The muffled cries of a girl caught his attention. Cries of distress, uneven sobs, timid pleading. He quickened his pace then slowed immediately when the scene came into view. He pulled back to hide in the shadows. The dim light of the upper floors illuminated the space below, where a large man crushed a slip of a girl against the wall of the mansion, his hand clamped against her mouth, berating her as she cried. His tone was gruff, brutal, his words indistinct but understood. He shoved her harshly then turned and stomped away. The girl collapsed to the ground.
Joseph stared as the man strode back to the terrace, passing right in front of him but not taking notice.
Royston. Unmistakably Royston.
Joseph ran to the girl and knelt beside her. She sobbed uncontrollably.
“I’m here. I’m a friend. Let me help you,” he said softly.
His accent must have disconcerted her. The sobbing stopped and she stared at him.
The apron of her housemaid’s uniform clung to one shoulder, the other strap drooped to her waist, torn and ragged. Her cap had fallen, still pinned to her hair, which hung in a rat’s nest at her nape.
Her cheeks, streaked with tears and blood, retained the smooth plumpness of adolescence.
Good God Almighty, she’s younger than Sophia.
Joseph pinched his lips tightly to smother a curse. Royston was the worst kind of villain.
“You need to be inside, my lady,” he said, flattering her. He had found he could say such things and be considered merely an ignorant but charming American.
It worked. Courtly deference always worked.
She allowed him to help her to the garden entrance, into the service area and to the servant’s common room. He sat her down by the fire.
“What is your name?” He grabbed a shawl and covered her.
“Sarah, sir.” Her eyes were vacant.
“Who is your housekeeper? What is her name?”
“Mrs. Fitch.” Her voice was subdued, her face disbelieving.
“Where will she be during such an event as this?”
“In the kitchen I should think. I really don’t know.” She shook her head without conviction.
By that time they had attracted a few onlookers amongst the staff. “Watch her, please,” he said to a seemingly sympathetic maid. “She’s had an accident outside.”
He left to find Mrs. Fitch.
He found her in the hall near the kitchen, giving direction to a handsome pair in livery. Footmen. They dispersed according to their orders. She caught sight of Joseph and looked as if she was about to reprimand him when he approached.
“Mrs. Fitch. Madam, I am Joseph Phillips, a guest at this affair. I discovered your charge, Sarah, after she had been molested by another guest. I have brought her here.”
The housekeeper looked at him dubiously. “Very well, sir. Show me to her.” No doubt she had to clean up after her masters far too often.
He led the way and when Mrs. Fitch saw the wretch she went to her, kneeling and taking her hand.
“Sarah?” she said with motherly affection.
The girl flicked her eyes toward Joseph. “He helped me,” she whispered.
The situation was out of his hands after that. Still, responsibility compelled him to stay. After brief words Sarah was taken away by another maid. Mrs. Fitch stood, defeat and anger coloring her expression.
He fished a sovereign from his coin purse then pressed it into her palm.
“Please, madam, fetch a doctor as soon as you can. She has been abused and will need medical care. And if I may be so bold, if there is a douching syringe and vinegar, she will require that as well. Please send word to me at Harwell Hall near Little Bytham about her care.”
Mrs. Fitch held her hand against her mouth, nodding her assent to his advice, tears pooling on her lashes. “Why oh why?” she gasped. “Such an innocent.”
Joseph left to seethe in the depths of the garden. Innocent no longer.
Chapter Five
Sophia hadn’t seen Joseph since he had left her alone with Geoffrey the night before. Well…not in real life. He incessantly filled her thoughts and dreams.
He had left her in such a state, excited beyond measure and with only Geoffrey to satisfy her. But Geoffrey was so willing, so malleable to her wishes, going further than he had ever gone before, stroking, massaging, nipping until she had reached a crisis and exhausted herself. Eventually they walked back to the ballroom where Geoffrey left her with Mama and excused himself, his face flushed, his hands quivering. Mama had commented that the poor fellow needed a doctor.
But in the morning frustration still roiled within. She needed to be with Joseph.
She walked briskly across the estate, a present for him in her pocket. As the little iron studio came into view, puffy clouds skirted the blue sky above. There would be no hope of a sudden storm preventing her from leaving.
She walked in, looked around as casually as she could manage while she took off her coat and bonnet. “Arthur’s not here?” she inquired as she warmed her hands by the fire.
Joseph did not get up from his drawing table. “He’s with your tenant, Mr. Cogges, as you well know.” He clipped his words with an acerbic edge.
She flushed from his revelation and turned back to the fire. “You left without saying goodbye last night.”
He fell silent for a minute. “There was an incident with a servant girl,” he said quietly. “I helped take care of her. I left after that.” He sighed. “I was no longer in a party mood.”
A curious statement. “A servant girl? What happened?”
“A guest abused her, injured her.”
She faced him, horror-stricken. “But that’s terrible! The party should have ended after such an incident.”
“Servants are the playthings of the aristocracy, my lady,” he bit out caustically.
