DisobediencebyDesign (7 page)

“Of course.” He got up and joined her.

Before them were multiple pages of drawings of machines. Some
of the drawings appeared to be of the same machine, as if Joseph was trying to
get it just right but didn’t quite know what was missing. The mechanical pieces
were just that—mechanical. Nothing special. Nothing spectacular. Nothing that
would incite a man with money to lay it down very readily.

“They’re so precise, so perfect. So…lifeless.”

“They’re machines. They’re supposed to be lifeless.”

“Well yes, but…” The drawings lacked
something
but
what? She looked around the studio at the ornate metal rafters, the disused
furniture of forgotten eras, the stacks of books… One very large book stuck out
in the middle of one of the stacks. A folio.

The Grammar of Ornament
by Owen Jones. Perfect.

She grabbed the pasteboard folder and opened it on the
floor, spreading out the plates. “What if you put some decoration on your
machines?”

He pursed his lips as his gaze followed her finger tracing a
curling tendril of Greek design. “They go under the carriage—one really does
not see them.”

“But a railway carriage is big. You have to step up onto it.
So you might see all these bits?” She waved over at his drawings on the desk. “Like
if you were a passenger and walked by it on the platform.”

“You might.” He eyed her with a smirk.

“And what about the men who build the carriage?”

“What about them?” His challenge was tinged with enthusiasm.

“They’ll see all these parts, won’t they?”

“Yes,” he admitted, “they will.”

“And the investors. They’ll see all your drawings, won’t
they?”

“Many of them, yes.”

“So make it beautiful for them.”

He crinkled his forehead. “For whom exactly?”

“For all of them.”

“But the passengers—surely they won’t even notice,” he
countered.

“The women will notice. And the children. The parts will be
at their eye level.”

“And the laborers—they’re just workers. Surely they do not
matter?” he said with playful antagonism.

“How will they ever be elevated from their base and horrid
state unless they are exposed to beauty?” she said in a teasingly condescending
tone.

“And the investors?” A quiver at the corner of his mouth
revealed he fought to quell a grin.

“What better way to appeal to the classically educated
investors from Cambridge and Oxford than to make the designs more classical in
form?”

Joseph beamed. “You have a point.”

“And you could convince my brother such elegance will be
good for the business. Surely the wealthier railroad men could be enticed by
their vanity into having the most beautiful machines? You would simply charge
them more for the privilege.”

“Sophia, you’re a genius!” He put his arm around her
shoulders and kissed her hair.

Her breath hitched, her head tingled where his lips had
touched her. She drew back slightly and looked up at him. He gazed down at her
with a grin until a faraway gleam flashed in his eyes and his expression
softened. His face moved toward hers almost imperceptibly. Every muscle in her
body tensed in anticipation as her heart thudded in hope.

Suddenly he pulled back. “God, what am I thinking?” he
muttered.

“Joseph?”

He took her hands in his. “Sophia, you’re brilliant. And I
thank you.” He gazed at her with something akin to joy then shook his head and
looked away, releasing his hold.

She searched his face. “You were going to kiss me,” she said
boldly. “Weren’t you?”

His gaze met hers, a tiny crease deepening between his
lovely gray eyes. “Look…I apologize if I caused any distress.”

“Distress? I want you to kiss me! Don’t you see?”

He stared blankly at her, sucking in his lower lip, biting
it. “Sophia, that cannot happen.”

“And why not?”

“Because you are Lady Sophia Harwell, engaged to marry a
duke. And I am a poor American commoner. That’s why.”

“I don’t care who you are. I like you. I like spending time
with you. And besides, I’m not engaged actually. It hasn’t been settled.”

“It’s been settled as far as your father is concerned.”

He was right. Still… “I don’t see why we can’t, well, pursue
something.”

“Such as me ravishing you in this studio?”

“Well yes!” Her words came out far too sharply.

“That is not going to happen. Royston would discover you’re
not a virgin on your wedding night and attempt to find the ravisher.”

“But it might not be you!”

“I would at the very least be among the accused and both
your brother and I would be ruined as far as our business was concerned.”

“How do you know I’m a virgin anyway?” A foolish question
only an annoyed virgin would ask.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Because you’re the eighteen-year-old
daughter of a marquess. That’s how.”

She flopped down into the armchair and pouted. He knelt
beside her and took her hand.

“Sophia, I’m flattered. Believe me I am. And if the
circumstances were different, I would be willing, oh so very willing…”

Every nerve in her body sparked with desire, utterly at odds
with the tears that threatened to fall.

