DisobediencebyDesign (2 page)

“Poor dear. Did you see her? She looked simply enervated.”

Sophia?

“And it being her debut—”

Yes. Sophia.

“She should have all the vigor of youth.”

Geoffrey looked down at the woman who spoke. She was not
much older than thirty.

“Well I think I saw her go upstairs. And not to the ladies’
room. Across the courtyard.”

“Probably to her bedroom for a nap. The final dance isn’t
for a couple of hours. Poor dear.”

Bedroom? He knew precisely where that was—from the outside
at least. He knew at which window to toss a pebble as a signal to meet him in
the woods. He’d only been on the inside once, having been invited to see a new
dress, which turned out to be a high-collared day dress or riding habit or
something equally unrevealing that her maid and the seamstress were fussing
over. Of course he had followed her mother from the morning room so hadn’t come
upon her bedroom from the courtyard, but no matter. He was fairly certain her
room must be next to Arthur’s old bedroom, which Geoffrey had been in a few
times before Arthur moved to the east wing. Surely he could find Sophia’s suite
without too much trouble.

He sauntered casually out of the ballroom, through the
French doors, across the flagstone courtyard to the family’s private staircase.
He removed his gloves, pulled up the black collar of his evening jacket to
shield the white of his shirt then ducked into the dark, furtively glancing
around before he took the stairs to the first floor.

Torchlight from the Great Courtyard spilled through the
diamond-shaped windowpanes of the gallery, illuminating his way. He kept to the
shadowed wall along the bedrooms, peering at the bottoms of the doors to see if
light shone through underneath.

A swoosh of skirts, pale gray in the dark, swirled not
twenty feet away before him out of the gallery and into a room. The door
clicked shut.

Sophia
.

It must be her. Her dress was white—with a shockingly
low-cut neckline. And if he remembered correctly, he’d just passed the door to
Arthur’s old bedroom with its puppy claw scratches along the base.

Geoffrey drew in a breath as he reached her door. Accosting a
woman in her bedroom was perhaps not the best of plans. But it was Sophia and
they had an understanding. She might be surprised but she’d definitely be
willing.

He turned the knob stealthily and went in.

The room was dark with a nip in the air. He let his eyes
adjust and took a moment to scan the space. A sitting room, most likely, as the
bed was nowhere to be seen.

He spied her at the mantel, a little hunched, perhaps
warming herself at the dying fire. He was behind her in three strides.

“Sophie, darling, I’ve a present for you.”

And then she was in his arms, his lips caressing hers, she a
little startled, pushing him back. He held her more tightly and she relented, allowing
his tongue to delve into the warm recesses of her mouth, her hands encircling
his neck as she moaned meekly against him.

His body flared with desire. His hand spanned her upper
back, a support for her arch, the fine linen of her dress heated from the
excitement of their embrace.

Except Sophia had been wearing a silk dress and it certainly
did not extend up her back.

She wasn’t Sophia.

Geoffrey pulled away, mortified, releasing his partner with
a gasp.

Her breaths puffed excitedly. “Mr. Peel?”

Anna
.
Sophia’s maid
.

He fell to his knees. “My apologies, Anna. I…I… Oh God, I
hardly know what to say. This is unconscionable. You must think me a brute.”

She remained silent and still, a grotesque counterpoint to
his thudding heart and shaking hands. Waiting for her reaction—any reaction—was
excruciating.

“Say something, Anna. Please. Anything.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but my lady is not in her rooms. I believe
her to be at the ball. Were you thinking otherwise?”

He calmed his breath. “I was under the impression she had
retired for a spell before the final dance.”

“Oh.”

He stood. “I now understand I have been given incorrect
information. Please forgive me. I find myself in the most awkward of positions.
I have just divulged a confidence of my relationship with Lady Sophia and I
have just insulted you.”

“In truth, sir, I have known about you and my lady.” Her
sigh held a slight shudder. “And I have not been insulted.”

