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  Arthur leaned back in his chair. “What happened?”

  “Last night while I was taking a walk in the garden, I saw something I simply cannot get out of my head.”

  He stopped as if to collect his thoughts. Arthur knew better than to disturb him.

  “I got lost in the garden and ended up by the service entrance on the ground floor. I heard a noise. The light from the upper floors was just enough to see what was going on. Against the side of the house a man, a party guest, a peer, was abusing one of the housemaids. Her cries were pathetic—pleading and resigned all at once. He hit her then left her crumpled on the ground.”

  Arthur had heard of such things but had never himself been a witness or known of someone personally who had bragged of such a conquest.

  “I helped the girl as much as I could and left her in the care of the head housekeeper. I received a note today from the housekeeper, which raised my spirits some. The girl was seen by a doctor. She is still marred by cuts and bruises but will recover.”

  “It is unfortunate some men of the aristocracy feel they can do whatever they wish with servants.”

  Joseph glared at him. “She was sixteen years old, Arthur, a complete innocent. There is absolutely no reasoning behind such a heinous act.”

  Arthur’s gut twisted. They shared the room in silence, Joseph trembling and boiling about something still left unsaid.

  “You know who the man was, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “I fear there is nothing we can do. Such acts are often not considered crimes.”

  “And if I told you the man was Royston?”

  Arthur’s gut twisted further and he stared at his friend in momentary disbelief, realizing in a flash that Joseph was telling him what he had always suspected about the duke. “I can’t say that I am surprised.”

  Joseph stood and leaned against the hearth, staring into the fire. “And your sister? You would allow her to marry such a villain?”

  “I have no say in the matter.”

  “Of course you do,” Joseph growled.

  “The marquess pays me no mind.”

  “‘The marquess’?” he cried. “You mean your father?”

  “Yes.” He had never called the man Papa.

  “Then why don’t you refer to him as such?”

  Arthur joined him at the fire. “We’re not close. We’ve never been close. He listens to his friends and considers me a foolish boy.”

  Joseph placed his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. A strong, warm, comforting hand.

  “Arthur,” he said softly, “Sophie is a beautiful innocent who does not deserve such a horrible fate. If she is married to him, she will be abused and you can do nothing. He will own her, body and soul. She is still her father’s daughter while she remains unmarried. You must stop this marriage.”

  “What can I possibly do?”

  “You can talk to your father. Tell him my story.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Joseph exhaled long and hard. “Look, even Henny is against this marriage and she was once considered a possible wife for the man. Surely she knows something. Allow her opinions on this matter to guide your own.”

  Joseph was absolutely right.

  “Very well, I’ll tell my father what you told me,” Arthur said, certain his opinion would have no merit.

  Chapter Six

  Joseph thought about Sophia far too much. He relied on her to give him solace far too much. His mood had been black of late—he hated how men like Royston got away with far too much.

  To keep his emotions in check he needed to see her every damn day.

  She didn’t come every day, though. She had her own obligations—visitors, letters, shadowing her mother in the management of the house. Besides, Arthur was with Joseph in the studio at times, going over plans, discussing investors—not the most conducive situation for an affair. One afternoon Sophia had visited only briefly, apologizing for disturbing them before leaving. Another time he had seen her through the windows but the moment she spied her brother she turned and went the other way.

  Finally one day, she arrived when he was alone, thinking of her so intently he’d looked down to find his pencil sketching her likeness. She entered and he quickly tucked the page under the blotter. She caught his eye and blushed as if she had been thinking of him in a salacious way.

  He could only hope.

  She hung up her coat and bonnet and pulled off her gloves, then walked over to his desk. “May I see?”

  “Of course, I trust you implicitly with our business confidences,” he teased.

  She colored once more, heightening the rose on her cheeks already flushed from her walk, a flush he imagined she would have after more erotic exertions.

  She stood next to him, the heat of her body and her delicious fragrance magnifying his burgeoning arousal. She placed a hand casually on the desk, her slender, delicate fingers careful not to touch the paper but, he hoped, unafraid to stroke and tame his unruly cock.

  “Have I seen this before?” she asked with interest, perusing the document from beneath long lashes.

  “Yes. It’s a copy. We have to have several at our disposal.”

  “Oh. Of course. I hadn’t thought of that, I suppose.” She met his gaze, her lips curving unrestrained into a gentle smile, one tinged with a secret. She left the desk, ambled around to the window then the hearth, and finally sat in the armchair. She looked at him. “I finished the book you gave me.”

  He grinned. “And?”

  “Why would a whip arouse a woman to desire?” she asked, obviously perplexed.

  Oh God yes! Joseph closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

  “And what does it mean to press a kiss between a woman’s legs?”

  His heart thrummed faster. “Would you like to know these things?”

  She stood and flicked her eyes away briefly. “Yes.”

  “Undress to your underclothes,” he said as he surreptitiously unfastened the buttons at her back, his voice and fingers trembling in anticipation. He left her side to close the drapes and lock the door.

  And when she stood before him half-dressed and willing he held out his hand. She took it and he led her before the four-poster bed. He wrapped one arm around her waist and drew her to him, kissing her slowly, deliberately, reaching between the slit in her drawers to stroke her sex.