“I’ve thought about you ever since the night we met as
strangers,” he said gently. “I would have kissed you then if Arthur hadn’t
appeared.”

“I’ve thought of nothing but you since that night, Joseph.”
The tears welled and trickled down her cheeks.

“God, don’t do this to me,” he murmured with a rasp.

He placed his fingers under her chin and steadied her as he
drew his face nearer. He closed his eyes and tenderly touched his lips to hers.

The desire flared, flushing her skin, rushing to her head,
enthralling her. The kiss lasted but a few fleeting seconds, seconds that left
her astounded and wanting more.

He pulled back, a dreamy look in his eyes. She touched her
fingers to her still-tingling lips.

He smiled. “Let me think about your proposition. But right
now I think you ought to leave. Not only because rain is imminent but because I
need you to. Before I really do ravish you.”

Joseph speared his fingers through his hair and stared
blankly through the glass walls of the studio at the well-tended lawn. Over a
week had passed since he dared kiss Sophia and he could not stop thinking about
her. Well, when he wasn’t engrossed in new drawings for railway parts…but even
as he added little flourishes here and there he was reminded that it had been
Sophia’s idea to do so. Then drawing was forgotten and she filled his thoughts
all over again—what he wanted to do to her, knowing she wanted him to do all
those things to her…

He needed to take a swim in a cold lake or a long walk to
Little Bytham and back again with nothing but farms and woods and strangers,
alone with his thoughts…his thoughts about Sophia. His very salacious thoughts
about Sophia. Even the long journey to Lamberton to visit his new home for a
few days didn’t help, vistas of England’s gray-green coast only heightening the
romanticism of lust denied flesh.

Upon his return to Harwell Hall, Arthur noticed Joseph’s
funk and suggested an outing to Stamford to explore the bookstore there. Jacobs
Books had anything and everything, and if Mr. Jacobs did not have a particular
title, he could get it for you through his vast connections with booksellers
around the world. Joseph just wanted some transportation engineering studies to
spark his creative spirit, which had, of late, been dreaming up all sorts of
creative things to do with a virgin…

He shook his head. He simply had to stop thinking about her.
A railway trip to Stamford would be just the thing.

The bookstore fronted on High Street, an elegant Georgian façade
rising three stories, its golden stone capturing the remains of the morning
light. Inside, the store was filled with books, stacks upon stacks of books, on
tables, on library ladders and of course on shelves lining the walls. A sign on
a staircase indicated the upper floor was similarly inundated with books. The
short, wiry, middle-aged man who greeted Joseph with a wave turned out to be
Mr. Jacobs himself, a consummate businessman who, when he wasn’t fawning over
one customer, was running about retrieving tomes to place before another.

He knew Joseph by reputation—how many American guests of
earls could there possibly be in Lincolnshire?—and directed him to the
engineering section, a bookcase in the back corner obscured by a disused ladder
piled with the overflow of architectural and medical treatises. From his
vantage point Joseph could see most of the store. Two young women tittered
together by the novels, an older woman and her charge leafed through fashion
plates, a young man stood engrossed with a law book, his lips moving as his gaze
scanned across the page. Except for the occasional squeal from the novels
section the store was wonderfully quiet, perfect for a contemplative discussion
with one’s muse.

The section on engineering did indeed have everything, and
in several languages. Until that moment Joseph hadn’t really ever thought to
peruse a book in another language. Mathematical models were in the universal
language of equations and the drawings were comprehensible to anyone who knew
what they were looking at. A volume on Ottoman ships proved quite illuminating
in putting into practice Sophia’s idea of decoration.

Sophia
. Damn. Even staring at Arabic script couldn’t
distract him.

Mr. Jacobs’ jovial “good afternoon” to the Earl of Thuxton
jolted Joseph back to reality. Lord Thuxton was fabulously wealthy and a
notorious rake with mistresses ensconced—and apparently kept satisfied—at his
Lincolnshire estate, at his home in London and at his coastal cottage near
Penzance. Arthur had been wooing the earl as he enjoyed investing in modern
schemes. Joseph had met the man only once but knew him immediately, his shock
of close-clipped gray hair, striking Roman profile and sportsman physique
singular among the ruddy-faced and paunch-bellied visitors to Harwell Hall. Joseph
was certain it would not be correct to present oneself to a potential investor
in a bookstore and Arthur had said he would take care of all such contact
anyway. From deep in the agricultural section, Mr. Jacobs waved the earl over
and handed him a nondescript tome. Mr. Jacobs then made his customary bow and
left the man alone. The earl seemed happy, a smile creeping over his lips as he
leafed through the volume. Joseph resumed his own perusal of the suddenly more
fascinating Ottoman study.

