DisobediencebyDesign (19 page)

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s really a rather miserable way to begin a life
together. Dishonesty, secretiveness, immorality.”

“Think of it as trying to run away from a villain and doing
anything you possibly can to escape.”

“I suppose.” He finished his coffee but remained sitting. “You
know there’s one thing you never considered in all of this.”

Oh? “What’s that?”

“Us.”

“Us?”

“You, Arthur, and me, Joseph.”

“You mean the business.”

“No.” Joseph met his eyes.

Arthur held his gaze, heat rising in his cheeks. “Of course
it’s impossible now,” he whispered.

“Do you regret it?”

A flush of panic prickled his neck. “Do you?”

Joseph gave his hand a squeeze. “I don’t regret anything
we’ve done, Arthur. But I am sorry we probably won’t do anything like it again.”

Sorrow carved a hollowness in his heart. “My sister’s a
lucky girl.”

“She is.” Joseph patted him on the back. “Because she has
the best damn brother any girl could hope for.” He stood. “Look, can you send a
message to Sophie’s maid Anna? Have her come with Sophie’s new rose day dress
and whatever toilet articles she needs for her hair and such. I’d do it but the
missive should really come from the earl himself and not his American
houseguest.” He angled over. “You know, to deflect suspicions.”

“Yes, right away.” Arthur pushed back his chair. Their
deception had begun. He just hoped to God it would work.

London, 17 August 1860

Sophia held her breath and the lace edging of her corset
while Anna tried to fasten the front. Finally the harried maid took a step
back, her hands on her hips.

“I can’t do it, my lady. You’ll just have to wear the blue
brocade again tomorrow night. I think that one is cut a bit fuller.”

“Okay—I mean, all right. Thank you, Anna.” Sophia took off
the corset and handed it to her. “Can you loosen it a little?”

“Yes, my lady.” Anna eyed her queerly. “What are you going
to tell Lady Richmond?” she asked as she tugged at the laces.

She desperately wanted to tell Mama the truth. “That I’ve
developed a fondness for sweets, and if anyone asks, the brocade is my favorite
dress. It’s the final ball of the Season. I think I should be allowed to wear
my favorite dress, don’t you agree?”

Anna lowered her head to conceal her smile. “Yes, my lady.”

Sophia sighed. July had proved to be the longest month of
the summer and August was hinting it too would be interminable. Peers and
politicians clung to London and environs as Parliament plodded on, which meant
Papa, the consummate political peer, stayed in town. Arthur did as well, as
most of his business associates were hangers-on to the political sphere.

The Season hadn’t been as fun as she had hoped. She keenly
felt Henny’s absence especially as, one by one, the girls she had debuted with
became engaged. Royston still dogged her at every turn and for that reason she
relished her time playing hostess to Arthur. Even entertaining investors’ wives
was far more tolerable than anything to do with Royston.

She sometimes saw Geoffrey at balls and teas but mostly saw
him at Arthur’s dinners. He often inquired after Anna on those nights,
wondering if she had something to keep her preoccupied as if waiting for Sophie
at Arthur’s house was somehow different than waiting any other place. Anna had
her own room on the top floor and always had a book to read or mending to
finish. Sophia reassured Geoffrey that her maid was indeed just fine.

And then there was Joseph.

She loathed having to play a part during dinner and in the
drawing room when all she wanted to do was link her arm in his and lean her
head against his shoulder as if they were an old married couple. Sophia knew
she blushed around him. Of course he was exotic and charming and most of the
women blushed in his presence but her reasons were much more deeply felt.

And then the guests would leave, although sometimes Geoffrey
would linger to distract Arthur, and Sophia had to play another part. It would
be unseemly to simply exit the drawing room with Joseph, even though all knew
they would be spending the night in each other’s arms. So she would leave first
and go to her room where Anna would undress her. Not long after that Joseph
would rap lightly on her bedroom door, Anna slinking past them as they
embraced.

Every moment she spent with him alone was exquisite.
Pleasantries and conversation were left for when they were in company. Their
time alone was purely for carnal pleasures. He worshiped her body with his,
each time taking her to heights she thought she had already climbed, showing
her the different ways a woman and man may make love, how one position flowed
into the next. She could straddle his hips and ride his cock, lifting and
settling rhythmically, “as a man rides a horse”. Then that position could be
reversed—rather awkwardly the first time—allowing Joseph to “admire the charms”
of her backside. And when he could take her slow slides up and down his cock no
more, he maneuvered himself to kneeling, holding her steady, never breaking
contact, then slammed into her from behind as she arched over the mattress on
all fours.

