DisobediencebyDesign (15 page)

“Yes, Anna?”

“Mr. Phillips is here to see you.”

Sophia’s heart leaped. “Please send him in.”

“Oh my dear, is that wise?” Mama queried quietly.

“Mama, Mr. Phillips saved me.”

And then he entered, his face vibrant the moment their eyes
met.

“Joseph!” She could not stifle her grin, could not calm the
thrum of her heart pounding in joy.

Mama stared at her in shock at the sign of familiarity.

He did not take his eyes off her. “How are you this
afternoon, my lady?”

His voice was a balm to every pain in her body.

Mama nodded her greeting. “Her spirits seem enlivened by
your presence, Mr. Phillips.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I am grateful I was able to prevent an
insult to your daughter.”

“And my family thanks you for that, Mr. Phillips. Pray tell,
how is it that you came to be present at the moment when my daughter was in
distress?”

“May I be frank, ma’am?”

“Yes.”

“I followed Lady Sophia. I do not trust the Duke of Royston
around your daughter. I never have since the first I met him.”

“Oh I see. And why is that?”

“I’ve met men like him before, ambitious men who seek
spouses only to elevate themselves without concern for the woman in question.
Whatever leverage they have they will use.”

Mama paled briefly. “Surely that is an American proclivity.”

“With all respect, ma’am, it is a proclivity anywhere power
is at stake. I understand the duke has lost some money recently and is in great
debt. He seeks power to regain his prestige and position in society. A marriage
to Lady Sophia will bring him all that, along with financial gain. I only
wonder what leverage he is using to obtain that which he seeks.”

Mama folded her hands together and pursed her lips. “Your
theories are very interesting, Mr. Phillips, and not without merit I’m sure.
Right now, though, we need to focus on Sophia’s health. I thank you for your
service to my family.”

“Be assured, Lady Richmond, I would do it again but I hope I
never have to.” He bowed. “Lady Sophia, I will take my leave. I plan to visit
every day until I am satisfied you are recovered.”

She held her hand out to him. He kissed it tenderly, sending
a tingling shiver to shoot straight to her heart.

He left. She smiled, hopeful she would recover swiftly and
looking forward to seeing him every day.

Joseph lay in bed wide awake, unable to sleep, night
bringing with it memories of Sophia’s attack. A week had passed and he still
jumped at what was probably a servant slinking down the hall, pulling the
sheets down as if that would augment his sense of hearing. He fretted as a
carriage rolled by in the street, stopping briefly before rattling away. London
was not as noisy as New York City but was more restless than bucolic
Lincolnshire. He was irritated that every little thing out of the ordinary was
setting him on edge.

He knew how to steady his nerves. A frig always worked. And
seeing Sophia nude the other day—despite the circumstances—only made the urge
more powerful. But anguish and anger had dulled his motivation. He couldn’t get
himself to begin. He just wanted to be spent already.

Perhaps he needed some inspiration.

He lit the oil lamp to a dim flame then fumbled through the
books recently acquired from Mr. Jacobs. Sapphic schoolgirls? Maybe. Bondage?
That would have to wait for recent memories to fade. A harem? Possibly. With
virgins? Hmmm. Priests and nuns? Definitely not. Why did he buy that one?
Really anything would inspire him but that would mean he would have to actually
read the damn book to find the affecting scene and the impetus just wasn’t
there.

He paused at a sound. A woman’s voice filtered briefly up
the central stairwell then faded.

Henny was there.

To see Arthur.

And the wickedest notion to have ever occurred to him
suddenly presented itself.

He doused the light. Quietly he opened the door to the hall,
looked around and tiptoed out, listening intently. They must have gone to the
library first. Joseph very carefully padded along the carpet to Arthur’s
bedroom. As quickly as he could he opened the door and slipped inside then closed
the door behind him.

His heart raced at the daring recklessness of it all. But he
had not thought the scheme through. He looked around the room and decided
behind the curtains would be the best bet, provided of course, Arthur didn’t
decide to open the window. With a woman in his bedroom he probably wouldn’t.
Women were always cold at night.

Suddenly it seemed too easy. His heart sank. What if they
decided to do it on the sofa in the library and Henny left after that? The best
he could hope for was watching Arthur undress. This wouldn’t necessarily be a
bad thing but maybe not quite the hoped-for inspiration.

