DisobediencebyDesign

by Regina Kammer

  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.”

  Sophia couldn’t believe her ears. Joseph seemed to be quite amused by Henny’s machinations.

  Arthur was quick to accept. “Of course, darling.”

  Henny grabbed his arm and sidled up to him, beaming. He turned to Joseph.

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Not at all.”

  The touch of eagerness in Joseph’s response sent a little flutter to Sophia’s belly.

  After a nod Arthur and Henny mounted the stairs with an enthusiastic flourish.

  Joseph shook his head, a wry curl on his lips.

  “You’re laughing, aren’t you? Why?”

  “The bedrooms are upstairs, my lady,” he murmured closely in her ear. He placed her arm around his and proceeded to the ballroom.

  Heat flushed her face. Arthur and Henny? But only scandalous couples did such things! She glanced over at Joseph. Yes, but only scandalous women tried to seduce men in estate follies on rainy days.

  “Shall we dance?” she asked, now thoroughly flustered.

  “I think I’m supposed to ask you that,” he countered teasingly.

  “Yes. Of course.”

  The music had already started, the ballroom bustling with a polka. Joseph steered her to a spot on the edge of the room next to a decorative column and a potted palm. They were tucked away, obscured by the leafy fronds but with a view of the dancers. He positioned himself behind her, so close he crushed her skirts. The heat of his body radiated into hers. His breath warmed her bare shoulders yet he did not touch her in any way.

  Geoffrey’s tall, lanky form bobbed noticeably above the crowd on the dance floor. He was a good dancer and especially enjoyed the liveliness of polkas. His partner was beautiful, her golden curls swaying in time to their movements, her face glowing from his attentions, her tightly bound bosom rising and falling as she flashed demure glances his way. Did he hold this beauty a little more closely than he would hold her? Sophia tried to remember the last time she and Geoffrey danced and how far apart their bodies were—

  “Is he thinking of you as he moves with his partner?”

  Joseph’s voice thrummed low and intimate from behind, startling her from her thoughts.

  “Imagining it is you in his arms, your palm against his as his fingers press into the back of your hand? He holds you tight at your waist, his grasp strong and demanding, controlling you, commanding your body to move with his.”

  Sophia swayed to the music, swayed to Geoffrey’s steadying strength.

  “But it is not a dance he imagines when you are in his arms. He craves a deeper connection. Are you willing to surrender?”

  Sophia gasped. Joseph’s words sparked an unexplored yearning.

  “The heat of his arousal penetrates the space between your bodies. The burn of his gaze on your décolletage stirs the peaks of your breasts to harden against their prison of stays.”

  Her flesh prickled to excitement.

  “You hunger for the passion of his lips against yours, the warm wetness of his mouth on your neck, his kiss grazing lower to your now-heaving bosom. His hands slide up your waist to cup your perfect breasts—his thumbs tantalize the tips as his breath lies hot against your cleavage.”

  Sophia flexed her fingers, needing to grip, to clutch something, anything, desperately wanting Geoffrey’s touch in return. Desire dampened her drawers. Her breasts ached in her corset, chafing for freedom, for his hands, his mouth. Her breath came in agitated, hurried puffs as the lusciousness she could never control welled within, her disobedient body rushing toward release as if she were alone, lying in the dark, her hand between her legs, and not standing on the fringes of a crowded ballroom.

  “Will you submit to his need as he presses against you, his hips thrust into you, as he grabs you where he’s never ventured before…your arse, your thighs, drawing you so close your bodies meld together—”

  She had never allowed him such liberties yet she would let him do anything to her now. The lusciousness consumed her, dizzied her, the ballroom and its occupants falling away as lust propelled her to soar above them, above the chandelier to absorb the brilliance of the lights until she shattered into a million droplets of crystal, twinkling in their descent.

  She exhaled a mewling whimper. Lightheaded yet exhilarated, she stared blankly at the golden glow of the gas chandelier hanging above the dancers in the center of the room.

  Joseph remained behind her, his body mere inches away, frustratingly close yet not touching.

