She kissed him and stroked his hair. “I love you, Arthur. I love you beyond words.”
“I know.”
They chatted for a few minutes until they fell asleep, embraced in a tangle of limbs. When the respiration of slumber and Arthur’s occasional snoring filled the room, Joseph noiselessly retreated to his own bedroom.
The erotic spectacle was the inspiration he had needed. He made quick work of himself, fantasizing about the future possibilities of himself with his handsome business partner and the man’s luscious wife.
Chapter Fourteen
Henny brushed her hands over her body as she inspected herself in the mirror. Her figure was still perfect although her breasts were a little fuller. She reached for the ball gown that had just been delivered from the modiste’s and held it against her. She was going to look absolutely divine. She loved the Season, loved London during the Season. The parties, the people, the gossip, the attention.
And her wedding was going to be the most-talked-about event of the Season of 1860.
She was even more excited that she wasn’t showing yet—well…no one had remarked as such, not even Mother. She had confided in Sophie that wedding nerves were making her gain weight. She just had to make sure she did not eat too much and perhaps strolled rather than rode in the park…then she could keep her weight down.
She would worry about the baby after the wedding and tell Arthur on their wedding night. Any earlier and he would fuss and fret over her and he certainly did not need any more cares and concerns in his life.
She called for Adele to help her dress quickly. She wanted to see Sophia before going over ceremony details one last time, shopping for gloves and stockings, having tea with some friends of Mother’s… The list of things to do was endless. She smiled. She was having so much fun doing them all.
Adele, in her pretty French accent, assured Henny that she looked perfect then curtsied and left to attend to the ironing.
Henny grabbed her gloves and a new bonnet and went to the landing. Mother’s high-pitched laugh wafted up from below, counterpoint to a man’s low rumble, perhaps coming from the morning room, which meant she was entertaining close friends. Which meant Henny had to avoid them if she was ever going to get to Sophia’s. The servants’ stairs were the best route under the circumstances and it wasn’t as if she had never taken them before. She used the back stairs to sneak out to go see Arthur late at night.
She got halfway down the narrow stairwell when a male servant came running up, someone new, pudgy and balding. She stopped to let him pass. He lifted his head. He wasn’t a servant.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed.
Royston smirked smugly, his eyes narrowed like a wild dog eying its prey. “I came to see you, my dear.”
She backed up a step. “I do not ever want to see you again.”
But he was too quick. He grabbed her arms and pinned her against the wall.
“Let go of me,” she growled.
“Now my dear, it’s because of your little friends I am no longer allowed to see my beloved.”
“Your beloved?” He was despicable.
“Oh dear. Jealous? I know you were once going to be mine—”
“I was never going to be yours!”
His face was too close to hers. “Ah, that’s because I never had my chance to persuade you.”
Henny’s blood boiled. “You mean you never had the chance to rape me, like you almost did Sophia?”
He scrunched his face in disgust. “That is such an ugly sentiment, my dear. And as I seem to recall you were not as reluctant as she.”
“I was only a child! I was terrified, you bastard.”
“Ah yes, I remember how scared you were. I tried to console you—”
“Get away from me!” She could endure his insults no more. She flailed her arms against him and slammed her knee into his crotch. He flinched, his face reddened.
“You little whore.”
His hand came down hard against her cheek, the dizzying force destabilizing her. She slipped on the smooth wood of the stair, falling backward, her buttocks hitting first, skimming down the stairs, her skirts facilitating her slide, twisting her around until she crashed head first on a landing. She looked up to see Royston running up the stairs, escaping, her last vision before she swooned and blacked out.
* * * * *
“She’s awake, my lord.”
Arthur started, staring blankly at Henny’s lady’s maid bending over him, her hand on his shoulder, rousing him gently. He must have been asleep. But this was Henny’s bedroom at the Bloxholme’s London residence…
Then everything came back into focus.
Henny had fallen down the stairs, an accident they had said. The doctor had wanted to meet with Arthur privately. She had lost the child, the doctor had said. Henny had been pregnant and had lost the child. Their child.
