling, and I like my heroines to be strong-willed, with a spark of life and determination.
As in my other books, my heroine has hopes and ambitions—until she meets Lord Stephen Fitzwaring, and then she has hopes and dreams of a different kind.
I wanted to write an intensely romantic story. I hope I have achieved this in my latest novel, and have managed to create an enjoyable escape for you, the reader.
About the Author
HELEN DICKSON was born and lives in South Yorkshire, with her retired farm manager husband. Having moved out of the busy farmhouse where she raised their two sons, she has more time to indulge in her favourite pastimes. She enjoys being outdoors, travelling, reading and music. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure. It was a love of history that drove her to writing historical fiction.
Previous novels by Helen Dickson:
THE DEFIANT DEBUTANTE
ROGUE’S WIDOW, GENTLEMAN’S WIFE
TRAITOR OR TEMPTRESS
WICKED PLEASURES
(part of Christmas By Candlelight)
A SCOUNDREL OF CONSEQUENCE
FORBIDDEN LORD
SCANDALOUS SECRET, DEFIANT BRIDE
FROM GOVERNESS TO SOCIETY BRIDE
MISTRESS BELOW DECK
THE BRIDE WORE SCANDAL
DESTITUTE ON HIS DOORSTEP
SEDUCING MISS LOCKWOOD
Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Miss Cameron’s
Fall From Grace
Helen Dickson
MILLS & BOON
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Chapter One
Summer—1810
It was not Delphine’s habit to visit bordellos, but she had a duty to ensure that Maisie, who had disappeared from the orphanage, was safely with her mother. Granted, this particular bordello was of a most prestigious kind, but although the location was not beyond criticism, it was certainly no place for a lady. The genteel world of Delphine’s mother and sisters, however, had begun to matter less and less of late.
Delphine was usually accompanied by one of her mother’s footmen who drove her in the carriage, but today he had duties at the house so she’d gone to the orphanage alone. Two of the children had gone down with temperatures and a rash. After isolating them and on the point of leaving, one of the warders had informed her that Maisie was missing. Delphine had a good idea where she could be found—there was nothing for it but to go after her.
The evening was warm and sultry and oppressive, the kind of oppression that comes before a storm. Mrs Cox’s was an imposing three-storey building, and torchlights burned on each side of the red-painted door. Delphine was admitted to this house of assignation by Fergus Daley, the man Mrs Cox employed to keep order within the house and the rougher elements of the district out. The purple livery he wore looked out of place on his huge frame. The bones of his face were pronounced, with a lantern jaw sharp enough to cut paper. His crooked nose, which had been broken several times during his years as a pugilist, and his eye sockets set deep beneath his heavy brow gave his face a sinister look. But now he smiled, for Miss Cameron was a regular visitor to the house when she was looking for young Maisie.
‘Welcome to our house of pleasure, Miss Cameron,’ he greeted jovially in a deep, baritone voice, his expression warm and welcoming.
‘House of depravity, more like, Fergus,’ she replied in hushed tones as she placed her brown-leather bag containing medicaments and dressings on the hall table, ‘but don’t tell Mrs Cox I said so.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it, miss,’ he replied, giving her a conspiratorial wink. ‘I think I know why you’re here—and I don’t think it’s to sell your body for what pitiful rewards a common man could offer you.’
‘How right you are, Fergus—not even for the king himself. I can only hope my parents never learn I come here.’
‘Not from me, Miss Cameron, and while you are here, you are solely under my protection.’
‘That’s a comfort to me, Fergus,’ she said, standing back to allow an inebriated gentleman to sway past and disappear into the salon, his clothes in some disarray. During business hours there
