see,’ Delphine said stiffly. ‘Thank you for that insight into your master’s character, Mr Oakley. I shall remember it. Where is he?’
‘I left him abed at the Blue Boar. Are you prepared to come with me now?’
Delphine held up her bag and smiled. ‘I have everything I will need in my bag.’
Mr Oakley raised his brows in awe as his mind conjured up the delectable items that bag might contain; items she would no doubt use to titillate his master.
Delphine was not thinking logically. The mortal danger she might be incurring did not enter her mind. She had long ago acquired the habit of ignoring other people’s advice and plunging into situations with no thought for the consequence.
‘Lead on, Mr Oakley. Let us see if we can make your master feel better, shall we?’
But time was of the essence for Delphine. If she hurried, she would make it home in time for her mother’s musical evening; woe betide her if she was late. Her charity work often provoked trouble with her mother. Privileged by birth, Delphine had been drawn into such pursuits by her Aunt Celia, who had instilled into her the duties of a gently born woman to the less fortunate.
The Devil finds work for idle hands, she had said, then she had smiled, adding, or I should say, there is always work for a spare pair of willing hands. In an attempt to invest her empty life with meaning, Delphine had been more than willing. She was the youngest of five children—all girls—and, disappointed that the last of their last offspring had not been the much-wanted son, her parents had not even bothered to announce her birth.
Neglect bordering on rejection beat a bitter note in Delphine’s heart. All her life, doubts had drummed heavy blows upon the crumbling walls of her confidence. In her parents’ eyes she could never be the woman her sisters were: beautiful women who attracted men wherever they went.
She did not like to dwell on her inadequacies, but when she was in the presence of two exquisite creatures like her twin sisters, she was painfully aware of her unfashionable reddish hair, her too-large mouth and the light scattering of freckles across cheekbones that were much too high.
From childhood she had been trained to detachment, but she was none the less human and thought life in her parents’ house very cruel and so very lonely that she had long ago made up her mind to be her own woman. She would defy convention and be true only to herself.
And so she had thrown herself into her charity work, becoming closely involved with the homeless and destitute children and venturing into dark places not one of her four pampered older sisters could have imagined.
Most of her work was carried out with other charity workers at the orphanage in Water Lane. Not all the children were orphaned; some, like Maisie, had been abandoned by their parents. When she wasn’t at the orphanage, Delphine was forever organising fund-raising events and annoying her mother by lobbying her friends for donations. From the beginning, charity work had given a purpose to her life. She could breathe, could live, could give of herself at last.
On entering the orphanage for the first time, the things she had seen had upset her terribly. Her aunt, a spinster who had made charity her life’s work, had a natural air of authority, which she shared with her brother, Delphine’s father. She had told Delphine that to do this work well she must remain detached. She must not let emotion get the better of her. If she did this, she would control others—and herself.
Delphine had taken this advice and used it as best she could. Working among the poor, she was surprised at the intensity of her feeling and compassion, so long suppressed, and wondered whether her work was in fact altering her, turning her into a more passionate human being.
Her skin still burned from what she had seen at the bordello; her face felt as if it were glowing with fever as she followed the stranger. She hated the streets at night. There were ghosts in these streets that sometimes made her tremble with fear. It was all a million miles away from her mother’s genteel world; violence was endemic in London. Muggers and cut-throats roamed the streets virtually unchecked; anyone who walked alone at night took a serious risk.
Delphine decided that, once she had seen the gentleman, she would ask Mr Oakley to order her a chair or a hackney to take her home. Her eyes were cast down to the ground, but the night above stretched black and clear and infinite, the stars burning with their own fire.
They reached the Blue Boar, entering by a back doorway. It was a busy night at the inn. She followed Mr Oakley up a narrow staircase. He stopped at a door and opened it, standing back for her to pass through.
‘I shall leave you to it.’ Without another word he left her, closing the door as he went.
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 to the waist, beneath which he was naked. His body was perfect. He was lean, his muscles hard, his dark, furred chest broad, his shoulders strong. Sensing her presence, he slowly lowered his arm and opened his eyes—an extraordinary midnight blue. Her heart turned over. They remained fixed on her face and she could feel her cheeks burning, but she could not look away from him.
This man was quite exquisite, perfect, and Delphine, untouched by any kind of passionate emotion, felt her heart take flight. She was aghast at herself, staring like an ignorant girl. When he saw her a slow, appreciative smile curved his firm lips. It was such a wonderful smile and Delphine, poor naïve innocent, felt a thousand emotions explode inside her head all at once. She was lost. Bewilderingly, heart and soul, lost.
‘Well, well,’ he drawled groggily, ‘what have we here? Such a prize I did not expect. Oakley has surpassed himself. What kept you?’
Delphine realised suddenly that she had been holding her breath from the moment she had entered the room. She had come with the sure knowledge that this man was ill. Now she lost some of her certainty. The gentleman was most handsome, about thirty-one, haughty looking, his body as lean and supple as a sword. His finely chiselled features were clean-shaven and golden skinned. His thick, curly gleaming black hair—slightly flecked with silver at the temples—was dishevelled and those midnight-blue eyes now gazed warmly into hers. His voice—slurred with sleep or alcohol, she could not decide which, but strongly suspected it was the latter—was deep and golden like his skin. ‘I—I came as soon as Mr Oakley asked me to.’
‘Good old Oakley. Always a man of his word, is Oakley—and I can see he’s done a handsome night’s work finding you.’ Thrusting the sheet away and exposing his nakedness, in one swift movement he was off the bed and walking slowly, deliberately, around Delphine as she stood rooted to the floor, drowning in a well of embarrassment. He touched her with only those deep-blue eyes, yet they were enough, boldly, rudely evaluating every angle of her assets. He paused in front of her and smiled broadly, extremely pleased with what he saw.
A cold dread grew deep inside Delphine and she clutched her bag to her bosom, trying hard to focus her eyes on something other than his nakedness. She was beginning to wonder what she had let herself in for. Outwardly she appeared calm, but the emotional frenzy raging within her was beginning to sap her strength. She was both tired and confused; she was also angry that Mr Oakley had lured her into a trap.