And that was just one night. The next morning they explored
yet more variety of love-making.

But Sophia spending too many nights at Arthur’s house made
her brother nervous. People might talk, he worried. He made sure Geoffrey was
in attendance at every dinner he held.

“It makes it seem more official, Sophie,” he had explained. “The
three of us partners.”

Yet her presence at breakfast, giggling as she and Joseph
flashed knowing glances at each other, proved a source of consternation to her
brother. He suggested Joseph go away for a spell.

“I’ll visit my house in Lamberton,” Joseph offered. “I’ve
heard Scotland’s lovely this time of year.”

All agreed. Joseph would leave for a fortnight and to dispel
any lingering rumors of impropriety involving the American, Arthur would
continue to have dinners late into the night with Sophia as hostess staying
over until morning.

The night before he left Joseph gave her one more lesson.
They lay in her bed, skin still flushed from love-making, fingers tangling,
breathing each other in.

“Of all the books I’ve given you,” he murmured against her, “which
is your favorite?”

Sophia propped herself up on an elbow. “Ooh,
The Lustful
Turk
.”

Joseph’s brow crinkled with his wide grin. “The one with the
sultan and the English girl?”

“It’s exotic. I like exotic.” She drew a finger down his
chest, tracing the shadowed curves of his muscles. “Like you. You’re exotic. If
it were
The Lustful American
, I think I would enjoy the story even more.”

He chuckled. “Well you can make that one up.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean write my own naughty story?”

He threaded his fingers through her hair, arranging it to
spill over her shoulder and curl onto his chest. “You don’t need to write it
down—you can simply speak it to your lover, guiding him through the fantasy.”

“Hmm.” She lay back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling
thoughtfully. “You’re an American privateer and you’ve just captured my ship.”
She bit her lip, a little abashed at her thoughts. “I’m an English lady. I was
held captive by your freedom fighters during your war for independence and
they’ve just set me free.”

“Only to fall into my lustful clutches.”

“Yes!”

“Will you be easy to conquer?” He nuzzled into her neck, the
tip of his nose tickling along her pulse. “Surely the patriots had their way
with you and have made you wanton.” His featherlight touch from her belly to
breast prickled her flesh and the deep tones of his voice reverberated within,
encouraging her toward a new sensuality.

“No. The rebels knew I was worth more if I remained a
virgin. My husband, a colonel with the British army, died before we could
consummate our marriage.”

Joseph lengthened himself on top of her, pushing her knees
apart. “A virgin?” He quirked a brow. “Your innocent treasures are worth more
to my cock than to my purse.” He pushed his erection between her thighs.

She spread her legs wider, already wet.

“Do you deceive me, my lady? A daughter of the aristocracy
does not so easily open herself to criminal scum such as myself.”

How wicked
. She pushed against his chest. “Blackguard.
I will not let you have your way with me!” She clapped her thighs shut in vain,
her words at odds with her grin.

He handily resisted her struggles, his legs far too strong,
his desire far too eager. Yet she could be wily when she wanted.

A swift graze of her nails across the sensitive skin of his
hips incited a jerk and a yelp and provided an instance for her to roll out
from under him. She stumbled off the mattress, the glee of victory welling
within. Yet he regained his senses quickly, lunging for her, wrapping his
brawny arms around her waist, tossing her onto the mattress amidst her untempered
squeals, this time on her stomach. He stretched out on top of her, his bulk
weighing heavy, trapping her, his cock prodding between her legs.

“You cannot possibly mean to escape this ship, my lady. I
suggest you give in—”

“Unhand me, you brute!” She wriggled under him futilely,
laughter melting her muscles of their resolve.

He pressed forward, the head of his cock finding its target.
“And now I have my triumph.” He plunged in, full force.

She sighed, vanquished, relishing her ravishment. The
fantasy had heightened her senses and engorged his cock to iron-hard. She came
quickly, easily subdued. He thrust fiercely, rutting as a pirate denied lewd
pleasure far too long. He emptied himself inside her with a growl then
collapsed at her side with a laugh.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “No fair! You’ll always win
these games.”

He pulled her into his embrace. “Not all games involve
strength, my love. I’m sure your womanly wiles can come up with some way to
manipulate my senses.”

“Hmm.” She’d have to give that some thought. She’d have all
the time in the world while he was gone. “I’ll miss you.”

He caressed her arm. “Sophie, while I’m gone, if you need
release you should touch yourself. Don’t think you can only do that in my
presence.”

She flushed at the notion of solo pleasure. “I can imagine
you’re with me. Having your colonial ways with me.”

