DisobediencebyDesign (3 page)

He bent down and watched the pulse quicken in her neck,
breathing in her delicate perfume intensified by her skin’s heated arousal. “Yes…and
what a wondrous act to behold,” he said softly in her ear. He straightened to
stare at the sky again. “Callisto bore a son and was banished by Artemis. Zeus’
wife Hera was filled with jealous rage. To protect his lover and his son, Zeus
turned them into bears and put them in the sky out of reach from both
goddesses.”

“Ursa Major and Ursa Minor.”

“Yes.” He lowered his head to murmur in her ear. “Your
beauty is as Callisto’s, tempting both man and woman but only within reach to
one man, a lucky man, a god among men to have your love, a man for whom you are
a shining beacon in his otherwise dreary life.”

Despite the mawkish mixed metaphors she seemed deliciously
agitated. She turned toward him. “And after such poetic words I think I should
like him to kiss me,” she said with a boldness he had only hoped she had.

Every nerve in his body tingled with anticipation. “Kiss
you?” he queried gently. “Where?”

“Well a terrace would be far too public. So perhaps a dark
corner of the garden.”

He grinned. “I meant what part of your anatomy.”

He knew she flushed at that and he cursed the night and his
shadow for obscuring her reaction. She returned her attention to the sky then
looked at him with an innocent coquettishness that inflamed certain parts of
his
anatomy.

“Sir, you are very wicked.” She broke out in a grin and
laughed a stunningly melodic laugh.

There was no possible way he could kiss her. She was clearly
someone of high rank from her manner, her dress and the fact she had shown up
at the Earl of Petersham’s house in the middle of the night. But kiss her was
what he wanted to do. He fought every instinct to pull her into his arms and
give her the most memorable of kisses.

“Phillips!” Arthur’s felicitous voice came from the terrace
doors. “I’m glad to see you arrived safely.” He walked across the terrace to
heartily shake Joseph’s hand then looked down at the young woman. “I suppose
you kept yourself well occupied. It looks as if you were about to ravish my
sister.”

Shit
. “Your sister?” Joseph immediately stepped back.

His beautiful virgin crossed her arms to fend off the cold,
plumping her distracting breasts in the process.

“Yes, my sister.” Arthur gave the young woman a chastising
look. “I was trying to find her. The guests were rather upset she had
disappeared from her own birthday party,” he scolded.

“Arthur,” she complained. “You know only one guest in
particular would make such a fuss.”

“One very important guest.”

Joseph cleared his throat.

Arthur sighed. “I suppose you two didn’t bother introducing
yourselves?”

“It seemed more freeing somehow that we did not,” Joseph
offered as he stole a glance at the girl.

“Joseph, may I present to you my very incorrigible sister,
Lady Sophia Harwell.” Arthur turned to his now-smirking sibling. “Sophie, may I
introduce my business partner in a new American venture, Mr. Joseph Phillips.”

Sophia. Wisdom
. She should have been named Circe, an
island seductress tempting unsuspecting travelers. “Pleased to make your
acquaintance, my lady.” He bowed slightly as he imagined one did when one met nobility.

She curtsied with a smile. “And yours, Mr. Phillips.”

“Arthur, I’ve looked everywhere—”

The second most beautiful woman Joseph had ever seen
approached them on the terrace. What heaven had he been dropped into?

She stopped and surveyed the scene, flashing a glance
between him and Lady Sophia. “Oh, I see you’ve found her,” she said, her voice
dripping with insinuation. Blonde hair framed a face beautiful in its
perfection but, much like the sister, colored by an intriguing mischievousness.

She grabbed Arthur’s arm and he immediately took possession
of her by placing the arm around her waist instead. They clearly belonged
together but all the while she regarded Joseph—and his state of undress—with
keen interest.

“Have we been introduced?” she asked.

“My apologies,” Arthur exclaimed. “Mr. Joseph Phillips, meet
my fiancée, Lady Henrietta Langley.”

She held out her hand and Joseph took it lightly and bowed.

“So you’re the American,” Lady Henrietta said as if quite
impressed. “Arthur, you didn’t tell me how handsome he was.”

She flashed a look at Lady Sophia, who blushed.

“Arthur talks about you quite a bit,” Lady Henrietta added.

