DisobediencebyDesign (4 page)

She closed her eyes and sighed.

Joseph
.

He was looking down at her, his gray gaze flicking between
her eyes and her mouth, his lips parted ever so slightly, enough that the tip
of his tongue toyed with the lower lip, wetting it. He placed his hands on her
shoulders, slid them down her arms to her elbows, his touch exciting her,
stiffening her nipples. He grasped her at the waist, his hold secure and
strong.

“Where shall I kiss you?” he murmured, lowering his head. “In
the garden?” His head tilted slightly to the right. “Or on your lips?”

And then his mouth covered hers, his body enveloped hers.
Her mouth fell open, yearning for his tongue, her nipples ached, yearning for
his touch. And then she was Callisto, among the stars, spinning in the heavens
and he was dancing with her, surrounding her, on top of her. Her feminine
passage flexed and squeezed, yearning to be filled. And then he was inside her
and she squeezed him with all her might until the force of it flung her bodily,
to burn amongst the stars.

Sophia woke with a start, panting, confused…

Mired in that
feeling
again. She rarely experienced
it, and only after Geoffrey had kissed her with more than his usual enthusiasm.
A feeling so wonderful and luscious and exhausting and energizing all at once.
And tonight so much more splendid. If there was only a way she could control
it.

She heaved an exhale then laughed softly to herself. She
would blush terribly the next time she saw Mr. Joseph Phillips.

From the wingback in his study, Arthur peeked over the
afternoon paper at Geoffrey, who sat behind the grand desk shuffling documents
and muttering to himself.

“My sister said she barely got in a dance with you at her
birthday. And never got the thorough tonguing she was hoping for.”

Geoffrey stopped cold and stared at him. “She said nothing
of the sort.”

“I really should be defending her honor.”

“You’re not supposed to know.”

“Henny thinks it’s marvelous.”

“Ah.” Geoffrey shook his head and resumed sorting the piles
on the desk.

“Anyway, apparently when she couldn’t find you she ended up
on my terrace with Joseph.”

That got a rise out of him. “Who?”

“Phillips. The American. You might have some competition.”

“Well, he’ll be sorry as neither one of us can win that
game.”

A tentative knock sounded at the door.

“Speak of the devil,” Arthur murmured. “Come!”

Joseph entered, his hair slightly disheveled, his rumpled
jacket stretched a tad tightly on his bulky form. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t
realize how exhausted I was from the voyage.”

As always, his accent was simply charming.

Geoffrey stood, unfolding his lanky height from behind the
desk. “You must be Joseph Phillips.”

Surprise flickered briefly on Joseph’s face as he took in
Geoffrey’s stature. “I am.”

Geoffrey strode forward, ably covering the length of the
carpet with only a few steps. He held out his hand. “A pleasure to finally meet
you, Phillips. Geoffrey Peel.”

“My solicitor,” Arthur said, getting up from the wingback.

The two men shook hands. Geoffrey returned to the desk while
Arthur motioned to the other wingback.

“There’s still some tea left. Unless you want sherry. It
is
after four,” Arthur said.

“I think I’m supposed to get used to tea.” Joseph sat
heavily in the chair.

“It’s very good. Next time think twice before you dump a
shipload into the harbor.”

He laughed—a hearty, genuine,
American
laugh. Arthur
handed him a cup and Joseph relaxed into the cushioned upholstery.

“Right,” Geoffrey announced as he patted three stacks of
paper on the desk. He picked up two stacks, handed one to Arthur and the other
to Joseph.

“What’s this?” Joseph put the tea down on the side table and
took the sheaf of papers.

“Lord Petersham’s contract,” Geoffrey said with a flourish. “The
initial private partnership.”

“That which binds us together,” Arthur said. “Like a
marriage.”

“Except,” said Geoffrey, “you can sever the ties that bind
when the relationship is no longer profitable. You don't need an Act of
Parliament.”

“And there will be three of us.” Arthur chuckled.

Joseph grinned then flipped through the pages. “I’ve already
read it, haven’t I?”

“Yes yes, it’s the same document.” Geoffrey paced before the
desk, crossing the distance in only two strides. “I had official copies made.
That’s yours. We should go ahead and sign them now.”

“I can trust him, right?” Joseph jested as Geoffrey laid out
the signature pages.

“I do,” said Arthur. “Even with my sister.”

Joseph colored slightly. “Are congratulations in order,
Peel?”

Geoffrey let out a sharp laugh. “Ah, no. But I’ve known the
family so long, I’m allowed certain liberties.” He winked.

The three gathered along the desk, each signing his name in
turn as partners in Harwell & Co.

“Now what?” Joseph sank into the wingback.

