DisobediencebyDesign Read online

  And then she was in his arms, his lips caressing hers, she a little startled, pushing him back. He held her more tightly and she relented, allowing his tongue to delve into the warm recesses of her mouth, her hands encircling his neck as she moaned meekly against him.

  His body flared with desire. His hand spanned her upper back, a support for her arch, the fine linen of her dress heated from the excitement of their embrace.

  Except Sophia had been wearing a silk dress and it certainly did not extend up her back.

  She wasn’t Sophia.

  Geoffrey pulled away, mortified, releasing his partner with a gasp.

  Her breaths puffed excitedly. “Mr. Peel?”

  Anna. Sophia’s maid.

  He fell to his knees. “My apologies, Anna. I…I… Oh God, I hardly know what to say. This is unconscionable. You must think me a brute.”

  She remained silent and still, a grotesque counterpoint to his thudding heart and shaking hands. Waiting for her reaction—any reaction—was excruciating.

  “Say something, Anna. Please. Anything.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but my lady is not in her rooms. I believe her to be at the ball. Were you thinking otherwise?”

  He calmed his breath. “I was under the impression she had retired for a spell before the final dance.”

  “Oh.”

  He stood. “I now understand I have been given incorrect information. Please forgive me. I find myself in the most awkward of positions. I have just divulged a confidence of my relationship with Lady Sophia and I have just insulted you.”

  “In truth, sir, I have known about you and my lady.” Her sigh held a slight shudder. “And I have not been insulted.”

  “Thank you, Anna. You do me a service.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I’ll take my leave.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His lips still tingled as he retraced his path to the ballroom. That had been an absolutely fantastic kiss. Possibly better than Sophia’s.

  * * * * *

  The stepping stones embedded in the grass came to an end. Sophia halted. Before her rolled a vast lawn receding into the darkness. Above, the moon shone in barely a sliver, obscuring what was most likely a very wet and muddy trudge to reach the woods. Her dancing shoes and ball gown would not survive such a venture unscathed. Besides, there was no sign of Geoffrey surreptitiously waiting for her as she had hoped or, rather, sort of vaguely imagined as one way of alleviating the frustrations of the evening. She sighed. She’d have to turn back and face her fate.

  Or perhaps not.

  She could spend a moment or two in Arthur’s library. Even better, she knew where he kept his spirits. A glass of sherry and a few lines of poetry sounded ideal. Surely Arthur wouldn’t mind? And she would return to the ballroom, really she would. She’d be expected to dance one last dance with Royston. She’d need another glass of sherry just for that.

  She tugged off her gloves and headed to the east wing. As she approached Arthur’s apartments from the stone path along the perimeter of the manor, signs of occupation caught her eye. The bright glow of an oil lamp spilled onto the Small Court from the billiard room above. She chortled to herself. Arthur had made his escape before she had. Well, he’d have to put up with his little sister for a while.

  She entered the house via the gardener’s entrance and climbed the narrow staircase, quite a difficult task in her cage crinoline and stiff petticoats. At the landing she heard billiard balls crashing together, followed by a muttered oath.

  Not Arthur. No, that was not Arthur’s voice at all. Not only was it a bit deeper and growlier, the profanity twanged with a heavy accent. Not Continental. Maybe…American?

  Of course! Arthur’s American! Her brother was expecting the man and had warned Sophia—and apologized to Henny—that he would be preoccupied with the American on business matters, that Sophia should not meddle nor ask too many questions as she was wont to do. Arthur hated it when she asked a lot of questions. She really did have a curious nature but sometimes she played it up just to annoy him.

  She chewed on her lip thoughtfully. Meeting this American promised to be far more interesting a diversion than necking and toying with Geoffrey. She’d get to ask the Yankee about all sorts of things then startle Arthur with her knowledge. Why, the old gent would probably be flattered to have a young girl talk to him about whatever it was he did—something with railways, if she remembered correctly.

  The door to the billiard room stood ajar. She peered in. And froze.