“And he talked about you quite a bit last fall in New York.
However, his effusions were no match for your beauty in person.”

“Oh goodness. Are all American men as handsome and charming
as you, Mr. Phillips?”

He chuckled. “I would like to think so. But next time Arthur
will have to bring you along so you can find out for yourself.”

“Before we start talking about America, I have to return
Sophie to the ballroom,” Arthur said, eying his sister with a scowl. “The Duke
of Royston is waiting.”

“Yes, Arthur,” Lady Sophia pouted with resignation and
disappointment, no longer the enchantingly seductive virgin, instead the whiny
little sister.

“Well I should probably get some sleep myself,” Joseph
announced. “Ladies, it has been a pleasure.” He bowed again.

Lady Sophia Harwell smiled sweetly at him, a smile he knew
would bedevil him in his dreams all night long.

* * * * *

After having returned Sophie to the ballroom, Arthur kept a
watchful eye on her from the fringes of the dance floor, rocking back and forth
on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back. She was marvelous at feigning
having a grand time at her party. She’d be waltzing with the duke next, an
obligation she loathed but which she’d have to get used to. If it wasn’t the
duke, it would be some other friend or associate of Father’s. And unfortunately
Father did not have interesting or young friends.

“Arthur, stop fidgeting,” scolded Henny at his side. “You’re
like a boy at his first ball.”

“I
am
like a boy,” he said, bending down to her ear. “A
boy on Christmas morning who’s waited far too long to open his presents. No one
will notice if we leave, my darling, so now would be the time to get away.”

She caught his eye with a start. “You devil.”

“I’ll give you just enough time for your lady’s maid to
fiddle with that contraption under your skirt and take it off.”

“You don’t intend for Adele to join us, do you, love?” she
inquired flippantly.

“They do that sort of thing in France, don’t they?”

“I wouldn’t know, Arthur. Do they?”

He chuckled. “Fifteen minutes, Henny.”

She pursed her lips to stifle a giggle and walked away
casually.

Arthur tried to tamp down the excitement growing inside.
Fifteen minutes was an eternity to his unruly cock. He and Henny hadn’t had
much time to do anything during her stay, as she had been trifling with Sophie
over clothes and men and all sorts of things young girls concern themselves
about.

He sighed. Henny was going to be the best sister-in-law
Sophie could imagine.

He looked up from his reverie, certain fifteen minutes had
gone by. He glanced around cautiously, seeing all eyes on Sophie and the duke,
and sauntered away to the first floor of the guest wing.

Her door was unlocked as he knew it would be. He didn’t give
a damn if the servants saw him slip inside.

Henny stood in the middle of her bedroom in her chemise, the
soft glow of an oil lamp exaggerating every shadow made by her curvaceous
figure, her pretty, pink-tipped breasts buoyant under the filmy linen.

He started toward her.

“Uh-uh,” she said, holding out her hand. “You have to take
off your clothes, Arthur darling, before you can touch.”

“Termagant.”

He held her gaze as he hastily shed his clothing, her smirk
dissolving into lust as each article dropped to the floor. And when he stood
before her utterly nude she stared at his exuberant cock bobbing in the air,
the tip of her tongue flicking over her lips.

He had no time for games. He peeled off her chemise, picked
her up and deposited her on the bed, bouncing onto the mattress beside her. She
squealed in delight as he pecked her face, her neck, her shoulder. He cupped a
firm, round breast, eliciting a breathy sigh, then pressed his mouth to hers.
She yielded under him with a soft moan, her body growing more pliant with every
caress, letting him slip between her legs, allowing his cock to rub against her
quim. He rolled his hips, nestling his erection in her wetness.

She stiffened and grabbed his face between her hands. “Arthur,
I’m not ready.”

He kissed her cheek. “I understand, darling.” He only sort
of did. “We’ll wait. There’s no hurry.” Except his balls were at bursting.What a shame girls were
taught to wait until their wedding night, even worse that they should expect a
horrific, painful event.

She relaxed. “Thank you, love.” She pecked the tip of his
nose. “I’m just too old-fashioned.” She kissed his lips. “Maybe we should have
gone to Scotland. No one would have known and we could still have a church
wedding. And I wouldn’t have these silly qualms.”