The bell on the entrance door drew his attention once again
away from his musings. He looked up just in time to see Lord Thuxton exit and
chase after a woman in a billowing blue skirt. Another mistress perhaps? Joseph
chuckled to himself. Ah the life of the aristocracy—words and women.

But his amusement soon dissipated. Sophia entered in the
wake of the earl’s exit, accompanied by her maid Anna. She waved and smiled at
Mr. Jacobs, who held up a finger indicating she should wait a moment. She
nodded and unfastened her coat as the bookseller disappeared into one of his
storerooms. She was stunning in her high-collared dress trimmed with lace and
plaid, the bodice clinging tightly to her breasts and waist like a second skin.
Joseph ducked a little farther behind the library ladder. He wanted to simply
observe for a moment.

She and Anna conversed briefly before Anna joined the young
women by the novels. He hadn’t noticed until that moment how much Anna
resembled her mistress. The color of hair, the proportions, they could be
considered sisters except Sophia had that upturn in her nose so prevalent among
the aristocracy and of course, her dress was the utmost in fashion. Anna wore a
severe frock of pale green completely devoid of frills and trim under her plain
brown coat.

Sophia wandered around the store until she came to the
agricultural section where she aimlessly picked up volumes, browsing covers and
spines, then happened upon the book Lord Thuxton had left in his pursuit of the
woman in blue. She glanced at the spine, opened the cover and turned a few
pages. Then quite suddenly, her eyes widened, she blushed crimson, raised her
head and looked around furtively. Apparently satisfied no one in the bookstore
was watching her, she resumed her attention to the book, peeking up
occasionally and checking over her shoulder in the direction Mr. Jacobs had
gone. She kept her head lowered so her bonnet obscured her features but
whatever was in the book clearly held her rapt attention. One more glance up
revealed an agitated expression on her flushed face. Mr. Jacobs returned from
the storeroom and she moved away from the engrossing volume. She reviewed the
book retrieved by the bookseller, thanked him while he wrapped it in brown
paper, then left with a bit of a skip in her step.

His interest thoroughly piqued, Joseph forgot about the
Ottomans and etchings of their ships and moved to investigate the intriguing
volume left among the agricultural treatises. He opened to the title page and
had to choke back a guffaw.

It was a first edition of
The Lustful Turk; or, Scenes in
the Harem of an Eastern Potentate
, the title of which he vaguely knew as it
had recently been reprinted by a notorious London publisher by the name of
Dugdale. What he had neglected to tell Sophia the other day was that this was
also the sort of book he had been reading to keep up with the habits and tastes
of aristocratic British men—his instincts now confirmed after witnessing the scene
involving Lord Thuxton. Joseph had garnered a few titles for himself in New
York and upon seeing Arthur’s vast library had pestered Arthur mercilessly
about what he had. Finally Arthur dug out a couple of gems well-hidden in his
shelves. Each story proved to be a fascinating read of prurient sexual
escapades, some of which Joseph had even done and enjoyed in the past. From his
quick perusal, the adventures of the eponymous Turk included the defloration of
a young British maid. Joseph grabbed the book then several of the engineering
tomes and went to Mr. Jacobs to settle his account.

“Please wrap that one separately,” Joseph requested,
pointing to the salacious tome.

“Of course.” Mr. Jacobs picked up the book as if he were
inured of such content. He busied himself with the rest of the stack, pausing
momentarily over the Ottoman ships book. “Ah, I see you are interested in
things Turkish, young man,” the bookseller said with not a hint of prejudice.

“Actually I suspect I have all the technical books I need. I
am, however, looking to start a collection of books of an erotic nature.”

Mr. Jacobs smiled. “Any particular specifications? First
editions? A certain letch?”

The man was shrewd. “That which is of interest to the
Cambridge and Oxford lot.”

The bookseller grinned widely. “Very good.”

Joseph left his details and a deposit. Then he too exited
with a bit of a skip in his step.

* * * * *

After the farce that was her birthday party, Sophia was
looking forward to the Fosdykes’ annual pre-Season ball, which was bound to
include plenty of men she hadn’t yet met. She would make mental note of those
whose attentions she wanted to enjoy in London. Best of all Joseph would be
there. Arthur was making him go and now she had an excuse to be in his arms,
even if it was just for a waltz.