“Arthur and I will draw up a list of potential investors,
get an idea of interest.” Geoffrey leaned against the desk. “That sort of
thing.”

Arthur took the seat opposite. “We already have a short list
of initial backers.”

“I’ll draw up a separate contract establishing the
joint-stock company. Eventually, we’ll have to conform to your American laws as
well.”

Arthur turned to Joseph. “I’ve set up a studio for you, away
from the house. Very private. There should be everything you need for drawing
preliminaries. We’ll present drafts of the plans to the investors, show off
your talents so they’ll have more confidence in the scheme. We’ll have official
plans made up for manufacturing purposes later.” He angled forward, his elbows
on his knees. “If you need anything,
anything
, do not hesitate to ask. I
have no idea what sort of materials engineers need.”

Joseph looked a bit stunned. Perhaps overwhelmed. “Thank
you, Peel. Thank you, Arthur.”

Geoffrey started at that. “‘Arthur’?”

Joseph flushed. “I just made a faux pas, didn’t I?”

Arthur shook his head. “We agreed in New York that titles
didn’t matter between us.” He sighed. “But Geoff’s right. In company,
especially when business is at stake, you should probably be a bit more formal.
Definitely call my parents by their titles. I insist on it, really.”

Joseph turned to Geoffrey. “Do you have one?”

“Not yet. I have to wait for my father to die.” He chuckled.
“He’s rather hale and hearty so I don’t expect it to be anytime soon.” All of a
sudden he snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot.” He opened a tooled leather
portfolio and searched the documents. “Ah. Here it is.” He placed a document on
the table and offered the pen to Joseph.

Joseph furrowed his brow. “Something else for me to sign?”

Arthur slapped his hands on his thighs and stood. “Of
course! I almost forgot as well. Thank you, Geoff.” He grabbed the pen and
dipped it in the inkwell and signed. “I’m selling my property in Lamberton to
you. To give you a foothold here. Well Scotland actually, just over the border.
It’s a small cottage, no great tract of land. But it’s the only land I own
that’s not entailed in some manner.”

Joseph blushed. “But I don’t have any money.” He took the
pen gingerly.

“I’m loaning you the money or rather the corporation is
loaning you the money. Anyway I don’t need the property. You’ll like it up
there I’m sure. Green and rural. Near the coast. Take the Great Northern to
York then the North Eastern. Lovely ride.”

Joseph signed and handed the pen back to Geoffrey. “So if
you don’t need it, why did you buy the house in the first place?”

Geoffrey laughed. “Arthur thought he might secure an
irregular marriage when he first met Henny.”

Arthur flushed at his foolhardy impulse. “You can marry whomever
you choose in Scotland with the simple act of living there for twenty-one days.
Henny was not of age when we first met.”

“And not properly yours,” Geoffrey added.

Arthur flashed him a chiding look. “Visit whenever you want,”
he said to Joseph. “I keep a steward and a housekeeper. Briggs is an old
widower and Mrs. Reed is his sister. Endearing pair. You should keep them.”

“By all means.” Joseph chortled.

Geoffrey held his pen over the inkwell, more documents
spread before him. “As your New York address legally belongs to your landlord,
we’ll establish the Lamberton house as your place of residence on the
corporation contract. Once we have you set up with an office in New York we’ll
amend the paperwork.”

Arthur returned to his teacup. “By the way, are you staying
for dinner, Geoff?”

“Absolutely. Any chance to see your delightful sister,
Petersham.”

Arthur grinned. “Don’t get your hopes up. Royston’s still
here.”

“Of course he is.” Geoffrey laughed. “Free meals and endless
coal. Anything to economize on his own expenses. Does your father send over his
tailor while he’s here as well?”

Geoffrey’s assessment was too cutting but he merely said
aloud what they both felt about the man.

“Who’s this Royston fellow anyway?” Joseph asked. “You
mentioned him the other night. Your sister did not look pleased.”

“Friend of the family. He stays here an awful lot,
presumably to court Sophia but Geoff’s not half wrong either. He may be a duke
but he’s practically in the poorhouse.”

“He simply ill-manages what’s left of his estate,” Geoffrey
said.

“And he’s a bad investor,” Arthur muttered into his teacup.

“That as well.”

“You’ll meet him tonight, Joseph. You’re coming with me to
dinner at the main house.”

Joseph grinned. “Am I also allowed to say ‘any chance to see
your delightful sister’?”

Geoffrey guffawed.

“Both of you will have to behave. There’s a houseful of
guests.” He eyed Joseph. “You do have dinner dress, do you not?”

“I think I might have something nicer than what I have on.”

“Bollocks.” They were about the same height but Joseph was
wide in the shoulders, with thick arms and chest. Geoffrey was taller and
thinner than either of them.

“This is bad, right?” Joseph crinkled his brow.