“Thank you, Anna. You do me a service.” He dragged his
fingers through his hair. “I’ll take my leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

His lips still tingled as he retraced his path to the
ballroom.
That
had been an absolutely fantastic kiss. Possibly better
than Sophia’s.

* * * * *

The stepping stones embedded in the grass came to an end.
Sophia halted. Before her rolled a vast lawn receding into the darkness. Above,
the moon shone in barely a sliver, obscuring what was most likely a very wet
and muddy trudge to reach the woods. Her dancing shoes and ball gown would not
survive such a venture unscathed. Besides, there was no sign of Geoffrey
surreptitiously waiting for her as she had hoped or, rather, sort of vaguely
imagined as one way of alleviating the frustrations of the evening. She sighed.
She’d have to turn back and face her fate.

Or perhaps not.

She could spend a moment or two in Arthur’s library. Even
better, she knew where he kept his spirits. A glass of sherry and a few lines
of poetry sounded ideal. Surely Arthur wouldn’t mind? And she would return to
the ballroom, really she would. She’d be expected to dance one last dance with
Royston. She’d need another glass of sherry just for that.

She tugged off her gloves and headed to the east wing. As
she approached Arthur’s apartments from the stone path along the perimeter of
the manor, signs of occupation caught her eye. The bright glow of an oil lamp
spilled onto the Small Court from the billiard room above. She chortled to
herself. Arthur had made his escape before she had. Well, he’d have to put up
with his little sister for a while.

She entered the house via the gardener’s entrance and
climbed the narrow staircase, quite a difficult task in her cage crinoline and
stiff petticoats. At the landing she heard billiard balls crashing together,
followed by a muttered oath.

Not Arthur. No, that was not Arthur’s voice at all. Not only
was it a bit deeper and growlier, the profanity twanged with a heavy accent.
Not Continental. Maybe…American?

Of course! Arthur’s American! Her brother was expecting the
man and had warned Sophia—and apologized to Henny—that he would be preoccupied
with the American on business matters, that Sophia should not meddle nor ask
too many questions as she was wont to do. Arthur hated it when she asked a lot
of questions. She really did have a curious nature but sometimes she played it
up just to annoy him.

She chewed on her lip thoughtfully. Meeting this American
promised to be far more interesting a diversion than necking and toying with
Geoffrey. She’d get to ask the Yankee about all sorts of things then startle
Arthur with her knowledge. Why, the old gent would probably be flattered to
have a young girl talk to him about whatever it was he did—something with
railways, if she remembered correctly.

The door to the billiard room stood ajar. She peered in. And
froze.

She hadn’t expected to see a young man, much less a handsome
man with tousled light-brown hair, bent over the billiard table, his intense
gray eyes boring down the length of the cue then flickering up to the red
object ball on the felt. And he wasn’t dressed—well he was, just not properly.
He wore only his shirt, the placket unbuttoned, emphasizing the brawny bulk of
his chest, and his sleeves rolled up, exposing the fine hair on his thick arms.
She had never seen so much bared male flesh before in her life.

A delicious heat melted her insides, sliding an audible sigh
down her throat, quashed quickly by a gasp of embarrassment.

* * * * *

Joseph looked up, his concentration on the aim of the cue
broken by a melodic, breathy sound at the door. A spark of surprise shot
through him at the sight of an angelic vision in white, a spectacularly
beautiful young woman who slowly entered the room as he pulled himself up from
his bent position over the billiard table. Her auburn hair framed a perfect
face, radiating a glow of youthful innocence only slightly marred—or perhaps
enhanced—by an obvious inquisitiveness bordering on deviousness reflected in
her mossy eyes.

She seemed stunned into silence by his presence so he broke
the spell.

“Hullo.” He took a puff of his cigar to calm his body’s
growing interest in the girl.

“Are you Arthur’s American?”

God
, her accent was utterly charming.

He chuckled. “I suppose I am. You look like you were just at
that shindig.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Party,” he explained, giving her the once-over. “I guess it
was a formal affair.”

