“Now’s our chance.” Henny bounced up and skipped toward the studio.
A rush of insecurity overwhelmed her but Sophia found the courage to follow. She caught a glimpse of Mr. Phillips through the tall window, flushed at a recollection of what she had done while dreaming about him the night before then began to giggle uncontrollably.
Arthur greeted them with a mixture of relief and annoyance, the latter directed mostly at Sophia’s girlish foolishness.
“Henny, darling.” He kissed her cheek and squeezed her hand.
Mr. Phillips stood. “Ladies.” He greeted them with a bow.
“Please, Mr. Phillips, don’t let us girls disturb you.” Henny motioned for him to sit.
He smiled at her then flashed an even bigger grin at Sophia. Her face grew hot.
Henny wandered around the small space, made more intimate by stacks of discarded furniture covered with sheets. She lifted a corner of a sheet and examined the pile beneath it. “Where’s that infamous bed, Arthur?”
Sophia swallowed hard. Mr. Phillips threw a look of astonishment at Henny.
“Bed?” inquired Arthur.
“Oh, darling, didn’t you say this is where all the marquesses used to take their mistresses? It’s a lovely space. I can see having a tryst here.”
Arthur chuckled.
“The light is very good for drawing, Lady Henrietta,” remarked Joseph.
“Henny. Please you must call me Henny when we are alone like this.”
“Okay. Henny.”
Mr. Phillips’ lips curled exquisitely. Sophia regretted not kissing him the other night.
“So show me your work, Mr. Phillips.” Henny strolled over to the desk.
“Joseph.” He turned to Sophia. “You too, my lady. I’m not quite comfortable with all this aristocratic politeness.”
To be so intimate as to say his Christian name aloud sparked a naughty thrill. She was already practiced with whispering it in the dark.
“Sophie! You must look at this,” Henny exclaimed.
Sophia joined them at the desk, her heart thumping a bit too rapidly as she stood next to Mr. Phillips—Joseph. On the desk before her lay a drawing of what looked like the exterior of a railway passenger car, every piece of it precisely delineated with the greatest attention paid to the workings underneath.
Joseph pulled out another drawing from under the stack of papers, a more detailed view of all the mechanical elements of the car.
“All these undercarriage components are made from metal. The rest of the car,” he said, pointing to the full view, “is made from wood. Operating from the principle of specialization in manufacturing, I want to set up factories that create only the undercarriage components.”
“So that’s what you two are up to.” Henny sounded impressed.
Arthur wrapped his arm around her waist. “The idea of a railway across the American continent is…well…I cringe to say, picking up steam—”
Joseph chuckled.
“And Joseph has the idea of being at the ready with parts for railway carriages once the thing is finally built.”
“But won’t thousands of miles of railway take a long time to build?” Sophia asked.
“You mean won’t we have parts sitting in warehouses during all that time?” Joseph’s eyes twinkled at her.
“Well yes, I suppose. Something like that.”
“The proposition is for us to start small. Fulfill existing need. But look toward the longer term and be ready for expansion, my lady.”
“Sophia,” she said softly. “You should call me Sophia, Joseph.”
She could have sworn he blushed slightly at the sign of intimacy.
He cleared his throat. “But we don’t want to show our cards just yet. We want our competitors to think we’re not their competition. We want the element of surprise.”
“Which is another reason why we’re looking for multiple backers,” added Arthur. “We’re hoping more names attached to more companies might confuse competition.”
“Geoffrey,” Sophia said.
“Yes,” Joseph replied. “Incorporation contracts seem to be Peel’s specialty.”
Henny sat in the armchair with a laugh. “Oh, Royston is going to hate the lot of you.”
“He already does, Henny, darling.”
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Joseph began circumspectly, “why is that?”
Henny flicked her gaze toward Arthur. “Arthur’s less than half his age and has far better luck with his investments.”
