With her eyes closed tight, Delphine lay unresponsive. She resolved that she would resist any intrusion of physical delight from anything his body would do to her. If she remained still, he could not reach her. His long-starved passion grew; he could no longer control himself. She was unaware how long it lasted, but when he pulled away from her she turned, pulling the covers over herself, covering her used body from his gaze.
Chapter Two
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