  She hadn’t expected to see a young man, much less a handsome man with tousled light-brown hair, bent over the billiard table, his intense gray eyes boring down the length of the cue then flickering up to the red object ball on the felt. And he wasn’t dressed—well he was, just not properly. He wore only his shirt, the placket unbuttoned, emphasizing the brawny bulk of his chest, and his sleeves rolled up, exposing the fine hair on his thick arms. She had never seen so much bared male flesh before in her life.

  A delicious heat melted her insides, sliding an audible sigh down her throat, quashed quickly by a gasp of embarrassment.

  * * * * *

  Joseph looked up, his concentration on the aim of the cue broken by a melodic, breathy sound at the door. A spark of surprise shot through him at the sight of an angelic vision in white, a spectacularly beautiful young woman who slowly entered the room as he pulled himself up from his bent position over the billiard table. Her auburn hair framed a perfect face, radiating a glow of youthful innocence only slightly marred—or perhaps enhanced—by an obvious inquisitiveness bordering on deviousness reflected in her mossy eyes.

  She seemed stunned into silence by his presence so he broke the spell.

  “Hullo.” He took a puff of his cigar to calm his body’s growing interest in the girl.

  “Are you Arthur’s American?”

  God, her accent was utterly charming.

  He chuckled. “I suppose I am. You look like you were just at that shindig.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Party,” he explained, giving her the once-over. “I guess it was a formal affair.”

  The bodice of her ball gown fit perfectly on her shapely form, a row of pale-pink silk roses demarcating the low-cut neckline from the ivory flesh of her steadily heaving bosom. A damn distracting sight. He ripped his gaze away unwillingly.

  She walked farther into the room. “Yes I was at that ‘shindig’,” she said, pronouncing the word with an exaggerated and clumsy American accent.

  She drew her finger along the polished edge of the billiard table, awakening his brain to fantasies of her finger stroking a part of him in need of attention at that very moment.

  “I found it rather boring,” she added.

  “Boring?” A room full of women as beautiful as she couldn’t possibly be boring. “How so?”

  “For one, there were not very many attractive men.” She bit her lip, her apparent abashment profoundly provocative.

  Aha! So he had a chance. Sort of. She was clearly far above his laboring-class background. Still, a man should always try his luck where women were concerned. “How might the presence of attractive men have made the party more interesting?”

  She cocked her head. “I would have had far more distractions.” She drew out the last word as if implying something indecent.

  His unruly prick stirred. “And how would you like a man to distract you?”

  She glanced up through long lashes. “First, he would bring me a refreshment.”

  Joseph grabbed his brandy snifter and handed it to her. Her eyes widened and she took a sip. Her choking gag revealed her innocence as far as liquor was concerned. She blushed sheepishly. He chuckled and downed the rest of the drink.

  “Then after a refreshment,” she said, clearing her throat, “he would offer his arm for a walk to the ballroom.”

  Joseph gallantly held out his right arm. She wrapped her delicate, warm hand around him, blushing at the touch of bare skin on b
are skin. His cock livened again.

  “Of course he would be a fine dancer,” she said.

  Joseph extended his arms in a waltz stance. She flushed again as she grasped his left hand and placed her other hand on his right shoulder, his state of undress rather conspicuous in such a position as her gaze met his chest. Her breathing noticeably quickened.

  He placed his right hand at her waist and it took every ounce of his willpower to not pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

  Instead he led her in a waltz around the billiard table. She moved with him in perfect rhythm, as if they had danced together before, as if they were meant to dance with one another. She was so precious in her inability to decide where to focus. She stared at the opening of his unbuttoned shirt with a mixture of fascination and alarm then looked askance with a blush. Tried to meet his eyes then shied away.

  Shit. She had to be a virgin. Perhaps the most precocious and intriguing virgin he had ever met but he’d have to be careful.

  “And when the dance ended?” he inquired, slowing his pace after a turn around the table.

  “He would suggest we go for a walk.”

  He offered his arm and once again she took it willingly. He led her beyond the French doors out onto the terrace. A breeze tried to cool him but his flesh was far too heated from her closeness.

