“I think she is fond of him.”
“Fond? Fond!” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Go get her. I want to talk to her. Now.”
Sophia complied immediately.
Helena burst through the door of the morning room and ran into her father’s arms. “Papa! How wonderful to see you! I didn’t expect you back for quite some time.”
Joseph kissed his daughter on the forehead. “My sweet dove. I was summoned by news of your engagement.”
“Oh.” Helena sat down on the couch, her hands folded primly, mirroring the pose once again assumed by her mother.
“Helena,” Joseph began, pacing before her, “what do you think of this man to whom you are engaged?”
“Well,” she began haltingly, “Dr. Christopher is intelligent, polite and, I suppose, fine-looking.”
“Hmm.” Joseph recognized the traits as rather generic and his daughter’s enthusiasm as rather dull. “Are you worried that he might be a bit old for you?”
“Well, he is much, much older than all the other men I’ve been dancing with this Season. I don’t suppose it is very odd for a young girl to marry an older man, though. Why, one of the Roxton twins is engaged to a man her father’s age.”
“Your Dr. Christopher, as you call him, is older than your mother and myself.”
“Oh. Yes, I see. I had thought perhaps that might be the case,” she said diffidently.
Good God. She knows nothing about the man.
Joseph sat on the couch next to his daughter and took her hand in his. “Darling Helena, I must ask this, are you in love with him?”
Helena began to cry.
It was a most unexpected response. Either she was desperately in love with him or she felt quite the opposite. Joseph handed her his handkerchief. “Sweet, please tell me why you are crying,” he said gently.
“I’m so terribly confused, Papa. I thought I was to marry a duke or a marquess or an earl, and I did meet some very nice young men who would eventually hold those titles, I even got on with some of them.” She gulped a mouthful of air. “And I just thought that if I had to marry a man so that I could be a duchess or countess and make you and Mama happy, then I would accept that I might not be in love with whomever you would choose for me. But then I fell in love and he was a doctor and I knew I couldn’t have him and it was so unfair.”
Joseph was not quite certain he understood the last part of her speech as it was said amidst screeching sobs and squawking breaths. But if what he thought she said was really what she said, then he was prepared to stand by her. “So, sweet, you are in love with Dr. Christopher, then?”
A deluge of fresh sobs fell uncontrollably. Joseph’s patience with the female members of his household was wearing thin. “Helena, pull yourself together. What is going on?”
“I’m in love with Dr. Ramsay!”
Sophia gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
As his daughter was thoroughly inconsolable, Joseph turned to his wife. “Sophie, who is Dr. Ramsay?”
“He is Dr. Christopher’s colleague. They share an office.”
“I see.” Really he did not, but it was something to say.
“Papa,” Helena’s voice was thin and plaintive, “do I really have to marry Dr. Christopher?”
Joseph wrapped his arms around his daughter. “No, my sweet, you do not.”
* * * * *
Sophia tore her fingers from her mouth, thwarting the impulse to chew on her nails as she paced in the library. Joseph had sent her there while he pondered the predicament she had put them all in. She knew she deserved to be punished in some way—at the very least berated—for her unconscionable behavior. Only when Joseph had returned to London did she comprehend how misguided, how enchanted she had been. Her husband’s presence had brought her back to reality and sanity.
The door opened and she quickly turned toward a bookshelf, the titles on the spines a blur from the tears pooling behind her lashes. She couldn’t face him, she was too ashamed. She heard his footsteps on the carpet, steady and even, until they stopped right behind her.
She braced herself for his bitter words, balling her fists, shutting her eyes tight so she would not have to witness her own castigation.
Instead, she felt his hands, warm and strong, on her shoulders.
“Sophie,” he murmured. His lips delicately brushed along the pulse in her neck.
Every nerve in her body sparked with astonishment and yearning. The tears fell to her cheeks as she trembled, her relief still tinged with despair.
His hands smoothed down her arms, one returning to the high collar of her dress. “I wonder what it is I do to you that makes you so vulnerable when I’m gone?” He released her buttons slowly, one by one. “What it is that a man can do for you that you cannot do for yourself?” He continued undressing her, taking her bodice off and dropping it on a side table.
Sophia remained still as he unfastened her skirt and petticoats and pushed them to the floor. His touch was gentle, allaying her remaining fears.
He wrapped a strong arm around her waist, pulled her hip back against his thigh, and slowly rubbed in a circular motion on her butt.
She tensed in glorious anticipation.
“Chastisement and discipline.” He rubbed more powerfully. “That is properly the realm of the husband.”
His swat stung even through the layers of underclothes.
“No one else may do that,” he murmured against her ear. “It is my privilege.”
The next blow produced a delicious burn that warmed the wetness welling between her legs.
He urged her around until she faced him, then lifted her chin and kissed her lips.
He hadn’t kissed her yet since he had returned. He hadn’t kissed her for months. Her desperate hunger for his touch, his attention, surged forth. She devoured all he offered, her fears melting into joy at his own fervor for their reunion. Tears streamed down her face as she encircled his neck with her arms. He pulled her more closely to him, deepening the kiss, plumbing her depths with his tongue.
