He slammed inside her one last time, emptying himself, jerking with release, his emission making them one.
“You’re mine, Sophie. No one can take you from me.”
“Joseph, my Joseph,” she heaved in relief.
He collapsed on top of her, still needing their bodies to remain as one. Their limbs tangled, their hearts pounded, their breaths found a mutual rhythm.
“I love you.”
It did not matter who said it first.
* * * * *
The light poured on Sophia’s face at an unexpected angle. Had she turned completely head over heels in her bed?
She opened her eyes and memories of the night before deluged her. She turned over to see Joseph, his face soft from deep slumber, the covers tossed off his magnificent upper torso, and all she could think was how wonderful he was, how beautiful their love-making had been.
And how much she had to pee.
She could make a dash for the water closet wearing Joseph’s robe. But maybe there was a chamber pot under the bed…
She climbed out of bed as gently and noiselessly as possible, really only succeeding in getting as far as removing the covers from her legs when Joseph stirred. She froze. What on earth did one do in such a situation?
The mattress bounced and creaked as he got up. He fumbled around on the floor then walked around until he was in full view of her tenaciously half-closed eye, positioning the chamber pot he had hauled out from under the bed.
And then he grabbed his cock and pissed. Right in front of her. His stream was urgent and strong. He emitted a satisfied groan as he gave his cock a shake. And then he looked at her.
By that time Sophia’s eyes were wide open.
He closed the lid to the commode and sauntered over to the bed. “Your turn, my lady.”
She stared at him, horrified.
He grabbed hold of her arm and wrenched her from the bed. She couldn’t struggle. If she had, she would have passed water all over the carpet.
He dragged her to the commode and lifted the lid. The stench of fresh urine increased her urge.
She absolutely couldn’t. Not in front of him.
“Oh yes you can.” He grinned.
“Joseph!”
“If we are to share the rest of our lives together, we have to perform the most intimate of acts in front of each other. Should I remind you I was, but a few hours ago, inside your person?”
He was right. Well, right enough at that moment. They could discuss it at length another time.
“Squat, my lady.”
She gave in and squatted, the mere act of doing so loosening her resolve and her bladder. And when she was finished he handed her a sheet of curl paper. Her cheeks burned at the far greater intimacy of wiping.
She stood, utterly mortified, wanting to simply get dressed and go find some breakfast. But she had no other clothes than her ball gown.
“You are absolutely charming in your modesty, my lady,” he said closing the lid and moving the box very carefully back under the bed.
He pulled her to him, sliding his hands tenderly along the contours of her back. His skin was still heated from their warm bed and penetrated her now-chilled flesh. She pressed her palms against his chest. His heart beat a steady, seductive rhythm.
“You should know we do not have indoor plumbing at my parents’ house in New York.” His eyes twinkled teasingly.
“Well I’ll have to do something about that, won’t I? Once you bring home the sister of the Earl of Petersham as your wife your parents will have to expect changes. I will not raise my children in colonial filth and squalor.”
“Children? How many?”
Two—a boy and a girl—would be nice. But she wasn’t going to tell him that just yet. She tapped his chest with her index finger. “Ten.”
His brow crinkled. “Ten?” His eyes narrowed and a grin spread across his lips. “Well then, we better get started, hadn’t we?”
She squealed as he picked her up and threw her on the bed. The mattress sagged with his weight as he climbed on top of her. He hovered, his knees on either side of her hips, his hands above her shoulders.
“I take it you enjoyed yourself enough last night to want ten children.”
“I was hoping it would get better every time we tried.”
He laughed and slumped alongside her. “You little minx.” He swirled spirals around her breasts, around her belly, tickling her with arousal. She rocked her hips encouragingly, hoping he would continue his path just a bit farther.
Instead he laid his hand on her belly, his warmth spreading over her, penetrating her, mingling with the delicious tingling between her legs. “Sophie, love, was I too rough with you last night? Are you sore?”
Her heart swelled at his concern. “I suppose a little. Mostly my thighs. I’m unused to such a position.”
He chuckled. His hand proceeded to the spot where she had hoped he would go. He drew a finger through the cleft between her legs.
“You’re wet,” he murmured. “Deliciously wet.”
She licked her lips as he stroked her pleasure spot, squirming with each caress, melting into the bed with each release. His gaze skated along her body then back up to meet hers. His eyes were black with desire.
“I want to touch you,” she said.
“Please,” he growled with a smile.
She encircled his cock with one hand and pumped slowly. The other rested on his strong upper arm, feeling the glorious muscle twitch as his fingers tantalized her below.
“You use this arm to pleasure yourself, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“One day I want to watch you.”
He grinned. “Okay.”
“But right now I want you to fuck me.”