The bodice of her ball gown fit perfectly on her shapely
form, a row of pale-pink silk roses demarcating the low-cut neckline from the
ivory flesh of her steadily heaving bosom. A damn distracting sight. He ripped
his gaze away unwillingly.

She walked farther into the room. “Yes I was at that
‘shindig’,” she said, pronouncing the word with an exaggerated and clumsy
American accent.

She drew her finger along the polished edge of the billiard
table, awakening his brain to fantasies of her finger stroking a part of him in
need of attention at that very moment.

“I found it rather boring,” she added.

“Boring?” A room full of women as beautiful as she couldn’t
possibly be boring. “How so?”

“For one, there were not very many attractive men.” She bit
her lip, her apparent abashment profoundly provocative.

Aha!
So he had a chance. Sort of. She was clearly far
above his laboring-class background. Still, a man should always try his luck
where women were concerned. “How might the presence of attractive men have made
the party more interesting?”

She cocked her head. “I would have had far more
distractions.” She drew out the last word as if implying something indecent.

His unruly prick stirred. “And how would you like a man to
distract you?”

She glanced up through long lashes. “First, he would bring
me a refreshment.”

Joseph grabbed his brandy snifter and handed it to her. Her
eyes widened and she took a sip. Her choking gag revealed her innocence as far
as liquor was concerned. She blushed sheepishly. He chuckled and downed the
rest of the drink.

“Then after a refreshment,” she said, clearing her throat, “he
would offer his arm for a walk to the ballroom.”

Joseph gallantly held out his right arm. She wrapped her
delicate, warm hand around him, blushing at the touch of bare skin on bare
skin. His cock livened again.

“Of course he would be a fine dancer,” she said.

Joseph extended his arms in a waltz stance. She flushed
again as she grasped his left hand and placed her other hand on his right
shoulder, his state of undress rather conspicuous in such a position as her
gaze met his chest. Her breathing noticeably quickened.

He placed his right hand at her waist and it took every
ounce of his willpower to not pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

Instead he led her in a waltz around the billiard table. She
moved with him in perfect rhythm, as if they had danced together before, as if
they were meant to dance with one another. She was so precious in her inability
to decide where to focus. She stared at the opening of his unbuttoned shirt
with a mixture of fascination and alarm then looked askance with a blush. Tried
to meet his eyes then shied away.

Shit
. She had to be a virgin. Perhaps the most
precocious and intriguing virgin he had ever met but he’d have to be careful.

“And when the dance ended?” he inquired, slowing his pace
after a turn around the table.

“He would suggest we go for a walk.”

He offered his arm and once again she took it willingly. He
led her beyond the French doors out onto the terrace. A breeze tried to cool
him but his flesh was far too heated from her closeness.

He dipped his head toward hers. “And then?”

She smiled alluringly. “He would flatter me.”

“In what way?”

The beguiling smile turned into a grin. “By comparing my
beauty to the stars or some such poetic silliness.”

Joseph chuckled softly then walked her to the balustrade at
the edge of the terrace where the light of the billiard room could not reach.
He looked up at the stars.

“Do you see that formation over there?” He pointed at the
sky.

“You mean the Plough?”

“Plough?” He hadn’t heard it called that before. “It’s also
known as Ursa Major, which means Great Bear in Latin.”

“Are you comparing me to a bear, sir?” she asked with
feigned shock.

He chuckled. “During the time of the gods and goddesses,” he
began with a seductive drawl, “there was a beautiful princess named Callisto.
She was a companion of Artemis, the virgin goddess of the hunt, and as such
Callisto took a vow to remain a virgin. Callisto’s beauty was unsurpassed, even
by the goddess herself, and Zeus, the god of all gods, wanted her desperately.”

The virgin on the terrace shivered slightly from the chilly
night. Joseph positioned himself behind her, shielding her from the breeze with
the warmth of his body.

“Zeus was a devious seducer. He assumed the form of Artemis
and approached Callisto while she picked flowers alone in the woods. He
convinced her that he was the huntress, and as Artemis he made love to the
virgin princess.”

“Two women making love?” She sounded genuinely astonished. “Is
that possible?”