“A kiss. A difficult task when alone,” he said when they parted. “Let’s find another.”
He undid her corset slowly, worrying his lower lip at first, his expression softening in wonderment as the separation of each hook and eye freed her. He pulled the garment off and let it fall to the ground with a thud, then loosened the top of her chemise, drawing it down over her shoulders.
“A suck, that’s another.” He uncovered a breast, bent down and took the nipple in his mouth.
His hot, moist tongue surprised her, awakening her once again to his lust, quickening her need for him as if she were the libidinous virgin of her youth. She arched for him, cradling his head in her hands as he sought the other breast. He kissed the pale flesh before licking her hardened tip, unrelenting, determined, expertly driving her to a culmination he had first discovered so many years ago. A sharp nip sent her over the edge with an ecstatic yelp.
“Yes, yes, let me pleasure you, my love.”
He continued his torment of her sensitive peaks as he pulled down her chemise and untied her drawers. She complied with his actions willingly, letting him take control, letting him expose her, letting him excite her. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the large library table in the center of the room, then placed her on the edge gently. He parted her legs as he knelt on the floor before her.
“I suppose it is rather difficult to lick yourself.”
She gasped when his tongue caressed her clitoris, lapping enthusiastically at first, then tickling the sensitive nub with practiced precision. She writhed on the polished table, his strong hands holding her steady at her thighs, his fingers indenting her flesh. She pressed herself into him, wrapped her stocking-clad legs around his neck, wanting more. He gave her everything she wanted, everything she needed.
Her cries of pleasure mingled with his moans of satisfaction.
He moved up her body, kissing every inch of her with wet, slic
k lips until he reached her mouth. Her hands cupped his face, the stubble masculine and thrilling, rough on her sensitive skin. He explored the depths of her mouth as he had explored her sex, all the while frantically removing what he could reach of his own clothing, parting from her only briefly to tear off his shirt. She watched as he stripped, enthralled at his enthusiasm, enamored at his eagerness, enticed by his excitement. He was rampant, his eyes and face revealing his devoted desire.
“And you certainly cannot do this on your own.”
He entered her slowly, holding her eyes with his, now darkened with lust, marking her reactions, sighing his approbation and gratification as she succumbed.
When he was embedded fully, he held himself there, unmoving, then clasped her body to his.
“I love you so very much,” he murmured, his breath hot on her skin. “Nothing will change that.”
“I’m so sorry—”
“Shh, love. I know. I know. I’ve been far too neglectful of late. Let me make up for it.”
He kissed her lips tenderly, then plunged in, his tongue mirroring his thrusts below. His hands roamed impatiently, frantically, touching her everywhere, making up for lost time. He rapidly reached a steady rhythm, driving them both to the edge of finality.
“Joseph…darling…stay inside me when you have your crisis.”
“Yes, my love.” He slammed inside her one last time, growling his release amidst her cries of ecstasy.
He held her sobbing, shaking form closely, his own tears dampening her neck and back.
“Darling Sophie, I’ve no more need to go to America quite so frequently. I’ve put a man in charge. He’s far better with guns than I am, and a damn good engineer. He’ll send me reports.” He caressed her back, then trailed his fingers gently up her spine. “It’s time we acted like a proper husband and wife. No more affairs, Sophie. Not for a while, anyway.”
“Yes, Joseph.” It was what she had wanted for a very long time.
“We’ll not let any machines come between us ever again.”
* * * * *
Helena could not believe her eyes. The moment she had opened the library door just a crack, she knew she should not have been in the doorway. The scene before her was riveting, like the illustrations from the naughty books come to life. Seeing her mother and father joined in an intimate act of lovemaking was jolting at first, but after less than a second, rather intriguing. They were the both of them in the prime of life, their bodies perfect paradigms of the male and the female, their intercourse the acme of physical ecstasy and emotional joy.
She did not watch to the end, that was an intimacy for them to experience only. But when she silently closed the door and walked away, she wondered if she would ever share such a perfect union with another soul and rejoiced that she would not have to take part in such acts with Dr. Julius Christopher.
Chapter Seventeen
Julius read the note over and over until he could no longer decipher the words. Sophia’s handwriting was as precise as her meaning. Mr. Joseph Phillips had disallowed the marriage of his daughter to Julius. The engagement was rendered null and void, as the consent of both parents was required for the marriage of a young woman under twenty-one years of age. Sophia warned against Julius pursuing the matter and reminded him the promise to marry was obtained by fraud.
It was, of course, one possible outcome, but as Mr. Phillips had been overseas for an uncertain amount of time, one that Julius had hoped to avoid.
What the hell compelled the man to return all the way across the Atlantic back to England anyway? With their damn democracy and republicanism and egalitarianism, Americans couldn’t tell a baronet from the Prince of Wales. Someone must have told him.
Lavinia.
Julius cursed the woman.
She couldn’t stand that her former lover could find happiness without her. That was it, wasn’t it? Surely her latest fancy-man was not enough of a distraction that she had to meddle into his life as well. Clearly, Dr. Nicholas Ramsay needed to learn a thing or two about women, and one was that they could not be relied upon for promoting a man’s career.