And the doctor was not confident she would ever be able to have children again.
He had moved as if in a dream after that, sitting on the slipper chair, watching Lady Bloxholme and the servants putter around Henny’s bedside, not hearing or understanding when they spoke to him. Letting the world slip away around him.
Jesus. First Sophia. Now Henny. What the hell was happening?
“Thank you, Adele.” He got up, wobbling on his feet, Adele steadying him, helping him to Henny’s bedside. Henny reached out her hand and smiled.
“Arthur.” Her voice was weak.
“We’ll leave the two of you alone, Arthur,” Lady Bloxholme said.
He watched as they left then sat on the bed, sliding against the headboard, wrapping his arm around Henny’s shoulders, her head resting in the crook of his arm.
He kissed her hair. “You knew, didn’t you? About the baby.”
“Yes. I wanted to tell you but it would have been too much of a distraction from your business.”
He hugged her more closely. “More of a distraction than making love to you?”
“The doctor says I can’t have another…” She began to cry.
“Henny, darling, shh shh. We’ll try again. We’ll keep trying.” The tears smarted in his eyes. He wiped them away. She mustn’t see him cry. “We’ll have fun trying,” he joked weakly.
She giggled anyway. Then the flood of tears began again.
Arthur slid down until he lay alongside her and pulled her close. He could hide his tears no longer.
“Arthur,” she sobbed, “it was horrible, he was there, he hit me.”
He? “Who, darling? Who hit you?”
“Royston.”
The name pierced him like a cold dagger. “Henny, darling, what do you mean?”
“Royston hit me.”
She still wasn’t making complete sense. “What happened exactly? They said you were on the back stairs. You slipped and fell.”
“He came to see me. He was angry about being kept away from Sophia.”
“Why on earth would he bother you about it?”
“To taunt me.” She drew in a breath. “Arthur, I never told you. When I was fourteen he…he touched me. He insulted me. And I let him. I didn’t want to but I didn’t stop him.” Her voice was weak. “I’ve carried the shame of it ever since.”
His heart clenched. He could not stop the tears. “Darling, that man is a monster. You should not carry the shame. He is responsible for his actions.”
“And he made me believe that because he had…done that to me that I was to be his wife. I could think of no worse horror than to be married to that man. But Mama said I could be no man’s wife until I had begun my courses.”
“Did you tell your mother?”
“I’ve never told anyone.” Her voice was but a whisper. “Until now.”
He cradled her against him. “Henny, we must help Sophia. We must think of some young men to include at our wedding breakfast.”
“Yes, we must save Sophie.” She shifted against him, sinking lower. “Joseph. She’s in love with Jose
ph.”
Yes, she is. “How do you know this?”
“I saw them together,” she said hoarsely. “In the studio at Harwell Hall. They had been intimate…”
So she knew all along.
“Joseph should be at our wedding.”
“He will be, darling,” he assured her. But he couldn’t possibly be considered a suitor.
She turned onto her side. “Arthur, I’m tired and my head hurts. I think I need to sleep now.”
“Yes, darling. Of course.” He got up, helping her settle back against the pillows.
Suddenly she flinched with a groan, squeezing her eyes shut. She curled her knees to her chest.
“My love?”
“Arthur, I think I need a doctor.”
The fog of a dream engulfed him once again. Something was terribly wrong with Henny.
* * * * *
Arthur sat in the dark, the fire in his library long gone out. He reached for the decanter of brandy. Finding it empty, he moved on to the sherry.
There was to be no June wedding. Instead, in a lavish and well-attended event, Lady Henrietta Langley had her funeral at St. George’s. She had been dressed in her wedding gown.
The doctor insisted there wasn’t anything he could have done. He hadn’t seen any sign of trauma to the mother after the fetus had been expelled. In fact the patient had exhibited symptoms of recovery. The doctor had been surprised when Lady Henrietta had succumbed.