  The music ended. The hustle and bustle of the party-goers reminded her of where she was—not in the embrace of a potent man but standing solitary in a crowd. Geoffrey waved. She barely saw him. Then he was right in front of her, still breathing excitedly from his exertions.

  “I say, Sophia. We haven’t had our dance yet tonight.” His smile was charming, honest. “Phillips? May I?”

  Joseph must have indicated his assent. As if he owned her. The thought only inflamed her further.

  “Sophia? What say you?”

  She struggled to find her voice. “Yes,” she answered throatily.

  Geoffrey was wonderful as always on the dance floor. But this time she noticed every move, every touch, every urging of his body against hers. She let go, allowing him to take control of her, to take her body where he wanted. The surrender was freeing, liberating in a new way. And when the dance ended she was left wanting more.

  “Sophia, I don’t know about you but I’ve been dancing practically all night. I’d like to take a turn on the terrace, if you don’t mind.”

  He would suggest we go for a walk. “That would be lovely, Geoffrey.”

  They followed other couples seeking the comfort of the cool night air. Their footsteps clicked in unison quietly on the flagstones. He led her as far as the balustrade next to the steps going down into the darkened garden.

  “Sophia,” he said quietly, “have I told you how stunning you look tonight?”

  He would flatter me. “No, Geoffrey, you have not.” She tried to convey surprise at his pretty words.

  He turned to her. “Well you do. A man would be a fool not to notice your charms. I’m lucky to garner your indulgence.”

  His tone conveyed his sincerity. She always liked that about him. If he weren’t just the heir to a damn viscountcy, she’d be engaged to him by now.

  I think I should like him to kiss me. “Geoffrey, I’d like to go into the garden now.”

  “Yes, Sophia. That would be nice.”

  * * * * *

  Shit.

  Shielded by a palm frond, Joseph adjusted the crowding in his crotch. Amazing. Sophia had climaxed from just his words—and the memory continued to bedevil his cock. He’d never been so damn hard in his life.

  Watching her dance with Peel, watching her move rhythmically
with him, their bodies in concert, hers under his command, aroused Joseph even further. With him or with another man, Sophia’s partner mattered not—he just wanted to be a witness to her passion.

  When Sophia and Peel left the dance floor, Joseph followed surreptitiously, clinging to the shadows. They stood on the terrace for a minute before descending into the garden. The pitch-dark garden.

  He kept an eye on them, trying to be stealthy. But no one paid him mind. All the others were lovers looking for a spot of their own in the dark.

  He slowly rounded a thick trunk and almost fell into Sophia and Peel. He pulled back in awe and admiration. Peel had her pressed up against a tree, crushing her skirts as he rolled his hips between her legs, his hands roaming frantically. He kissed her mouth, her neck, her cleavage, his groans and growls muffled against her skin. Sophia responded with sighs, moaning entreaties, undulating beneath him to match his sensual rhythm.

  Joseph palmed his cock, wanting very much to frig himself right then and there.

  She would let him do everything Peel was doing to her. She’d probably let him join them in a sensual triad. But he wanted her just for himself the first time. He watched Peel’s hands, imagining them as his own, flexing his fingers with every grasp and clutch…watched Peel’s mouth, flicking his tongue as if dueling with hers. Her sharp cry brought him back into his own body. He was deliriously aroused.

  He closed his eyes and grabbed his crotch, seeking release. But he would not find it at that moment, in that place. If he were back on the docks, he would find a willing woman in seconds, would have his satisfaction, pay her and be done. Contemptible, yes, but no different than what others were doing at that moment in upstairs bedrooms, and a damn sight better than abusing servants in back stairwells. At least the women on Water Street knew what they were getting into.

  He left Sophia and Peel to finish unwitnessed and walked back to the house. The ballroom held little appeal at the moment. A touch of the reality of his old world was what he needed. He walked around the back of the mansion, toward the ground-floor service entrance, knowing his attire would allow him privileges of polite interactions with the staff. A life of service was a life he—by pure chance—had dodged. He hardly knew what position he would have held anyway. Jack-of-all-trades. He snorted. He would have had a romance with one of the parlor maids or possibly the governess. Perhaps she would have discovered his talent for sketching, for drawing, for mechanics and engineering. She would have told their master, who would have—