  She was not ready.

  She stared up at him, her eyes cast with apprehension. “Joseph, I’m scared.”

  “What do you fear?”

  “I don’t know.” Her brow furrowed. “The unknown. The forbidden.”

  “I won’t hurt you,” he murmured urgently. “I need you to trust me.”

  She nodded her assent.

  He bent her over the side of the bed. “Stretch your arms out against the mattress.”

  She did so obediently. He drew his hand down her back to her behind, rucked up her chemise, reached around to untie her drawers then pulled them down to her ankles.

  Before him were the most exquisite buttocks he had ever seen, shapely firm flesh, enticingly pale. He gave his cock a squeeze, quelling his lust for a more forbidden adventure. He smoothed a palm over each mound to find the well-cushioned spot he wanted, rubbing it gently with a circular motion.

  He swung his arm and swatted her sharply.

  Sophia yelped with a hop toward the mattress, tripping on the drawers wrapped around her feet. Joseph pulled her back into position and caressed the faint pink spot, fighting the urge to frig himself and jet his emission on her bum.

  He swatted her again. And again. She did not yelp quite so loudly.

  He pulled one of her feet free from the restraint of the drawers to separate her legs then softly swirled his palm across her reddened skin. With the next swat his fingers flicked against her now-swollen labia.

  She moaned and pressed her hips into the mattress. Ever so slightly she wriggled her behind. His prick ached with need.

  He delivered a final swat, the
hardest, his hand falling against the fleshiest part of her butt.

  She gasped sharply.

  Her quim glistened. He drew a finger along the plumped labia, through the sticky wetness, then bent over her as he explored, carefully avoiding her clitoris. “Do you see how a woman can become inflamed by a whip?” he asked gently.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Tell me what you feel.”

  “The pain dissolved into…heat between my legs. I’m aroused but unfulfilled. I want something more but I don’t know what it is.”

  Joseph picked her up, disentangling her from the fallen drawers, and moved her onto the bed facing him. He studied her features as he shucked off his jacket and waistcoat, pulled off his tie and loosened his collar.

  A smile spread on her lips. “You’re preparing for something.”

  He closed the drapes around the bed then met her gaze with a raised brow. “What was the other curiosity you mentioned?” He slid his hands down her thighs and urged her legs open.

  “A kiss.”

  “Ah…” He held a finger to her lips. “Not just any kiss. I’ve kissed you before.”

  He bent over and touched his lips to hers, slowly deepening the union, reminding her of the familiar depths of their passion. He pulled back despite her yearning protest then moved lower and knelt between her legs.

  He sighed at the sight of her virgin flesh, plump and moist. He slid down the mattress and placed his hands under her butt to lift her, a sigh escaping once again.

  “Sophie,” he murmured reverently then pressed his mouth to her sex.

  She gasped and bucked up against him, only to be met with his now-determined tongue, stroking her wetness, exploring the delicate folds. Her gasps turned to muttered oaths as she thrashed under him. He cradled her in his hands, following her with his mouth until she found her sensual cadence, until she gently stroked his head in rhythm with her moans. He wanted her subdued before his next assault of pleasure.

  He pulled her open with his thumbs, revealing the sensitive pearl of her clit. He flicked the tip of his tongue on the delicious nub.

  She jerked up with a cry.

  He gripped her hips, steadying her, and then began his relentless assault with lips and tongue.

  She sucked in air, let loose a wail, tried to pull back until desire overtook her and she thrust up once again. He drew her into his mouth, sucking and licking ceaselessly.

  She grabbed fistfuls of his hair as she writhed frantically, uttering senseless words, her breaths puffing, building until she inhaled sharply. She lifted her hips and held herself aloft in the stillness of anticipation.

  Then with a roaring groan she crashed back down to the mattress, her body shuddering in exhaustion. He followed her with his mouth, slowing his tongue and lips, calming her once again.

  She exhaled loudly and looked down at him still between her legs. “Joseph, I barely understand…I… That was wonderful.”

  He pulled himself alongside her and drew her body to his, breathing in his relief at her pleasure. She gingerly pecked his still-wet lips then slid her tongue along the seam of his mouth.

  “Do you like how I taste?”

  He squeezed her. “You are ambrosia, an elixir to my spirit.”

  She nuzzled against him. “How did you know?”

  A curious question. “Know what, love?”

  “How to make me feel that way.”

  He had to tread lightly. “I suppose it’s pretty much the same for most women. I confess you are not my first. I hope that does not make me despicable in your eyes.”

  “No. But that’s not what I meant. I mean what did you do to make me feel that way.”

  Could she possibly be innocent of her own body? “Have you not touched yourself?”

  “No. Well I have. Just not in that way. The way you did.”

  “You don’t touch your clitoris?”

  She looked up at him. “I’m not sure.”

  He chuckled. “I think you would know if you had.”

  “Would you teach me?”

  “Of course.” He kissed her hair. “But not today. We’ve had enough amorous lessons.”