  He dipped his head toward hers. “And then?”

  She smiled alluringly. “He would flatter me.”

  “In what way?”

  The beguiling smile turned into a grin. “By comparing my beauty to the stars or some such poetic silliness.”

  Joseph chuckled softly then walked her to the balustrade at the edge of the terrace where the light of the billiard room could not reach. He looked up at the stars.

  “Do you see that formation over there?” He pointed at the sky.

  “You mean the Plough?”

  “Plough?” He hadn’t heard it called that before. “It’s also known as Ursa Major, which means Great Bear in Latin.”

  “Are you comparing me to a bear, sir?” she asked with feigned shock.

  He chuckled. “During the time of the gods and goddesses,” he began with a seductive drawl, “there was a beautiful princess named Callisto. She was a companion of Artemis, the virgin goddess of the hunt, and as such Callisto took a vow to remain a virgin. Callisto’s beauty was unsurpassed, even by the goddess herself, and Zeus, the god of all gods, wanted her desperately.”

  The virgin on the terrace shivered slightly from the chilly night. Joseph positioned himself behind her, shielding her from the breeze with the warmth of his body.

  “Zeus was a devious seducer. He assumed the form of Artemis and approached Callisto while she picked flowers alone in the woods. He convinced her that he was the huntress, and as Artemis he made love to the virgin princess.”

  “Two women making love?” She sounded genuinely astonished. “Is that possible?”

  He bent down and watched the pulse quicken in her neck, breathing in her delicate perfume intensified by her skin’s heated arousal. “Yes…and what a wondrous act to behold,” he said softly in her ear. He straightened to stare at the sky again. “Callisto bore a son and was banished by Artemis. Zeus’ wife Hera was filled with jealous rage. To protect his lover and his son, Zeus turned them into bears and put them in the sky out of reach from both goddesses.”

  “Ursa Major and Ursa Minor.”

  “Yes.” He lowered his head to murmur in her ear. “Your beauty is as Callisto’s, tempting both man and woman but only within reach to one man, a lucky man, a god among men to have your love, a man for whom you are a shining beacon in his otherwise dreary life.”

  Despite the mawkish mixed metaphors she seemed deliciously agitated. She turned toward him. “And after such poetic words I think I should like him to kiss me,” she said with a boldness he had only hoped she had.

  Every nerve in his body tingled with anticipation. “Kiss you?” he queried gently. “Where?”

  “Well a terrace would be far too public. So perhaps a dark corner of the garden.”

  He grinned. “I meant what part of your anatomy.”

  He knew she flushed at that and he cursed the night and his shadow for obscuring her reaction. She returned her attention to the sky then looked at him with an innocent coquettishness that inflamed certain parts of his anatomy.

  “Sir, you are very wicked.” She broke out in a grin and laughed a stunningly melodic laugh.

  There was no possible way he could kiss her. She was clearly someone of high rank from her manner, her dress and the fact she had shown up at the Earl of Petersham’s house in the middle of the night. But kiss her was what he wanted to do. He fought every instinct to pull her into his arms and give her the most memorable of kisses.

  “Phillips!” Arthur’s felicitous voice came from the terrace doors. “I’m glad to see you arrived safely.” He walked across the terrace to heartily shake Joseph’s hand then looked down at the young woman. “I suppose you kept yourself well occupied. It looks as if you were about to ravish my sister.”

  Shit. “Your sister?” Joseph immediately stepped back.

  His beautiful virgin crossed her arms to fend off the cold, plumping her distracting breasts in the process.

  “Yes, my sister.” Arthur gave the young woman a chastising look. “I was trying to find her. The guests were rather upset she had disappeared from her own birthday party,” he scolded.

  “Arthur,” she complained. “You know only one guest in particular would make such a fuss.”

  “One very important guest.”

  Joseph cleared his throat.

  Arthur sighed. “I suppose you two didn’t bother introducing yourselves?”

  “It seemed more freeing somehow that we did not,” Joseph offered as he stole a glance at the girl.