“Stand up, Phillips.” Geoffrey circled thoughtfully around a
mystified Joseph. “Right. I have to go home to dress anyway. I’ll bring you
something of my father’s. You look to be about the same build.”

“Hale and hearty?”

Geoffrey chuckled. “Similar sense of humor as well. He’s got
more around the middle though.”

“Thank you, Geoff. We’ll make do. I’ll have to set you up
with my tailor soon, Joseph.”

“You make me feel like a duke, my lord.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped and Geoffrey roared with laughter. A
shared private joke was the perfect beginning to their partnership.

* * * * *

Dining every so often with the marquess and marchioness
would be necessary, Arthur had said, and Joseph agreed to comply with his
wishes, albeit with a little reluctance. Insipid, polite chatter while liveried
servants watched and listened was disconcerting. But he would have to get used
to such surroundings and mingling with the aristocracy if he and Arthur were to
have any success. Besides, Lady Sophia would be in attendance. The opportunity
to gaze at her would be a pleasant diversion.

A long oak table, its thick legs carved in twisted spirals,
dominated the linen-fold-paneled dining room. Joseph was placed on the left of
the Marchioness of Richmond, a place of honor Arthur had said. The Duke of
Royston sat directly across from him, Lady Sophia at the duke’s right, which
meant the duke could not leer at her without being conspicuous. Disgust
bristled the nape of Joseph’s neck. A wrinkled, portly man ogling a girl who
looked as if she could be his granddaughter was just grotesque. Not only was the
duke presumably lacking in wealth, he most definitely lacked manners. Why Lady
Sophia allowed his suit was beyond comprehension.

For the moment though, Joseph had the advantage. Unlike
Royston’s sidelong glances with slivered gray eyes, Joseph had a full view of
her stunningly low neckline, the pale skin of her bosom flushing a delicate
rose whenever she dared meet his gaze.

Peel sat next to Joseph and it seemed when Lady Sophia
wasn’t glancing at him she was glancing at Peel. Her gaze was more confident
when turned on the lanky solicitor, the flush mellowing to a creamy ivory, the
curl of the lip knowing. There was definitely something between them.

The marquess, his face lined too deeply for a man probably
only in his forties, occupied the far end of the table. Arthur sat on his left,
Lady Henrietta across from her fiancé in the place of honor. A flicker of joy
brightened Arthur’s face every time he looked at his beloved, a sight wonderfully
sweet to behold.

Of the other men and women present, Joseph had only a
passing acquaintance. A few were potential investors Arthur had said. But most
were friends of the marquess and marchioness who had stayed on after Lady
Sophia’s birthday ball and who now eyed him with the same curiosity reserved
for the creatures in a zoo. The marchioness, at least, tried to engage him,
probably at Arthur’s behest.

“Did you say your father
owns
the docks in New York,
Mr. Phillips?” Lady Richmond’s voice dripped with honeyed hauteur.

Joseph looked up from cutting the succulent spring lamb on
the gold-rimmed porcelain dinner plate set before him. “No, ma’am. I said he
works on the docks in New York City. These days he takes care of the books—the
accounts—for a few companies.”

“Oh my word.” She gasped in obvious shock, her hand covering
her mouth, her eyes clouding with incredulity. She glanced around at the
guests, whose own conversations had paused at her outburst. “Then how is it you
seem so well-educated and refined?”

Joseph ignored the condescension in her voice. Maintaining a
veneer of civility took a lot of fucking effort around the half-witted upper
crust. “One meets quite a number of interesting people growing up around the
port. I ingratiated myself to the best among them, worked hard and gained their
trust and respect. In the mornings, I was tutored with the children of New York
society. In the afternoons and evenings, I worked. Nights I studied. I had to
scrounge in the trash heaps for enough candles.”

“Goodness! When did you have time to sleep?” Lady Henrietta
blurted.

Joseph chuckled. “Sleep is a luxury to the laboring classes,
my lady.”

He caught the butler’s eye. The old man looked away in
horror. Even the servants of England’s aristocracy felt themselves above him.

“I apologize,” Lady Henrietta said ingenuously. “I hope I
did not cause offense.”

“No offense, my lady.” He smiled at her. He really liked
Lady Henrietta, liked that she said what she thought.

“Might we know any of these families of New York society,
Mr. Phillips?” The marchioness seemed hopeful, perhaps a tad desperate for her
son’s reputation.

“I sincerely doubt it, ma’am. Not unless you know the
Stuyvesants, Coopers, Schermerhorns and Astors.”

“Those sound like foreign names,” the duke snorted.

“I would assume so, Your Grace,” Peel said. “America is
known for its surfeit of immigrants. They are building a new country as
opportunity is lacking in their own.”