His words stung, his gaze burned, stifling any comment she might have had. Surely he did not think her or her family capable of such a heinous act? They treated their servants very well. Why, she thought of her Anna as a friend!
But Joseph never had servants, had in fact grown up thinking he might be one himself. She swallowed hard.
“Joseph, I didn’t mean to offend.”
“No.” His voice was tinged with regret. “I know you did not.”
She held out her hand to him. “I missed you, that’s all.”
“Is that why you were kissing Peel last night?” he snapped.
His vituperation was unexpected. That he knew about Geoffrey was mortifying. “I kissed him because you inflamed me. And then you left me.” She stepped forward. “Joseph, I thought of you the whole time.”
He paled, his brow twisted, his expression distraught and lost. “Sophie, forgive me. I’m…I…”
In two strides he was before her, swooping her into his arms, taking her by surprise. His mouth descended upon hers, hungry, fervent, a passion that wasn’t merely physical but pulsed with a deep emotional need. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her body against his, melting into his warmth and strength, letting him take command.
His tongue sought hers, entangling in a sensual dance, a dance that should have been theirs the night before. She moaned into his mouth and he returned a growl of approbation. He clutched her to him more tightly, pulling her off her feet, swinging her legs into his arms. He gazed at her in admiration as he carried her across the room, tossed her onto a bed then went to draw the studio drapes.
She looked around in surprise. She lay on a large, canopied, four-poster bed, the wood carved in the Chinese fashion to emulate bamboo, the spaces between the posts draped with faded silk curtains all around.
Joseph grinned at her curiosity as he flopped beside her. “It’s the bed your ancestors the marquesses used with their mistresses,” he explained. “The parts were all here. I set it up and managed to coax one of Arthur’s maids into helping me furnish it with draperies and linens.”
One of Arthur’s maids? “Jenny?”
He chuckled. “How on earth did you know that?”
“She stares at you when she thinks no one is watching.”
“So that explains it. She was easily persuaded with just a kiss.”
A pang of jealousy shot through her. “And how did you kiss her?”
“Like this.”
It was a nice kiss and if the girl was enamored of Joseph as much as Sophia was, it was certainly enough for her to do anything for him. But it was nothing to be jealous about.
He pulled back and looked at her longingly. “You don’t know how much I’ve dreamed of this.”
She smiled. “Oh yes I do.”
Hunger cast his countenance as he delved in again, attacking her mouth with such a fervor she giggled. She had never kissed Geoffrey lying down before. They had always been standing, sometimes up against a tree, which was sort of like lying down. But lying side by side with Joseph was heavenly, his body next to hers, melding into all her curves as she relaxed on the mattress.
His hands wandered freely about her, stroking and cupping, at times squeezing with an energetic intensity. He gathered her skirts, lifting them to explore what lay underneath, then stopped, feeling something in her pocket.
His present.
“What’s this?” he asked.
Sophia pulled out the gift and handed it to him. “A present. For you.”
He turned it over and over in his hands, surely knowing it was a book from its rectangular shape, but not which one, his narrowed eyes hinting he was considering the possibilities. He carefully opened the brown wrapping paper, revealing the cover, and slid his hand slowly across the buttery leather then traced the gilded title tentatively as if in awe.
“The Iliad,” he murmured with a touch of reverence.
“I thought because you were reading The Odyssey you might like this one as well. It’s Alexander Pope’s translation with Flaxman’s illustrations. It’s rather lovely.”
He opened the book and perused each page, his eyes widening as he skimmed the text, a smile playing on his lips as he studied the plates. “Yes it is,” he said softly, not looking up, seemingly lost to her in a moment of contemplation.
He started, gazing at her with a twinkle in his eyes. “I have a present for you,” he said and clambered off the bed. He returned holding a very similar object in the same brown wrapping paper.
She opened it and stared, equally awe-struck but with a little embarrassment.
Before her lay the copy of The Lustful Turk she had flipped through at Mr. Jacobs’ bookstore. Her mind pulsed with scenarios as to how Joseph could have possibly known, if he could possibly know about how she had seen the book and thought it invigorating. She must have blushed for he covered her hand in his.
“I saw you that day at Jacobs’. The book had been left by the Earl of Thuxton. I saw you examine it with great interest.”
“And you didn’t say good afternoon?” She was mortified.
He chuckled. “Not after I saw you blushing over it. I had to get it for you. I had to get it for us.”
Sophia was perplexed. “Us?” she asked hopefully. She and he…such a notion was too sublime.
He kissed her once again, his lips soft and seductive against her mouth.
“Us.” He pulled back just a little. “Sophie,” he began in a serious tone, “if you and I are to embark upon an affair, these are the rules—”
“Rules? You make it sound like a game.”
“Ah, but my love, an aristocratic English lady and an American commoner engaging in bedsport can only be a game.”
She had hoped that might not be the case but prudence forced her to accept the notion. “All right, what are the rules?”