Nothing had happened since the afternoon in the studio. A
few longing looks on her part, with meaning-laden smiles returned by him, furtive
exchanges that were maddening and exciting all at once. He didn’t avoid her or
tell her to go away as he could have—instead they talked a great deal, becoming
friends, their interchanges almost as thrilling as what she did with Geoffrey.

She took the carriage with Mama and Papa to the Fosdyke
estate, Arthur and Joseph riding behind. Royston was expected to be there so she
had agonized over what she should wear—a neckline low and revealing for all the
promising men or something a bit more modest for when she had to dance with the
duke. He always stared at her bosom in a most disgusting way. She settled on
low and revealing with a delicate lace shawl collar that she would put on just
before her dance with Royston.

Upon arrival, Arthur and Joseph immediately ran off to the
smoking room. To chat up potential investors, Arthur said, but Sophia knew it
was to drink spirits, smoke cigars and gamble. She didn’t mind too much. Joseph
would return with the fragrance of fine tobacco lingering on his jacket,
evoking a seductive memory.

The first few dances were pleasant enough and she got the
requisite waltz with Royston out of the way as soon as she could. After that,
Mama was too distracted by her gossiping friends to care which men Sophia
danced with. Two or three young men were agreeable and as they parted, she said
she hoped she would see them often during the Season. Such banter rendered them
overly talkative, which meant they liked her too. So she pushed out her chest
just a little as they chatted on.

The most wondrous and unexpected event was the arrival of
Henny. “My mother purchased loads of Romanian lace during her trip and she
promised Lady Fosdyke a few yards. The rest is to decorate my wedding dress,”
she chirped with glee.

From then on, Mama allowed Henny to chaperon and what a
wonderful chaperon she was. She knew how to read men, which ones were bores, which
ones were romantic, which ones were good dancers. Her witty assessments made
for quite a diverting time between dances and for plenty of suppressed giggles
on the ballroom floor.

“Let’s get some punch, Sophie,” Henny said, entwining their
arms. “I want to hear about what you’ve been doing. How’s Joseph?” she teased.

After they had their glasses of punch and had tucked
themselves off in a corner of the refreshment room Sophia let loose her secret.

“He kissed me,” she said behind her fan.

“He kissed you!” Henny squealed and fanned herself. “In the
way Geoffrey kisses?”

“No, nothing like that and yet so much more exciting.”

“Oh Sophie, you’re in love. I’m so happy for you. I just
wish…” She trailed off.

“What? Wish what?”

“Sophie, has there been anybody here tonight,
anybody
who could rival Royston in the eyes of your father?”

“I don’t know, Henny.”

“Maybe not necessarily an heir to a dukedom—there aren’t
many of those. What about an earl with gobs of money and loads of political connections?”

“I haven’t really paid much mind to all of that. Arthur
would know.”

“Yes of course, dear. Arthur and I will have to think about
all that. It’s just, well you see, I don’t want you with Royston and it looks
as if your father won’t back down. The duke is a horrid man, Sophie. And if
they insist you marry a peer, I’m certain we could find you someone far more
palatable. Someone who eventually wouldn’t mind if you took a lover.”

“Henny!” Sophia exclaimed.

But Henny just smirked suggestively.

Sophia stepped closer to her friend. “Henny, what did he do
to you that was so awful?”

Henny paled but quickly recovered. “I won’t talk about it
here, darling. I’ll tell you later.”

Sophia squeezed her hand. Henny smiled and squeezed back.

“Come…let’s find my Arthur and your Joseph. Surely they must
have smoked all the cigars in Cuba by now.”

They found them deep in conversation in the lobby next to
the grand staircase. Joseph barely got in a greeting before Arthur grabbed
Henny’s hands and kissed her cheeks.

“Darling, why didn’t you write me you’d be here?”

“It was rather sudden. That’s why I’m wearing this old rag
of a dress—”

The shimmering, gold silk gown exquisitely set off her
blonde locks and looked fabulous on her perfect figure.

“But I knew you’d be here. I knew I’d see you.”

They were lost in each other’s eyes. Sophia glanced up at
Joseph. He appeared to be trying hard not to grin at the moony couple.

“Sweetheart,” Henny said with a bat of her lashes, “there’s
something I’d like to talk to you about. Alone. But I’ve been charged by your
mother with watching over Sophie. Do you think Mr. Phillips is up to the task?
There shouldn’t be any impropriety with the arrangement. He is your business
partner, after all.”