He stifled a chuckle. Arthur was randy as hell since he and
Henny had breached the forced morality of their class. They wouldn’t just stop
at the library sofa. The two would be ready to go at it again the second they
stepped through the bedroom door. Joseph tested various configurations of the
curtains before settling upon the best view of the room and the bed.

The stairs creaked, the hall floorboards squeaked and the
door to the bedroom opened quietly then clicked shut.

Henny giggled.

“It’s nice to hear you laugh, darling,” Arthur said sweetly
as he lit the bedside lamp.

Henny flopped lazily in the slipper chair with a heavy sigh.
“Seeing her today was heart-wrenching,” she said, unlacing her shoes. “Your
mother had covered her face in far too much powder and the seamstress tried not
to notice.” Her voice shook. “Apparently she’s lost some weight. Her
measurements have changed from only a few weeks ago.” She inhaled a sob then
covered her face with her hands.

“Shh shh, love,” Arthur consoled her, removing her hands and
pressing a kiss to her forehead. He knelt down next to her and reached under
her skirts. “Let’s not talk about it right now.” He pulled off one stocking,
then the other, then drew his hands up Henny’s legs to rest on her thighs. He
leaned in and kissed her mouth.

Joseph’s cock livened in response.

Henny wrapped her arms around Arthur’s neck and sounded a
deep, yearning moan that resonated in Joseph’s core.

The two were still practically fully dressed and he was
already hard as a rock.
Shit
. He really did need the release.

Little by little buttons were unfastened and layers of
clothes peeled away, Arthur teasing her about her crinolines as he shucked them
to the carpet, she teasing him back about the distinct outline of his cock
under his thin drawers.

“If you wore a crinoline, my lord, no one would see your
monstrous machine.”

At that he picked her up and threw her on the bed, pouncing
on top and assailing her with nibbles and tickles. Within moments her giggles
became sighs as his mouth sought hers, his hands deftly unpinning her hair.

He jumped off the bed and pulled off his drawers as she
scrambled out of her remaining undergarments, her long hair shielding Joseph’s
view of her nudity. Arthur ripped off his shirt and held her gaze, the two of
them naked and panting, their bodies youthful perfection.

Arthur was magnificent, lean and athletic, fine hair leading
from his chest to his belly, growing thicker at his groin, from which bobbed a
formidable cock, a monstrous machine indeed.

Henny angled her body as she reached for her lover,
revealing her sleek curves and wondrously lush breasts. Arthur went to her,
knelt before her on the bed, his mouth seeking a nipple, sucking, as Henny
threw her head back with a sigh of encouragement.

Joseph’s balls tightened.
Good move, my friend
.

And then she laid him back onto the mattress and bent over
him, a curtain of her hair obscuring what the slow, rhythmic bobbing of her
head implied.

“Oh God, Henny.”

Joseph’s hands fisted, aching to grip himself.

Henny straightened, her body raised, straddling him,
hovering. “Beg for it.”

It took every ounce of effort for Joseph to keep still. He
prayed he would not spontaneously come.

“Fuck me, Lady Henrietta, fuck me,” Arthur pleaded. “I need
to feel you, be inside you.”

She stayed poised above him.

“Please.”

She slammed down on his cock and he bucked up against her
with a cry.

Joseph swallowed a gasp.

Henny rode Arthur gracefully, her cascading hair rippling in
time to her undulating figure. Arthur reached for her and she grasped his hand for
leverage. As she increased her pace he slid his other hand between her legs.

Watching the most intimate act between a couple deeply in
love was wrong. But it was riveting, compelling and oh so very arousing. Joseph
restrained himself from rocking to Henny’s sensual cadence. He had half a
notion to join them, bending Henny over, smoothing his palms over her ample
behind, filling her arse, feeling Arthur’s cock sliding against his inside her—

Henny yelped in ecstasy.

In one swift move, Arthur had her under him, plowing into
her as she wrapped her legs around his hips, holding on. Her cries grew louder
in rhythm to his huffing groans, the rhythm increasing, the thrust of his
pelvis picking up speed until he drove into her one last time and held himself,
jerking and growling, then collapsed against her with an exhausted chuckle.

She kissed him and stroked his hair. “I love you, Arthur. I
love you beyond words.”

“I know.”

They chatted for a few minutes until they fell asleep,
embraced in a tangle of limbs. When the respiration of slumber and Arthur’s
occasional snoring filled the room, Joseph noiselessly retreated to his own
bedroom.

The erotic spectacle was the inspiration he had needed. He
made quick work of himself, fantasizing about the future possibilities of
himself with his handsome business partner and the man’s luscious wife.