“It’s not luck, Henny,” Sophia countered. “Arthur takes great care and consideration with financial matters. The duke seems old-fashioned with his money.”
“And I stole Henny from him,” Arthur added sullenly.
Joseph glanced between Henny and Arthur, appearing a little stunned. “Really?”
Henny got up. “Arthur, you know it wasn’t like that at all.” She paced nervously.
“Well that’s how Royston sees it.”
Joseph looked at Sophia in supplication.
“The Duke of Royston is a cousin of Henny’s mother—” Sophia began.
“Distant cousin,” Henny corrected.
“So Henny had been…well…sort of promised to him—”
“Since I was an adolescent,” Henny added with disgust.
“But she and Arthur met at her coming out and I suppose…” Sophia glanced at her brother. “They fell in love.”
Arthur took Henny’s hand. “That was three years ago.”
Henny smiled up at him.
“But then the duke lost a great deal of money on an absolutely foolish investment—” Sophia continued.
“Wig powder,” Arthur joked.
Henny laughed sharply.
“And Henny’s father had second thoughts.”
“Thank God,” Henny breathed.
“At the same time Arthur had made a fortune in his transatlantic telegraph cable investment and he asked Henny’s father for her hand in marriage.”
“Dad jumped at the chance to marry his daughter to someone with intelligence and fabulously good looks.” Henny glowed with love.
“Ah,” Joseph said. He raised a brow at Sophia. “And how does Lady, uh, Sophia fit into all of this? With Royston I mean.”
Arthur shuffled his feet. “My father is not as radical as Henny’s father is. He sees an alliance with the duke as benefiting the legacy of the Marquessate of Richmond.”
Sophia’s heart fell. She knew all too well marriage to the duke was her fate but to hear the words spoken aloud in front of a man who inhabited her dreams was absolutely depressing.
“And how do you feel about this, Sophia?” Joseph’s voice conveyed concern.
“It does not matter how I feel. It is my duty.”
“Well I for one think it does matter how you feel,” he responded. “What about this Peel fellow?”
“You mean marry Geoffrey?” she exclaimed. “I can’t. He’s only an heir to a viscountcy. Papa says he wants more for me.”
Joseph turned to her brother. “Arthur?”
“There’s really nothing I can do. I’ve told Father I don’t think the match is a good idea. He says young people today have foolish romantic notions. I’m not even entirely certain he approves of Henny.”
A bleak silence descended upon the group until Henny puffed a sigh.
“Sophie, we promised your mother we would be back for tea. We’ll have to change first.”
“Yes, Henny.”
Henny gave Arthur a peck on the cheek. “Right. We’ll see you boys later.” She grabbed Sophia’s hand.
As she left, Sophia caught Joseph’s sympathetic look, spurring her heart to beat a little faster.
* * * * *
Henny waited until almost midnight before she wended her way through darkened corridors to Arthur’s apartments in the sprawling Harwell Hall. Servants clung to shadows, keeping silent as she traversed the lengths of hallways, crossed courtyards, climbed stairs. They w
ould know the Earl of Petersham and his fiancée were desperately in love and deserved their privacy.
Light streamed into the hall from under Arthur’s library door, flickering and wavering but bright. The faint scent of pipe tobacco hung in the air. She hesitated a moment, wondering if she should knock, knowing he wouldn’t expect her to. She turned the knob, opened the door and stepped through.
Arthur started then stared at her with a guilty expression, the same expression he got when he had been thinking of her in a rather naughty way. He stood with his back to the fire, his hands behind him flexing in the warmth.
Before him sat Joseph, a book opened in his hand, one leg crossed over the other, dressed, as was Arthur, in a smoking jacket. Joseph, too, stared at her until realization washed over his features. He said nothing as he stood and walked toward the door, merely nodding politely at her, although she could swear there was a measure of amused approbation in his countenance. He closed the door quietly behind him.
“Henny, is something wrong?” Arthur came toward her, his gaze searching her face. “You look a bit worried.”