  She hummed in agreement while she skimmed her hand over his torso, over his hip to his thigh. She hesitated, bit her upper lip then rested her hand over the bulge still prominent under his trousers.

  He groaned in encouragement.

  “There must be something I can do for you,” she said quietly. “Like what you did for me. I think I can imagine, although the book did not mention such an act.”

  He grew even harder. But despite her precocious charms she was still an innocent. “Sophie, have you ever seen a man, seen his cock?”

  “I’ve seen statues and paintings,” she admitted shyly.

  “But not the flesh?”

  “No.”

  He held her hand against him, moving it up and down the length. “Do you want to see me?”

  “Yes. Please.” Her voice held awe.

  “Okay. One more lesson.”

  Sophia tried to still her excited breaths as Joseph knelt before her on the mattress, pulled off his braces then unbuttoned his trousers and drawers. He stared at her as he reached under his shirt and freed himself to her gaze.

  She didn’t quite know what to expect and was thoroughly stunned. Joseph’s cock was simply magnificent.

  It jutted proudly with a little bounce, red-purple skin pulled taut at the tip, gleaming as if polished. She touched tentatively, finding him as smooth as glass, as soft as velvet. She curled her fingers around the shaft, surprised by its hardness and warmth.

  Joseph’s chest rose and fell steadily. “Do you want to learn how to pleasure me?”

  “Yes.” She could barely get the word out.

  “Loosen your grip a little. Yes, like that. Now slide your hand up and down the length.”

  She did as bidden.

  Joseph jerked forward slightly, emitting a clipped groan. “Yes. Like that,” he breathed. “Exactly like that.”

  A droplet of fluid formed at the eye of the tip. Sophia licked her lips then bent and ran her tongue across the opening. He tasted…masculine.

  Joseph pulled back. “Sophie, darling, is that what you want?”

  She smiled sweetly. “Is that what you want?”

  “I would be in heaven if you put me in your mouth.”

  She bent over in answer, wrapping her lips around him, then slowly slid her mouth and tongue along his shaft.

  He rewarded her with a new drop of his emission, salty and pungent. She wanted more, wanted to drink from him as he had from her.

  “Suck me harder.”

  She did so, empowered by his sensual groan.

  “Use your hands to help.” His tone was urgent.

  But she wanted to take all of him in her mouth. Her eyes watered, her throat tensed and she had to release him.

  He smiled at her efforts. “Try breathing in at the same moment you take me deeper.”

  She made attempt after attempt, his groans of satisfaction and oaths of encouragement goading her to succeed until finally she discovered the right rhythm. She sucked him to the back of her throat, held him but a moment—as long as she could stand—before she released him to begin again.

  “Oh God!”

  His fingers gripped her hair, tightening and releasing, flexing to the rhythm of her mouth and tongue. His breaths quickened, coming out in panting puffs.

  “Darling, you have to stop,” he exclaimed without conviction.

  A sensual groan followed the meek plea. She increased her efforts.

  “Sweet, I’m going to spend.”

  She hardly knew what that meant but he said it as if it was something he wanted to do.

  “God, Sophie, if you keep that up, I’m going to spend in your damn mouth!”

  She kept it up.

  He grabbed her head and held her steady as he jerked against her. The spurt of hot liquid against the back of her throat shocked her into recoiling but
he would not let her go. He pumped his seed and she had no recourse but to swallow every drop.

  He pulled out and lifted her, clasping her to him, his body trembling. “Darling, oh my darling,” he murmured, kissing her hair. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t control myself at the end. Please forgive me.” He looked down at her then kissed her forehead. “Are you all right?”

  She licked her lips and swallowed again, the taste of him invigorating her, filling her with an understanding of their intimate connection. “That was fun, Joseph.” She hugged him back. “But I think I should like a drop of tea now. Or possibly brandy.”

  He laughed a joyful laugh. “Get dressed.” He gave her bottom a gentle swat. “We’ve been far too long behind these curtains. And I need to get those copies made.” His eyes twinkled with an unspoken sentiment.

  At least they had both broken the rule of not falling in love.

  * * * * *

  Arthur paced in the vestibule outside the door to the Harwell Hall estate office. Having to make an appointment with one’s own father was damned inconvenient but the marquess preferred it that way. Planned consultations relieved Father of messy familial encounters involving emotions. Arthur was determined that life with Henny and their children would be the complete opposite. His children would call him “Papa” and they would be the most important thing in his life.

  Well, after Henny of course. She had arrived the day before with her mother to begin wedding arrangements with the marchioness—Mother, Arthur reminded himself with a scowl—who had insisted she be involved “so I can be a better friend to my daughter during her special time,” which seemed like a preposterous notion since the marchioness was practically a stranger to Sophia now.

  No, that wasn’t true. Sophie and Mother had a congenial relationship, not as close as Henny and her mother but nothing like the chasm that separated him and the marquess—Father, damn it!

  Arthur drew in a fortifying breath. He knew he had to discuss the Royston business with Father, not only because the duke was expected any day but because Joseph would eventually question him about it and Henny had insisted he do so. She had come to his room the night before and after a blissful reunion they had talked for hours, eventually touching upon the topic of Royston and Sophia.