Henny brushed her hands over her body as she inspected
herself in the mirror. Her figure was still perfect although her breasts were a
little fuller. She reached for the ball gown that had just been delivered from
the modiste’s and held it against her. She was going to look absolutely divine.
She loved the Season, loved London during the Season. The parties, the people,
the gossip, the attention.

And her wedding was going to be the most-talked-about event
of the Season of 1860.

She was even more excited that she wasn’t showing yet—well…no
one had remarked as such, not even Mother. She had confided in Sophie that
wedding nerves were making her gain weight. She just had to make sure she did
not eat too much and perhaps strolled rather than rode in the park…then she
could keep her weight down.

She would worry about the baby after the wedding and tell
Arthur on their wedding night. Any earlier and he would fuss and fret over her
and he certainly did not need any more cares and concerns in his life.

She called for Adele to help her dress quickly. She wanted
to see Sophia before going over ceremony details one last time, shopping for
gloves and stockings, having tea with some friends of Mother’s… The list of
things to do was endless. She smiled. She was having so much fun doing them
all.

Adele, in her pretty French accent, assured Henny that she
looked perfect then curtsied and left to attend to the ironing.

Henny grabbed her gloves and a new bonnet and went to the
landing. Mother’s high-pitched laugh wafted up from below, counterpoint to a
man’s low rumble, perhaps coming from the morning room, which meant she was
entertaining close friends. Which meant Henny had to avoid them if she was ever
going to get to Sophia’s. The servants’ stairs were the best route under the
circumstances and it wasn’t as if she had never taken them before. She used the
back stairs to sneak out to go see Arthur late at night.

She got halfway down the narrow stairwell when a male
servant came running up, someone new, pudgy and balding. She stopped to let him
pass. He lifted his head. He wasn’t a servant.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed.

Royston smirked smugly, his eyes narrowed like a wild dog
eying its prey. “I came to see you, my dear.”

She backed up a step. “I do not ever want to see you again.”

But he was too quick. He grabbed her arms and pinned her
against the wall.

“Let go of me,” she growled.

“Now my dear, it’s because of your little friends I am no
longer allowed to see my beloved.”

“Your
beloved
?” He was despicable.

“Oh dear. Jealous? I know you were once going to be mine—”

“I was never going to be yours!”

His face was too close to hers. “Ah, that’s because I never
had my chance to persuade you.”

Henny’s blood boiled. “You mean you never had the chance to
rape me, like you almost did Sophia?”

He scrunched his face in disgust. “That is such an ugly
sentiment, my dear. And as I seem to recall you were not as reluctant as she.”

“I was only a child! I was terrified, you bastard.”

“Ah yes, I remember how scared you were. I tried to console
you—”

“Get away from me!” She could endure his insults no more.
She flailed her arms against him and slammed her knee into his crotch. He
flinched, his face reddened.

“You little whore.”

His hand came down hard against her cheek, the dizzying force
destabilizing her. She slipped on the smooth wood of the stair, falling
backward, her buttocks hitting first, skimming down the stairs, her skirts
facilitating her slide, twisting her around until she crashed head first on a
landing. She looked up to see Royston running up the stairs, escaping, her last
vision before she swooned and blacked out.

* * * * *

“She’s awake, my lord.”

Arthur started, staring blankly at Henny’s lady’s maid
bending over him, her hand on his shoulder, rousing him gently. He must have
been asleep. But this was Henny’s bedroom at the Bloxholme’s London residence…

Then everything came back into focus.

Henny had fallen down the stairs, an accident they had said.
The doctor had wanted to meet with Arthur privately. She had lost the child, the
doctor had said. Henny had been pregnant and had lost the child. Their child.

And the doctor was not confident she would ever be able to
have children again.

He had moved as if in a dream after that, sitting on the
slipper chair, watching Lady Bloxholme and the servants putter around Henny’s
bedside, not hearing or understanding when they spoke to him. Letting the world
slip away around him.

Jesus
. First Sophia. Now Henny. What the hell was
happening?

“Thank you, Adele.” He got up, wobbling on his feet, Adele
steadying him, helping him to Henny’s bedside. Henny reached out her hand and
smiled.

“Arthur.” Her voice was weak.

“We’ll leave the two of you alone, Arthur,” Lady Bloxholme
said.

He watched as they left then sat on the bed, sliding against
the headboard, wrapping his arm around Henny’s shoulders, her head resting in
the crook of his arm.