“I do?” She touched her fingers to her cheek.
He held out his hands and she took them. “Come to the fire. Tell me.”
He knew… Arthur always knew when her mind weighed heavily with cares and concerns. But this one was difficult to put into words.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Yes. I knew it would be soon, darling,” he responded softly.
“My parents are expected home from the Continent this week. Mama and I need to start planning the wedding but once we have a few things settled we’ll both return here, you know, so Sophie and your mother can help too. Maybe in a few weeks or so.”
He tenderly brushed a fallen curl from her face. She took his hand and pressed it to her cheek.
“I’m so lucky!” She could not stop the tears from falling.
“Darling Henny, what’s the matter? Please tell me.”
“It’s Sophie. I feel for Sophie.” Young, beautiful, virginal Sophie. “Royston is remaining here, presumably to woo her.” She looked up at him. “Arthur, it is a terrible match.”
“I know.” He wrapped his arms around her. “There’s just nothing I can do.”
His voice held frustration and a measure of disquietude. He might be willing to try to stop the match.
“Poor Geoffrey.” She sighed. “They would make a good pair.” She hesitated, knowing her next thought was daring to the point of impropriety. “And then there’s Mr. Phillips.”
Arthur pulled back with a furrowed brow. “What about Joseph?”
“Your sister obviously has a case on him.” Maybe you could encourage it?
“She’s eighteen. Girls her age get a ‘case’ on young men all the time. Besides, such a match would be preposterous, Henny.”
“Sadly, yes. I just wish Sophie could have one romance before she’s fettered to Royston for life.” And if she did, he might set his sights elsewhere.
“She’ll have to content herself with Geoffrey.”
Henny sighed. Geoffrey was too much of a gentleman to do anything but kiss Sophia senseless. Certainly he would never deflower her without marrying her. “I suppose so.”
Arthur eyed her intensely. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”
Her lungs constricted in dread. “It’s just that,” she said, trying to steady her voice, “I don’t want to have to go back to that predicament ever again.”
“What predicament? Henny, what are you talking about?”
“Royston,” she blurted, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t ever want to be considered a match for Royston.”
“What?” he exclaimed incredulously. “Darling, that’s never going to happen. You’re engaged to me. We have a settlement, remember?”
“But what if you died?”
His incredulity sharpened. “What if I died?” He searched her face. “Henny, what is this about?”
She closed her eyes as she gathered her courage. “In the drawing room tonight, before Royston walked away he touched my arm.” She hesitated.
Arthur gave her a gentle squeeze. “Go on.”
She looked up at him, finding her strength in his eyes. “You didn’t see it, I know you didn’t, but I felt it. He touched me.” She could not hold back the tears. “His thumb scraped along the side of my breast.”
Arthur paled. “My God. No,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll call him out.”
“Oh no you won’t!” She sobbed. “I won’t stand for such foolishness!”
His brow twisted. “Henny, I can’t let this go. He has no right.” He folded her in his arms and rocked her gently, imbuing her with warm safety.
“No,” she sniffled. “I know you can’t. But there is another way to defeat the villain.” She looked into Arthur’s eyes. “Make me yours.”
The incredulity returned, this time tinged with hope. “Henny?”
“I’m ready, Arthur. I want to leave here already your wife.”
“But darling—”
“He won’t touch me if I am spoiled. He has a letch for innocence.”
He gaped in horror. “Henny—”
“Please don’t ask me how I know. Please.”
He enfolded her in his arms. “No. I won’t.”
The fire popped and sputtered, the only accompaniment to the uneasiness that hung in the air. Arthur held her tightly, gently swaying to some unheard tune.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
He bent and kissed her mouth slowly, succulently, his tongue gently probing, tantalizing her. She wrapped her hands about his neck, clinging to him for dear life. Her life.
He pulled back, his face a little flushed, his hazel eyes dark with arousal.
“Make love to me, Arthur. Now.”
