The Fallen Woman of Világos Read online

  Table of Contents

  Fallen Woman of Világos

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  About The Author

  Red Sage Publishing

  An eRedSage Publishing Publication

  This book is a work of complete fiction. Any names, places, incidents, characters are products of the author’s imagination and creativity or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is fully coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form whatsoever in any country whatsoever is forbidden.

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  Red Sage Publishing, Inc. P.O. Box 4844 Seminole, FL 33775

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  Fallen Woman of Világos

  An eRed Sage Publication All Rights Reserved Copyright © 2012

  eRedSage is a registered trademark of Red Sage Publishing, Inc.

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  ISBN: 9781603108010; 1603108017 Fallen Woman of Világos Adobe PDF

  ISBN: 9781603108041; 1603108041 Fallen Woman of Világos MobiPocket

  ISBN: 9781603108034; 1603108033 Fallen Woman of Világos HTML

  ISBN: 9781603108027; 1603108025 Fallen Woman of Világos ePub

  Published by arrangement with the authors and copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

  Fallen Woman of Világos © 2012 by Ursula Grey

  Cover © 2012 by Fiona Jayde

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  ebook layout and conversion by jimandzetta.com

  Fallen Woman of Világos

  ***

  By Ursula Grey

  TO MY READERS:

  Time after time, Karolina seems to lose the man she loves. Will this time be different?

  READER ALERT!:

  Did spanking and voyeurism exist in the 19th century? What do you think? I'll bet it's been going on for centuries...

  Chapter One

  Lily, as she had most recently taken to calling herself, drew aside the curtain of the coach. She peered out onto one of the most prestigious streets of the district. It made little sense to seek treasure in the bowels of poverty, so the dark paths of her past held no attraction for her. Only too well did she know what manner of villain lay in wait in those alleys and byways.

  Modern monoliths, cloaked in ornate marble facades, sprang from the earth of this city. They proudly overlooked the eaves of their smaller sister shops, elbowing between them. The lightness of her purse caused her to turn away from windows that teased with trinkets she could not yet possess.

  The street to which the coachman eventually brought her stood lined with majestic trees and dignified homes. She frowned with disdain as she imagined the pompous fools who resided within.

  With the skill of an actress, she would play the role of the ailing ingénue. Illness would force her hand and she would be humbled into begging someone’s kind assistance. I do not recall when I arrived in this country. I know no one. Such were the lies she'd rehearsed until she herself almost believed them.

  She’d not set foot on this soil for many years, but she had traveled to many a place, had known many a man, too many to count. However, she couldn't risk seeing one of them in passing. It would not serve her to chance a meeting with an acquaintance of old. A sudden chill passed through her and she wrapped her shawl more tightly round her shoulders.

  Dusk's soft curtain was rapidly closing. The city would soon be shrouded in the darkness she'd always found unsettling. She bit her nails and scanned the din and bustle created by the late stragglers hurrying to their homes. The first leaves lay scattered about and crackled beneath their feet, announcing autumn's arrival. Men's voices and the clip clop of horses’ hooves made her head ache. No. She'd be better served far from society’s claustrophobic web, far from prying eyes. An expanse of green, a stately home, far removed from the populated streets, would suit her best.

  Temporarily at a loss, she raised her head and looked into the distance. Her eyes were drawn to a glint of light and the imposing fortress from which it shone. Yet several hours away, that would be it. She rapped on the carriage window and directed instead that the driver follow the winding road that led to the manse at the top of the hill.

  * * * *

  By the time the driver had assisted her from the carriage and clapped the door shut, darkness had long fallen. She paid his fare, blindly gauging the currency of each coin before dropping it into his hand. He tipped his cap and was gone. She listened to the wheels of the coach crushing gravel and hesitated for just a moment before unsteadily making her way to the door. Placing her fingers round the cold brass ring of the knocker, she swallowed hard and rapped three times. As she was about to repeat the process, the door opened.

  Peering beyond the bony shoulders of the gaunt and graying manservant who answered the door, she curiously took in the gleaming richness of the mahogany staircase. It led to rooms she desperately wished to explore. Immediately, she knew she’d come to the right place.

  Ushered inside and seated in the parlor, she fidgeted while she awaited her fate. The walls of the room were painted a rich shade of carmine which served to draw out a similar hue in the pattern of the Persian rug. An ornate mirror reflected the light emanating from the polished brass sconces affixed to the walls. She rose to check her appearance in the mirror but sat back when she heard the sound of footsteps.

  She'd expected a lonely widow, a doddering old lord, or, worse yet, the stuffy matron of the house. To her surprise and pleasure, before her stood a virile and handsome man in his prime. He dismissed his man and guided her into the inner chambers of the great house. They entered a study and he bade her to take a seat. Sitting across from her, he studied her for what seemed an eternity.