Expelled. What a horrid word.
She had carried his child, damn it! Their child. Their first child.
He downed his sherry. His last child.
He squeezed his lids shut, strangling back tears as he lifted the crystal decanter and drank deeply. But the flood of sorrow could not be banked. Tears cascaded down his cheeks as he croaked a sob-filled breath.
Henny. His Henny. Gone. Shit.
He would do more than just wear a black armband for the rest of his days. He would crush Royston.
There would never be an heir to the Marquessate of Richmond so long as Sophia was in the clutches of that villain. That much he could do. He would never marry—no one would replace Henny, no child would replace the one they had lost.
He would never perpetuate the horror of the peerage where the position and privilege of one man was deemed more important than the safety and security—and lives—of beautiful, sweet, intelligent young women. Women who were truly the future of the nation, far more so than tired old aristocrats clinging desperately to a past that disappeared faster than a landscape from a moving train.
His parents would be appalled, of course. Perhaps, however, they would be persuaded to see the error of their ways, to cede whatever claim Royston had over their precious daughter. The end to fifteen generations of Richmonds would be a powerful hold over them.
And if they refused to abandon Royston’s suit, there were other ways of shielding Sophia.
Chapter Fifteen
Joseph surveyed the sympathetic expressions of the members gathered at the Merchants and Industry Club. Arthur was either admirable or daft to have called an evening meeting of investors. He needed to grieve. Henny had been dead and buried for less than a week.
As the men entered the club room Arthur shook hands and accepted condolences but once everyone was settled he slumped into the curves of a leather chair and proceeded to drink too much brandy. Luckily Geoffrey was there to facilitate and answer questions, assuring the investors that indeed the scheme was proceeding as planned. Joseph did all he could to deflect scrutiny of Arthur’s behavior—exhibiting new plans and drawings, explaining technical details, telling toned-down stories of the American Wild West. Amidst the grins he received a handful of compliments on his sartorial choices, a few exclamations of delight on his accent and one offer of club nomination.
Meanwhile Arthur remained seated and silent, looking dapper and tipsy.
“Can you take him home?” Geoffrey asked. “He’s looking more and more beleaguered.”
Joseph offered a twisted smile at the diplomatic assessment of Arthur’s state. “Can you handle questions about Indians and San Francisco?”
“Sometimes they wear clothes and there aren’t enough women?”
Joseph chuckled. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Arthur was not reluctant to go home. Once deposited in his foyer he headed straight for the library instead of his bed. He poured a snifter of brandy then held forth the decanter. “You?”
“Arthur, do you think you should have more?”
He downed his drink. “No. A Christian man is a temperate man.” He poured two glasses, offering one to Joseph. “Of course I stopped being a Christian man once I lost my wife to the devil.”
Joseph took the proffered snifter. Arthur had told him everything about Henny and Royston past and present, details that just solidified Joseph’s own belief that the man was pure evil.
He took a swig of his brandy. “Look, Arthur, the meeting went well. I’ll see Geoffrey tomorrow to get further assessment. But right now you need to get to bed. You’re drunk.”
“Yes.” Arthur snorted. “I am.”
He took the glass from Arthur’s hand. “I’m going to take you to your room and see that you are properly tucked in for the night.”
“Okay.” Arthur bit his lower lip as he smiled. His American accent was terrible.
He clung dramatically as Joseph hauled him up the stairs.
“You have your own legs, my lord,” Joseph teased.
“Yes but yours are so much stronger than mine at the moment.”
Once in his bedroom Arthur stripped off his jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat. He eyed Joseph with a raised brow, his lips curled in a sly smile. “Are you going to watch me undress?”
He hadn’t considered it but the idea suddenly intrigued him. “Do you want me to?”
Arthur stepped forward until he was toe to toe with Joseph. He placed his hand at the back of Joseph’s head and pulled him forward.
Then kissed him.
It was a slow, languorous kiss, their tongues tangling tentatively then twining with intention. Joseph held Arthur firmly, a hand on each shoulder. Arthur slowed to pull back slightly.