“It would have raised a great deal of suspicion had you and
I gone to Lamberton together.” He laughed. “Your qualms aren’t silly. I’ve
asked far too much of you already. You’re too generous.”

He slid down to kiss her breasts, pressing them together as
he licked her excited nipples, drawing one into his mouth. He sucked
relentlessly while working the other peak, pinching the tender tip. She writhed
under him, threading her fingers through his hair, pulling at the strands,
moaning gently, encouraging him to move lower.

He trailed gentle kisses down her body, nipped her belly,
still kneading her soft bosom. He reached the hair of her mons and she breathed
her consent.

“Oh darling. Yes please.”

He was rock hard. He pushed her knees up and out, exposing
her, and became harder still. He ground his cock into the mattress, expecting
to spend at any moment.

He licked his lips then delved in, slipping his tongue
through her plump sex. She was deliciously sticky, growing wetter as he feasted
on her, squirming beneath him, mewling entreaties. He nibbled on her clit and
she thrashed ecstatically, heaving her hips against his mouth.

God, he needed release.

He reached for his rampant cock, moving abruptly as he did
so, breaking the spell she was under. Henny lifted her head then curled and
curved on the mattress.

“Let me,” she said.

He twisted around to meet her, straddling her, his erection
pointing toward her face. She gripped him and slowly drew him into her mouth.

He uttered an oath against her quim as heated wetness
surrounded his cock then practically came as she sucked the full length deeper,
her tongue stroking along the shaft, her lips tightening and loosening as she
moved her head up and down. He no longer knew what he was doing to her but she
continued to moan around him, the delectable vibrations stimulating even more. He
was going to spend but for an even sweeter climax, he needed her to spend too.

He sucked on her clitoris, frantically flicking his tongue against
the nub. Her breaths puffed unevenly, her attentions to his pleasure grew
chaotic. Her hips undulated in a frenetic cadence, every thrust against his
mouth brusque and jerky, when suddenly she pressed up and screamed around his
cock. But he did not stop, he could not stop. He sucked on her clit as his
orgasm welled within, propelling him forward in a whirlwind of bliss to erupt
without warning, emptying his seed in her willing mouth as he tumbled down into
a rapturous abyss.

They lay in a tangle of limbs and satisfaction, panting,
until she pushed him off with a friendly groan. Arthur gathered her in his arms
and nuzzled his nose into her hair.

“That was marvelous, Henny.”

She sighed, her breath hot on his chest. “I can’t wait until
we’re married. It will be so much fun, won’t it?”

He chuckled and gave her a squeeze. Henny had proved over
and over how much she enjoyed bedsport. “Yes it will.”

* * * * *

Sophia had to admit the Duke of Royston was at least a good
dancer. His carriage in the waltz was strong, his steps practiced, his lead
unwavering—so much so she could practically close her eyes and think about Mr.
Joseph Phillips.

And two hours later—far too much of that time spent with
Anna undressing her with painstaking care, fretting about fashion as she
removed Sophia’s elaborate underwear—and finally in bed, Sophia could fantasize
about Mr. Phillips freely. She imagined the kiss they almost shared, pondered
how two women could possibly make love, wondered how on earth Mr. Phillips could
be a witness to such a “wondrous act”.

She pulled up her nightgown and cupped her hand over the
hair between her legs. Whenever she and Geoffrey kissed a pleasurable heat grew
there. Pressing her palm into her mound and her fingers against the dampness
always relieved her agitation. But tonight her body yearned for a satisfaction
she did not understand. She needed something more than just a press of her
hand. She squeezed her thighs together, finding a momentary release. She did it
again and again, each squeeze resulting only in increased desire.

Fantasies of Mr. Joseph Phillips apparently required
desperate measures.

She had never dared to delve a finger inside. Virginity was
too much of a prize. But what if she fondled herself a little? Surely touching the
outside would not be harmful?

She stroked the plump outer flesh, tangling in the damp hair,
then ever so tentatively slid a finger over the slit, working her way slowly
between the folds. She was stickier than she had ever been. She drew her finger
back and forth through the wetness, wishing desperately she could insert a
finger to relieve the pulsating throb vexing her deep inside.