He kissed her hair. “You knew, didn’t you? About the baby.”

“Yes. I wanted to tell you but it would have been too much
of a distraction from your business.”

He hugged her more closely. “More of a distraction than
making love to you?”

“The doctor says I can’t have another…” She began to cry.

“Henny, darling, shh shh. We’ll try again. We’ll keep
trying.” The tears smarted in his eyes. He wiped them away. She mustn’t see him
cry. “We’ll have fun trying,” he joked weakly.

She giggled anyway. Then the flood of tears began again.

Arthur slid down until he lay alongside her and pulled her
close. He could hide his tears no longer.

“Arthur,” she sobbed, “it was horrible, he was there, he hit
me.”

He
? “Who, darling? Who hit you?”

“Royston.”

The name pierced him like a cold dagger. “Henny, darling,
what do you mean?”

“Royston hit me.”

She still wasn’t making complete sense. “What happened exactly?
They said you were on the back stairs. You slipped and fell.”

“He came to see me. He was angry about being kept away from
Sophia.”

“Why on earth would he bother you about it?”

“To taunt me.” She drew in a breath. “Arthur, I never told
you. When I was fourteen he…he touched me. He insulted me. And I let him. I
didn’t want to but I didn’t stop him.” Her voice was weak. “I’ve carried the
shame of it ever since.”

His heart clenched. He could not stop the tears. “Darling,
that man is a monster. You should not carry the shame. He is responsible for
his actions.”

“And he made me believe that because he had…done that to me
that I was to be his wife. I could think of no worse horror than to be married
to that man. But Mama said I could be no man’s wife until I had begun my
courses.”

“Did you tell your mother?”

“I’ve never told anyone.” Her voice was but a whisper. “Until
now.”

He cradled her against him. “Henny, we must help Sophia. We
must think of some young men to include at our wedding breakfast.”

“Yes, we must save Sophie.” She shifted against him, sinking
lower. “Joseph. She’s in love with Joseph.”

Yes, she is
. “How do you know this?”

“I saw them together,” she said hoarsely. “In the studio at
Harwell Hall. They had been intimate…”

So she knew all along.

“Joseph should be at our wedding.”

“He will be, darling,” he assured her. But he couldn’t
possibly be considered a suitor.

She turned onto her side. “Arthur, I’m tired and my head
hurts. I think I need to sleep now.”

“Yes, darling. Of course.” He got up, helping her settle
back against the pillows.

Suddenly she flinched with a groan, squeezing her eyes shut.
She curled her knees to her chest.

“My love?”

“Arthur, I think I need a doctor.”

The fog of a dream engulfed him once again. Something was
terribly wrong with Henny.

* * * * *

Arthur sat in the dark, the fire in his library long gone
out. He reached for the decanter of brandy. Finding it empty, he moved on to
the sherry.

There was to be no June wedding. Instead, in a lavish and
well-attended event, Lady Henrietta Langley had her funeral at St. George’s.
She had been dressed in her wedding gown.

The doctor insisted there wasn’t anything he could have
done. He hadn’t seen any sign of trauma to the mother after the fetus had been
expelled. In fact the patient had exhibited symptoms of recovery. The doctor
had been surprised when Lady Henrietta had succumbed.

Expelled
. What a horrid word.

She had carried his
child
, damn it!
Their
child. Their
first
child.

He downed his sherry. His last child.

He squeezed his lids shut, strangling back tears as he
lifted the crystal decanter and drank deeply. But the flood of sorrow could not
be banked. Tears cascaded down his cheeks as he croaked a sob-filled breath.

Henny. His Henny. Gone.
Shit
.

He would do more than just wear a black armband for the rest
of his days. He would crush Royston.

There would never be an heir to the Marquessate of Richmond
so long as Sophia was in the clutches of that villain. That much he could do.
He would never marry—no one would replace Henny, no child would replace the one
they had lost.

He would never perpetuate the horror of the peerage where
the position and privilege of one man was deemed more important than the safety
and security—and lives
—
of beautiful, sweet, intelligent young women.
Women who were truly the future of the nation, far more so than tired old
aristocrats clinging desperately to a past that disappeared faster than a
landscape from a moving train.

His parents would be appalled, of course. Perhaps, however,
they would be persuaded to see the error of their ways, to cede whatever claim
Royston had over their precious daughter. The end to fifteen generations of
Richmonds would be a powerful hold over them.

And if they refused to abandon Royston’s suit, there were
other ways of shielding Sophia.