  The silence unnerved her and she spewed forth what sounded even to her own ears an unintelligible mix of syllables in lieu of the meaningful words she'd planned.

  "Are you in need, Fraulein? What is it?" His tone was not unkind.

  “It's just that I...I..." She stammered uncharacteristically but forced herself to continue. "I’m sorry to have disturbed you, sir. Truly, I am. You see, I've lost my way. But it is more than that." She hesitated then continued, "I’ve no recollection—of anything."

  She waited in silence for a response but he said nothing. She feared that at any moment her stomach would embarrass her with a groan of hunger. Unnerved, she continued, "You see, I seem to have lost my memory.”

  In the dim light of the room, the man’s gaze settled upon her. She knew he searched her face for a tic or twitch of the eye, the flicker of deception that would reveal her as a liar. Steady, long, and unblinking, he observed her in silence.

  Had she failed to remove the last vestiges of the night spent in a farmer’s barn? Did remnants of her straw bed remain on her person? An unsightly twig stuck in her hair perhaps? Good heavens! No. She hoped that instead he was intoxicated by the unexpected arrival of a woman at his door.

  * * * *

  He drank in her features and form, with a glance too long at her breasts. The expression on his face revealed her successful appeal to man's inherent tendency to protect the weaker sex. This cloth of deception she knew well how to wear. It would be easy. Or so she hoped.

  “Do you mean to say that you do not remember who you are, or from whence you came?”
<
br />   It was a simple question. For all her preparation, under his penetrating gaze, it was one she could not answer. For in truth, did she really know the person she had become? She reminded herself that she wasn't there to tell the truth.

  He casually stretched his long legs before him. She got the strong impression of a confident man who believed in the infallibility of his opinion. She exhaled a little too sharply. Perhaps he fancied himself a mind reader as well? Many a man had attempted to read her thoughts, but with little success. In any other circumstances she would care little whether he believed her or not. Tonight was different. It was imperative that he believe her tale. She must convince him that her plight was genuine, for her survival depended upon it.

  “It is true. If not for the kind gentleman who brought me to your door, I don’t know what might have become of me.” She raised her hand to her throat, fluttered her lashes then closed her eyes. Unfortunately, her intended ruse—to feign exhaustion—was rapidly becoming reality. She felt light-headed and her ribs ached with the effort of drawing in each painful breath. There was no time to dwell on that now. This man’s eyes sparkled with a feral intelligence, and wisdom dictated she be cautious with her game. She coughed weakly and searched her handbag for a nonexistent handkerchief.

  “May I offer you a drink? Perhaps it will relax you and help you to regain your bearings.”

  The dodge had worked as she’d intended. Without waiting for a response, he rose and walked to the decanter of brandy she had eyed upon entering. Liberally filling a glass for her, along with one for himself, he held out the crystal tumbler of amber before her lips. His fingers met hers as he handed her the glass.

  He walked back slowly, allowing her to take in his form. Tall and sturdy with broad shoulders, he had a presence about him that exuded an untamed masculinity. He was a man others would be unlikely to challenge, and not only because of his size. She found that an attractive quality. She desired a man others would respect—one she could respect. Why were they so rare a breed?

  “Thank you.” She sipped the brandy, savoring the aroma. The richness trickled over her tongue, and she almost laughed aloud with delight. As she cradled the glass in both hands and brought it to her lips again, the liquid warmth traveled through her, relaxing her. He waited until she lifted her eyes before speaking.

  “How do you feel now?” He placed his forearms upon his knees and leaned toward her, intent upon hearing her response.

  She attempted to fill her lungs but was caught short by another sharp stab of pain. Each time, the pain sustained from the blow to her ribs startled her. Strange, how the instinct for survival could mask the bite of an injury. Best to escape with one’s life, then think of the danger afterward, in a safe place, far away. A wave of panic overtook her. Had the attack injured her more severely than she'd thought? No. What she felt was not mere physical pain. How could the physical pains of life compare with the raw emotions of the heart, or in this case, the pains caused by life itself?

  “Much better, thank you.” Setting down the glass, she loosened the top button of her dress. “To be honest, I feel faint, but I’ve imposed upon you long enough. I thank you for your kindness. Now I will be on my way and trouble you no further." Unsteadily, she made to rise. Her hands trembled. Only a second elapsed before he was at her side.

  “Nonsense. You are obviously not well. I will not have you leave.” He grasped her arm with a firm gentleness and led her to the divan in the corner of the room. “Lie down. You are in no condition to leave. As a doctor, I forbid it. You are not well.”

  “A doctor, you say?” She’d never known a man in the medical profession. How could she refuse his wise advice? Besides, in addition to his physical form, there was something about this man she found attractive. It was an unknown quality revealed only by the eyes, as in the way a man looked at a woman, as though he would like to taste her, to eat her. Although she found his gaze disquieting, she sensed no immediate danger. In fact, she found his penetrating interest mildly arousing.