He leaned his forehead against Joseph’s. “Stay the night in my room.”
His cock throbbed in anticipation. “Arthur, you’re vulnerable.”
“I’m also randy as hell.”
The offer was damn tempting. “Look, I—”
But Arthur was on his knees before Joseph, unbuttoning his trousers, his drawers, ignoring his flailing hands, his weak protestations, freeing his aroused cock, wrapping insistent lips around him.
“Christ!”
He could not remember the last time a man had done that to him. The last time anyone had done it was Sophia and that had been her first time, made apparent by her overzealousness and her gagging, attributes repeated by Arthur at that very moment.
He grabbed Arthur’s hair, pulling him off. “This is your first time.”
Arthur swallowed. “Is it that obvious?”
“You have to want to do this.”
“You have to want me to.”
They locked eyes, Arthur’s with a touch of endearing entreaty.
“God yes, I want you to,” Joseph growled.
Arthur grasped Joseph’s hips and slid his tongue down the underside of his shaft, then back again to tease the head with wet swirls and pulsing squeezes. The man was a fast learner. Joseph groaned his approval.
Little by little, Arthur drew Joseph’s cock into his mouth, each advance wetter and warmer and tighter than the last until his lips encircled the root. Arthur swallowed. Joseph sighed at the exquisite flutter of his friend’s throat.
“Breathe,” he murmured. “You have to breathe.” He raked his fingers through Arthur’s hair, tenderly, encouragingly.
Arthur retreated then proceeded once again, languidly, too slowly. Joseph pumped his hips provokingly, wanting, needing to go faster.
&nbs
p; “All right.” Arthur’s words reverberated with a chuckle.
He gripped Joseph’s butt, steadying his hips. Arthur sucked determinedly, moving along the length of the shaft with the fullness of his tongue, squeezing with his lips, nipping with his teeth, keeping with the rhythm of Joseph’s lust. The painful pinch of fingernails in the straining muscles of his buttocks heightened the pleasure of Arthur’s mouth, now picking up speed in tempo to Joseph’s muttered oaths.
Theirs was a beautiful cadence. Joseph closed his eyes, letting the sensual act lift him to a higher plane of ecstasy. Desire pumped through his limbs, taut and trembling, struggling between suspension and release. Energy coiled at his groin, tightening his balls heavy with need.
He clinched Arthur’s head in his hands, bucked against his mouth, spewing his seed. Unable to pull back, Arthur sucked and swallowed, his hands falling to his sides in submission.
Joseph’s heart thundered as he relaxed his hold.
Arthur sat back on his heels, gasping for breath. “I need some water.”
He laughed and helped him up. “That was rather brave.”
Arthur stumbled over to the basin. “I don’t know about that. Interesting perhaps.” He drank deeply from the porcelain pitcher. “I still prefer women, you know.”
Joseph chortled as he shucked his clothing. “As do I. Especially your sister,” he reminded, raising a brow.
“Shit. Look—about Sophia,” Arthur said, unbuttoning his trousers. “I have a plan. We’ll talk about it in the morning.” He pulled off his shirt and climbed into bed, smoothing the sheet beside him. “Lock the door. The maid will know to not bother us.”
Joseph had to admit it was a very restful slumber.
* * * * *
For Sophia to be invited to Arthur’s for a private luncheon was a bit out of the ordinary, although this was the first time in years Arthur had been without female companionship, so perhaps such invitations were a new ordinary. Sophia hoped at least. She liked spending time with her big brother.
Sending a private carriage to pick her up and drive her to the front door was a gallant gesture too. He hadn’t said anything about it being a formal affair but Sophia had dressed in a brand new frock of pale emerald with pink lace edging the neckline and frothing at the ends of the short, puffy sleeves. She wore the pearl choker Arthur and Henny had given her for her eighteenth birthday, hoping it would be a happy reminder of pleasant memories for him as it was for her.
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