He drew a finger down her neck to her shoulder. “No marks of any kind in any area that can be seen when fully dressed.” His finger traced across her bosom where the deep neckline of her ball gown had been the night before then circled around her wrists, one at a time.
A touch of fright fringed her curiosity. “Marks?”
He rolled her onto her side, swiftly unbuttoning the top of her dress, then moved her back to face him and tugged down the bodice. “No penetration in your privates.” His hand skated down to cup between her legs. “That rule includes tongue, finger and prick. No matter how much you demand it.”
Tongue? How thoroughly intriguing. “And?”
He removed her bodice with the expertise of a man who had done such an act many times. Her heart beat furiously at his touch, so eager was she to be naked before him. Her bodice removed, he began tugging on the sleeves of her chemise. “We’re not allowed to fall in love.”
Certainly she had already broken that rule, if love made her pulse rush and her breaths uneven, if love made her want to be with him every single minute of every single day.
Her chemise off her shoulders, he worked steadily at the fastenings of her corset then pulled the garment open and slid the chemise over her breasts, exposing her utterly.
She gasped. He licked his lips as he stared at her bared chest rising and falling rapidly. Her nipples crinkled from the chill of the room, the anticipation of his touch sparking pleasure to coil in her belly.
He cupped her tentatively, his hand warm, trembling ever so slightly. “Sophie…so…exquisite.”
He caressed her slowly, his gentle touch discordant with her pounding heart. He hovered over her, his hot breath teasing her tender peaks before he dipped his head and wrapped his lips around a nipple.
Arousal shot straight to her sex. She arched up in reflex, holding the position, trying to comprehend the glorious sensation.
He sucked the sensitive peak, teasing it with quick flicks of his tongue then bathing the areola with the warm wetness of his entire mouth. He massaged the other breast, pinching and stroking the tip, adding a tortuous confusion to the assault of pleasure.
She melted back into the mattress, his mouth, his hand tormenting her, his body pressing into hers. She relented to his command, letting him take her on the sensual journey, new in its path but familiar in its goal. He knew how to control the lusciousness she found so elusive. He had already mastered its course the night before in the ballroom.
She grabbed his head, holding him against her, not letting him sever their connection as the sensual stirrings grew, warming her core, flushing her skin, building to her climax in such a wondrous way.
She cried out her ecstasy, bucking up, wrapping her arms around him as he slid up to kiss her neck, her cheeks, her lips.
She laughed, surprised, exhausted but rejuvenated. “Joseph, darling, that was wonderful.”
He rolled to her side and pulled her to him to nuzzle in the crook of his arm. “That is to tempt you, darling. You may find other acts that pique your curiosity in that book. When we can find time we’ll do more exploration.”
Sophia could not wait.
* * * * *
Arthur placed the pen on the blotter and stared at the letter before him. My darling Henny. Whenever he wrote to her he felt nostalgia and hope all at once. And when he wrote letters such as these he ended up incredibly hard.
He had begun writing erotic stories to her, tales of what they had done, fantasies of what he wanted to do next time he saw her. Last night at the Fosdyke ball she told him she loved the stories, read them in bed at night, that they inflamed her so much she would touch herself and cry out his name at her climax.
They had made love twice last night, the first time quickly in his overexcited state, the second time after he had collected himself. That second time he had drawn out the act as long as he could, savoring every moment, watching her expression slacken with lust, feeling her throb and clench around him, her hips rocking urgently until she gripped with such force she sent him over the edge.
He did not regret that every time they made love he spent inside her. One day she would carry his child. That summer, he hoped. They would be married in June, only three months away. If she were pregnant, she would barely show, especially with today’
s exuberantly full fashions.
Joseph had scolded him about not taking precautions with Henny after their first night, the night she had come to the library, and had even given Arthur some advice on prophylactic measures. Joseph was surprisingly worldly for such a young man but he had seen and experienced a great deal in his hard life. He was full of amusing stories and ready with practical information, conveyed with a rough directness that eschewed niceties and pleasantries, getting right down to basics. Arthur found that very attractive in the man.
Perhaps a little too attractive.
It had been disconcerting at first when they were together in New York, the easy rapport that sparked a deeper chemistry, the continued magnetic draw, the flush of attraction. But Joseph was powerfully charismatic. Anyone would feel as such when they were in his presence.
Surely the distraction was temporary. Joseph would return to America, then he and Henny would live in wedded bliss, awaiting the birth of their first child.
Except he would eventually join Joseph across the Atlantic. But he would bring Henny and their child to counter whatever hold Joseph had over him.
He chuckled. Joseph would probably insist Henny join them.
The click of the library door startled him to the present. Joseph entered, greeted him distractedly then sat in an easy chair to the side of the fire with a sullen sigh.
Joseph hated small talk and they could simply exist in the same room without conversing but his sigh was laden with something akin to anguish.
“What’s wrong? You left earlier today in quite a funk.”
Joseph lifted his head to look at Arthur. “If it hadn’t been for a brief, somewhat cheering visit by your sister this afternoon, I think I would be worse.”
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