“Out!” Julius yelled as he stormed into Ramsay’s office.
Grace clutched the tea tray for dear life, her face twisted in anxious surprise.
The young doctor rose slowly from his desk, a pen still poised in his hand. “Dr. Christopher, what is the matter?” he asked in a voice imbued with a mixture of assurance and distress.
“You are the matter. I want you out of here. Now. You are not needed back.”
“I don’t understand, sir,” he said far too coolly. “What is it I am supposed to have done?” The sod should have been whining.
“Please, Dr. Christopher, Dr. Ramsay is a good doctor. The patients love him—”
“Grace, stay out of this. Go to my examination room at once and wait for me there.”
“Yes, sir.” She curtsied before leaving.
Julius strutted before his colleague who, it appeared, was finally feeling some measure of agitation. Good. Let him wonder what the future held for him.
“I offered to mentor you and allowed you to share my office based on the recommendation of a certain woman. Due to current circumstances that woman is no longer in my favor.”
“Lavinia? What has she done?”
The use of the familiar name only highlighted the fact that the young man was bedding her. “Lady Foxley-Graham has convinced my fiancée’s father to not consent to the marriage.”
Ramsay paled. “I’m certain she did no such thing, Dr. Christopher.” The hesitation of his words betrayed his knowledge of the scheme.
“Obviously she did it for your benefit. But why Helena would marry a dolt like you is beyond comprehension, really.”
Ramsay just stared at the floor, pursing his lips in strained emotion.
“I will give you five minutes to gather your personal effects, then I want you out of here. Truthfully, I hope to never see you again. Do you understand me, boy?”
“Yes, sir, Dr. Christopher.”
Julius strode out and into his own examination room, where Grace sat primly on a chair waiting for his instructions. She was far too nervous, as if she had been part of the plot all along. He eyed her intently.
“You haven’t been sleeping with him as well, have you?”
“What! Who?”
“Your Dr. Ramsay.”
“Dr. Ramsay!” As if the idea had never crossed her mind. “Oh no, sir. I would never. Please, you have to believe me!”
She remained seated during her protest, staring up at him, her golden-brown eyes wide and helpless. He absently took off her cap, pulling the pins from her hair until it fell to her shoulders in soft brown waves.
Like it used to.
Her hair was still the same color it had been twenty years ago, chocolate brown mixed with streaks of gold and ebony, always a welcome sight against the crisp white of his bed pillows. Julius grabbed a handful of her tresses and pressed it to his lips, then drew the strands through his fingers, slowly, until he reached the ends. He pulled upward, evoking a squeak of complaint.
He laughed derisively. “Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it.”
He wrapped her hair around his fist and pulled her out of the chair, yanking back until her face was in full view. She cringed in pain. Then he did the one thing he had been waiting decades to do.
He slapped her.
“Julius?” Tears streamed from her frightened eyes.
But he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear her explanations or her protests or her promises. She had nearly destroyed him back then. She needed to learn her place now.
One hand pressed against her mouth, he dragged her by her lovely brown hair to the examination table and bent her over, securing her arms with the restraints meant for an uncooperative patient. Her dress was certainly an impediment to her lessons, so he grabbed his medical shears and cut down the back, back up through the lacings of her corset, back down through
the sheer fabric of her chemise, careful not to nick her smooth, creamy flesh nor slice her luxurious locks. His cock livened as he pulled aside the rent clothing, disappointment sputtering through him at the sight of her cambric drawers. Those too he cut, right through at the crotch, admiring the sight of the lacy fabric slipping down to her ankles.
“I cannot tolerate such behavior, my dear. It is most unbecoming for a lady to betray her lover. You have been very wicked.”
He grabbed his ebony-handled vectis, never realizing until that moment that the obstetric instrument was well-shaped as a tool of chastisement. He drew in a long breath as his hand caressed the coolness of the looped metal end, the feel of the sensuous curve under his fingertips sending a lascivious thrill to pulse within him. He lifted his arm and struck the vectis against the perfect white skin of his lover’s behind.
She cried out at the impact. He lovingly touched the now-pink flesh, soothing her, priming her for the next swat.
He mirrored the strike on the other fleshy cheek and cooed honeyed words to ease her fears.
By the fourth blow, she was no longer crying. She lay unmoving, subdued.
Julius fingered her cunt. She was wet, deliciously so. He chuckled to himself. Pain did always result in pleasure. He kicked her legs open as he unbuttoned his fly. Entering her was a bit of a nuisance, as she was not totally primed. It wasn’t his problem, though, his only concern was his relief and her reprimand.
He slammed into her with such force the table moved. He grabbed her hair once again, holding it like the reins of a horse, while he plowed into her over and over, this time with the needed leverage. She endured her discipline silently. Her submission was most appreciated, her cunt even fluttered around him. As quick as his anger with his old lover was to flare, it was just as quick to assuage. His crisis was upon him rapidly.
He pulled out and spewed his semen onto her naked back and thighs. As he let his breathing calm, he watched rivulets of the milky fluid course down and drip onto the floor.
Disgusted, Julius left the room and closed the door.
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