“Oh darling.” His lips quirked up in a smile. “Let’s go to my room.”
“What about here?”
“In the library?”
“It’s lovely in here. The room is warm. There’s light.” She cupped his cheek. “I want to see you and I want you to see me.”
With an enthusiasm she had never witnessed he tore off his jacket and laid it down on the rug before the fire then divested himself of the rest of his clothes, inviting her to do the same, helping her with buttons and ties. He made a comfortable nest with the pile of clothing then knelt and held out his hand, grinning broadly.
She knelt next to him, panic and desire coursing through her at the sight of his nude body rampant and ready. He motioned for her to lie down, preceding her in the act, patting the space next to him. She stretched herself out at his side, shivering despite the fire.
He traced curves from her breasts to her belly with his finger. “Relax, darling.”
But she couldn’t. Because of excitement? Or nerves?
“Perhaps if we play one of our games,” he murmured in her ear. He cupped a breast, weighing it.
Her nipples crinkled at his touch. “Yes.”
“My desert flower.” He kissed the crook of her neck. “So soft, so shy. One would not think you sullied and hardened by nomadic life.”
She closed her eyes, breathing out her trepidation, breathing in the fantasy of the exotic East, the fire like the desert sun streaming through the flaps of their tent, their clothes a bed of silken pillows. “I was kept locked away, my master—”
He drew the tip of his tongue along her neck to suck lightly on the delicate pulse point. She surrendered to the wet heat like the dunes yielding to the relentless sirocco.
“For your pleasure.”
“You will make a fine addition to my seraglio.” He caressed her waist, continuing down her hip to her thigh. “Your radiant beauty belies your experience.”
His warmth imbued her with confidence. “But no man has touched me, my sultan.”
“No man has breached the walls of your innocence?” He dragged his fingernails up her thigh, tickling the flesh at her hip until she squirmed.
&
nbsp; “None, sire.”
“Then you are the jewel in my crown of pleasures.” He smoothed his hand across her belly, continuing lower until he reached the thatch of hair at her mons. “You inflame me, my odalisque.” He threaded his fingers through the strands, dallying playfully before reaching for his intended target. “I am rendered incautious in your arms. I cannot wait to pluck your rose in my garden of delights.” He parted her wetness and slid a finger through to touch her clit. “I must have you now.”
He rubbed in a slow, circular motion, murmuring praise as she softened under his touch. She exhaled a moan.
“You cannot deny nature’s ways, my gem.” He stroked and twisted his finger mercilessly, willing her to climb to her peak. “Give in to your lustful desires.”
She writhed as sensuous waves ebbed and flowed within.
He inserted a finger inside her. Her eyes flew open. He had never done that before. He held her gaze with his, libidinous, dreamy, his pupils full and dark as he moved his finger, then two, in and out. She had expected such intimacy to hurt, had even been told it would. Instead Arthur’s ministrations were wonderfully exhilarating. And she wanted more.
“Arthur?” she said beseechingly.
He flashed a gentle smile and moved to lie between her legs, parting her thighs with his knees and positioning himself at her opening. He watched her face as he pressed in tentatively.
There was a pinch, slightly painful. She gulped a mouthful of air.
His forehead furrowed and he pushed in a little more. He was huge and exquisite all at once.
He looked down at her questioningly. She nodded. Slowly he pushed in fully and then pulled out.
She sighed in ecstasy and he continued his motions. She rode the waves of pleasure, closing her eyes briefly before realizing she wanted to see him, needed to see him, to see what he felt, to know what he experienced was the same for her. His eyes were black with desire, his expression lost in a fog of lubriciousness. He increased his pace then slowed, raising an eyebrow for her consent. She nodded again.
With every thrust he plunged deeper, picked up speed, his breaths puffing to the beat of his exertions. The need for his touch at her core overwhelmed her. She tilted her hips to goad him. The depths of his penetration surprised her, propelling her to exhort him even further.
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