  “I treat not the body, but the mind.” He seated her with the utmost care, gently lifting her legs so that she now reclined upon the sofa. Returning to his chair, he lit a long stemmed pipe. “Now, close your eyes and try to relax.”

  The sound of his voice soothed her. Exhausted from her travels, she'd disembarked from the ship only two days before. The stress of the journey had begun to wear upon her. She mustn’t, however, allow herself to lose sight of her ultimate purpose. She wouldn’t divulge her true self, not ever. For that to happen she must trust, and she trusted no one.

  He continued speaking, but she heard little of what he said. His voice, low and melodic, hummed a rhythmic compilation that worked to draw her psyche into a state of relaxation. The temperature in the room was pleasant and logs crackled in the hearth. She feared losing herself in reverie and forced her eyes open to look at him. Blurred by the sweet smelling cloud of tobacco curling from his pipe, his face was no longer visible, only its hazy outline.

  “Your attire--where did you obtain your dress?” He held his glass steady upon his knee, then swirled the golden fluid before taking a drink.

  His powers of observation were astute. She would never fit into the polite society of his world—nor did she want to. She was a charlatan, a chameleon. Whomever she chose to be, she was. She yearned to be exotic, unique. Though not the current fashion, the muted shade of her dress, carefully adorned with intricate decoration, had been crafted to her exact specifications. Always she strove for the odd detail known only to her, the way she wrapped her shawl about her shoulders, the tilt of her hat. He was a perceptive man to notice a woman’s dress. A man who truly desires a woman pays attention to such detail, she thought.

  Usually, only other women noticed such anomalies. They feared the threat of their foreignness. They were the strange yet enticing details capable of spurring a man away from one woman and into the arms of another.

  But she feared other women very little. She lived in the world of men.

  Raising her hand she laid her palm across her forehead. “I don’t remember,” she answered softly. Her body warmed and her cheeks flushed.

  He refilled his glass and turned to her. “If you are to recover, you must allow me to help you remember.”

  Intuitively she sensed that he did not believe all she'd told him. He was curious. It was not every day that he encountered a woman such as she for a visitor.

  Beneath the aroma of the tobacco, a strong and heady scent, his scent, permeated the room. She wondered if he was aware of its power of arousal. But she was the seductress—was she not? It was dangerous to stay when she found the man so attractive. She now questioned her decision to remain.

  “I am afraid I shall fall asleep. I am so very weary.” It was not a lie. It became difficult to keep her eyes open. “I will not trouble you further.” Meaning it this time, she again attempted to rise. Drained of energy and without the strength of body to obey the wishes of her mind, she teetered. Had the day truly been so taxing? She sensed again the swelling waves of the sea lurching beneath her. The nausea returned. If she were not careful, the heaving would begin anew.

  Foolish! It was unwise to launch her plan so early. She needed time to recover her bearings, but had none. In truth, she had nowhere to go. Still, it would be unwise to stay, she thought as her lids closed. Her body and mind fell into a deep and dreamless sleep—and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

  * * * *

  To find a woman on his doorstep was a surprise—but surely no accident. Of that he was certain. Fair of face she was, lovely even, yet he knew well that beauty was deceptive. Oft times, a pleasing facade hid a nefarious interior. He meant to learn her identity and why she had singled him out.

  Her story of amnesia did not ring true. How did she discover the road leading to his residence? Hidden by rustic oaks, the natural barricade served as an effective barrier between himself and civilization. Of course he had the means to make her speak the
truth, but as a gentleman he would refrain from wresting information from her in the same way he would from a man. He could never harm the fairer sex.

  Her mass of golden curls captivated him. He fantasized loosening the shiny coils and gliding his fingers through their silken threads. The way she cocked her head to one side when she spoke charmed him. Intelligent brows, perpetually raised as if amused or enchanted, framed her blue eyes, the most startling he'd ever seen. Yet a certainty that he’d seen them before unsettled him until he almost thought himself mad.

  In fact, he could not shake a notion that the woman was vaguely familiar, though that was impossible. He would have recalled the petite yet svelte and tantalizing figure hidden beneath the endless folds of her sapphire dress. Would he not have remembered those eyes? A shrewd intelligence burned behind them. The way she took in the room revealed that she was not so lost as she claimed. A sly creature.

  Sly creature or no, he could not remove her face or form from his thoughts. If given the power to design a woman of the most desirable physical attributes possible, he would create a woman in her image. When she sat before him he could not remove his gaze from her person. Always a lover of the female of the species, he'd never before experienced this intense rush of arousal or the need to shelter and protect as he did once he'd set eyes upon her.

  She called to mind a wounded songbird and yet, he discerned, possessed within a core of strength unaffected by the turmoil of her situation. He also sensed secrets. The many facets of the woman intrigued him. Could there be a frightened waif cowering beneath? He would help her to remember her name—for he himself longed to know it.