“Oh please do.” He laughed. He pursed his lips in a sober
line. “And darling, if you have to, seek solace from Geoffrey.”

Guilt spiked through her. “Geoffrey? How do you mean?”

He traced a finger along her jawline. “I mean in his arms,
what you used to do.” His finger trailed over her lower lip. “Kissing him.”

“Joseph—”

“Shh, shh.” He pressed his finger against her mouth. “You’re
a passionate woman, Sophie, and I fear I have riled those passions even
further. Too far.” He brushed his lips against hers. “I want you to do whatever
it is you need to do to satisfy your lascivious appetite.”

Returning to Geoffrey’s arms seemed a preposterous notion
when she had fantasy and her now-skilled hand. But after a week without Joseph
and inflamed by his love letters sent wrapped up in business missives to
Arthur, Sophia understood what he had meant.

Geoffrey was astonished when she first took his hand after
Arthur had carelessly left them alone in the library one night. She quickly
convinced him.

“Only kissing,” she assured.

But it was kissing as they had never done before, he
crushing her as she lay on the couch, his hips rolling between her splayed
legs, his lips daring to tease a nipple, spiking arousal to her sex. Their
embraces left him glazed-eyed and wobbly, stumbling out to his carriage as she
fled to her bedroom, dismissing Anna quickly so she could finish by her own
hand.

And when Joseph returned a little over a week later, Sophia
told him everything she had done with Geoffrey despite his grins and chuckled
protests stating he didn’t need to hear about any of it.

But there was one secret she guarded closely. She wanted to
be absolutely certain before she revealed it.

Anna knew. Anna had to know. She had said nothing when
Sophia missed her courses, calmly watched Sophia vomit in the morning, took the
initiative to loosen the lacings of her corsets. But then one day she blurted
how she was sure the bath water was far too hot for the baby and perhaps her
lady should wait a moment for it to cool. Sophia had cried, letting loose a
flood of emotions she had kept bottled up for weeks.

Anna had promised she would say nothing until Sophia said
she was at liberty to do so. And Sophia was about to release Anna from her
silence.

She sighed at the pile of clothes on her bed. “Well, which
of my day dresses will fit?”

“The brown plaid I think. The pattern will distract from
your enhanced bosom.”

Sophia laughed. Anna was the best lady’s maid a woman could
have.

And thirty minutes later the best lady’s maid had worked
wonders to her undergarments and her accouterments to make sure no one knew she
was pregnant. It was probably the last time they would be able to manage such a
deception. And the last time they would have to.

* * * * *

Sophia had sent Arthur a message, asking to see him about
his entertaining plans for the autumn and requesting his business partner, Mr.
Phillips, be present. Of course both would know she had other matters to
discuss. But one could not be too careful.

“Sophia, darling sister.” Arthur kissed her cheeks.

He led her upstairs to the morning room where Joseph waited
by the hearth. He took her hands in greeting. Tea was promptly brought.

“To what do we owe the honor of your presence?” Arthur
poured out three cups.

She sat demurely at his side and waited until he had put the
teapot down.

“Arthur,” she said in almost a whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped as he held the milk jug aloft. Joseph
rushed to her side, kneeling before her.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

“First,” Arthur stammered, “are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“How do you know?” he insisted.

She looked at both men. “You really want me to tell you?”

Joseph took her hand. “I think I have a fair idea but yes.
We’ll need to call in a doctor so you’ll have to tell him your symptoms as
well. We’ll need proof for anyone who doubts or challenges.”

Sophia sighed. “I haven’t had my courses for at least two
months, I’m terribly fat, I’m nauseated in the morning and when I’m not
nauseated I’m famished. I’ve been eating more than usual.”

Joseph grinned and brushed a finger across her cheek. “You’re
not fat, darling.”

Arthur grabbed pen and paper at his writing desk. “I’ve had
Geoff inquire about a discreet doctor. I’ll send him a note to fetch the man as
soon as possible.”

The doctor came that very afternoon.

Dr. Waddington was a middle-aged, garrulous chap who treated
her like a granddaughter and spoke mostly to Arthur, who played the role of the
terribly scandalized yet concerned brother. The doctor was indeed discreet,
asking no questions about who the father might be, only gathering information
about her symptoms, taking notes with the occasional hum and nod. She had to
disrobe to her chemise and stockings, although was afforded a screen behind
which to do so and a dressing gown to cover the sheer underclothing. He first
placed his hands on her stomach, applying pressure here and there, then inserted
a thick finger all the way inside her, poking and prodding. Next he inserted an
instrument he called “a sort of stethoscope, my dear,” to listen where his
finger had just been.