  “Joseph, may I present to you my very incorrigible sister, Lady Sophia Harwell.” Arthur turned to his now-smirking sibling. “Sophie, may I introduce my business partner in a new American venture, Mr. Joseph Phillips.”

  Sophia. Wisdom. She should have been named Circe, an island seductress tempting unsuspecting travelers. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady.” He bowed slightly as he imagined one did when one met nobility.

  She curtsied with a smile. “And yours, Mr. Phillips.”

  “Arthur, I’ve looked everywhere—”

  The second most beautiful woman Joseph had ever seen approached them on the terrace. What heaven had he been dropped into?

  She stopped and surveyed the scene, flashing a glance between him and Lady Sophia. “Oh, I see you’ve found her,” she said, her voice dripping with insinuation. Blonde hair framed a face beautiful in its perfection but, much like the sister, colored by an intriguing mischievousness.

  She grabbed Arthur’s arm and he immediately took possession of her by placing the arm around her waist instead. They clearly belonged together but all the while she regarded Joseph—and his state of undress—with keen interest.

  “Have we been introduced?” she asked.

  “My apologies,” Arthur exclaimed. “Mr. Joseph Phillips, meet my fiancée, Lady Henrietta Langley.”

  She held out her hand and Joseph took it lightly and bowed.

  “So you’re the American,” Lady Henrietta said as if quite impressed. “Arthur, you didn’t tell me how handsome he was.”

  She flashed a look at Lady Sophia, who blushed.

  “Arthur talks about you quite a bit,” Lady Henrietta added.

  “And he talked about you quite a bit last fall in New York. However, his effusions were no match for your beauty in person.”

  “Oh goodness. Are all American men as handsome and charming as you, Mr. Phillips?”

  He chuckled. “I would like to think so. But next time Arthur will have to bring you along so you can find out for yourself.”

  “Before we start talking about America, I have to return Sophie to the ballroom,” Arthur said, eying his sister with a sco
wl. “The Duke of Royston is waiting.”

  “Yes, Arthur,” Lady Sophia pouted with resignation and disappointment, no longer the enchantingly seductive virgin, instead the whiny little sister.

  “Well I should probably get some sleep myself,” Joseph announced. “Ladies, it has been a pleasure.” He bowed again.

  Lady Sophia Harwell smiled sweetly at him, a smile he knew would bedevil him in his dreams all night long.

  * * * * *

  After having returned Sophie to the ballroom, Arthur kept a watchful eye on her from the fringes of the dance floor, rocking back and forth on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back. She was marvelous at feigning having a grand time at her party. She’d be waltzing with the duke next, an obligation she loathed but which she’d have to get used to. If it wasn’t the duke, it would be some other friend or associate of Father’s. And unfortunately Father did not have interesting or young friends.

  “Arthur, stop fidgeting,” scolded Henny at his side. “You’re like a boy at his first ball.”

  “I am like a boy,” he said, bending down to her ear. “A boy on Christmas morning who’s waited far too long to open his presents. No one will notice if we leave, my darling, so now would be the time to get away.”

  She caught his eye with a start. “You devil.”

  “I’ll give you just enough time for your lady’s maid to fiddle with that contraption under your skirt and take it off.”

  “You don’t intend for Adele to join us, do you, love?” she inquired flippantly.

  “They do that sort of thing in France, don’t they?”

  “I wouldn’t know, Arthur. Do they?”

  He chuckled. “Fifteen minutes, Henny.”

  She pursed her lips to stifle a giggle and walked away casually.

  Arthur tried to tamp down the excitement growing inside. Fifteen minutes was an eternity to his unruly cock. He and Henny hadn’t had much time to do anything during her stay, as she had been trifling with Sophie over clothes and men and all sorts of things young girls concern themselves about.

  He sighed. Henny was going to be the best sister-in-law Sophie could imagine.

  He looked up from his reverie, certain fifteen minutes had gone by. He glanced around cautiously, seeing all eyes on Sophie and the duke, and sauntered away to the first floor of the guest wing.