Instantly he was on top of her, stretched out between her legs, his prick in position. But he did not seek her assent this time. Instead he plowed ahead without warning. He slammed into her, jostling her. She wrapped her legs around him to steady herself, to ride with him, to experience a new pleasure, a pleasure of crude, vigorous physicality. His grunts and ragged breaths filled her ears, inciting her to cry out with abandon. Inside her, he grazed an untouched spot, deeply embedded, eliciting a luscious sensation, a new way to climb to the top of sensuality. She tilted her hips, needing him deeper, needing him to push her over the edge. He complied, wrapping one arm around her to hold her tightly against him, securing her as he drove inside her relentlessly.
She swooned, delirious with pleasure, riding waves of euphoria, gasping at the crest—
She screamed in climax. His mouth descended on hers, silencing her, drawing her ecstasy into his body. He slammed inside her one last time, growled his satisfaction into her mouth and jerked his pleasure deep inside her.
He rolled off, panting. “Oh God, Sophie.” He stared at the ceiling stunned.
“Was it good?” she asked teasingly.
“Christ it was good.” He drew in a long breath and sat up. “I’m famished. Let’s get some breakfast.”
“Oh.” Clothes. “I suppose I could wear my underthings and borrow your dressing robe.”
He chuckled. “I think that might be a bit too risqué for your brother.”
She gasped. Arthur! Oh goodness. Did he hear her scream?
“Look, to save you any mortification,” Joseph said as he pulled on his trousers and braces, “I’ll get a tray. I’ll send a carriage around to get Anna. Any dress in particular you wish to wear today?”
“I have a nice new rose day dress.”
“Good, that will match the flush on your cheeks.” He lifted her chin and gave her a peck on the lips. “You can use the pot in private while I’m gone.”
* * * * *
The door to the breakfast room opened and Arthur put down his morning paper. He wasn’t sure whom to expect but was glad to see Joseph…alone.
He watched intently as Joseph went to the buffet and poured a cup of coffee, added cream, took a sip, then proceeded to fill
two plates with enough food to feed an army.
The silence was deafening. He couldn’t stand it.
“And?” Arthur inquired pointedly.
Joseph looked up from the chafing dish of eggs. “Did I deflower your sister? Yes. But I find it a bit sordid to have to tell her brother.”
Arthur chuckled. “How is she?”
“Probably asleep.”
“Shouldn’t you be there for her when she wakes up?”
“I already was the first time, about an hour ago.”
“Oh.”
Joseph pulled out a chair and sat next to him. He let out a sigh then placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Look, Arthur, the deed is done. We have to go through with the plan. Unless you can find a more suitable man who would not care about your sister’s virtue.”
“Joseph,” he said quietly, “I cannot think of a more suitable man than you. Sophie is in love with you. Besides, I think my parents aren’t really looking beyond Royston. If the deed is done, then we will proceed as planned.”
“Which is what exactly?”
“Making sure the two of you have plenty of opportunities.”
“To get Sophie with child.” Joseph sipped his coffee sullenly.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s really a rather miserable way to begin a life together. Dishonesty, secretiveness, immorality.”
“Think of it as trying to run away from a villain and doing anything you possibly can to escape.”
“I suppose.” He finished his coffee but remained sitting. “You know there’s one thing you never considered in all of this.”
Oh? “What’s that?”
“Us.”
“Us?”
“You, Arthur, and me, Joseph.”
“You mean the business.”
“No.” Joseph met his eyes.
Arthur held his gaze, heat rising in his cheeks. “Of course it’s impossible now,” he whispered.
“Do you regret it?”
A flush of panic prickled his neck. “Do you?”
Joseph gave his hand a squeeze. “I don’t regret anything we’ve done, Arthur. But I am sorry we probably won’t do anything like it again.”
Sorrow carved a hollowness in his heart. “My sister’s a lucky girl.”
“She is.” Joseph patted him on the back. “Because she has the best damn brother any girl could hope for.” He stood. “Look, can you send a message to Sophie’s maid Anna? Have her come with Sophie’s new rose day dress and whatever toilet articles she needs for her hair and such. I’d do it but the missive should really come from the earl himself and not his American houseguest.” He angled over. “You know, to deflect suspicions.”
“Yes, right away.” Arthur pushed back his chair. Their deception had begun. He just hoped to God it would work.
Chapter Eighteen
London, 17 August 1860
Sophia held her breath and the lace edging of her corset while Anna tried to fasten the front. Finally the harried maid took a step back, her hands on her hips.
“I can’t do it, my lady. You’ll just have to wear the blue brocade again tomorrow night. I think that one is cut a bit fuller.”
“Okay—I mean, all right. Thank you, Anna.” Sophia took off the corset and handed it to her. “Can you loosen it a little?”
“Yes, my lady.” Anna eyed her queerly. “What are you going to tell Lady Richmond?” she asked as she tugged at the laces.
She desperately wanted to tell Mama the truth. “That I’ve developed a fondness for sweets, and if anyone asks, the brocade is my favorite dress. It’s the final ball of the Season. I think I should be allowed to wear my favorite dress, don’t you agree?”
Anna lowered her head to conceal her smile. “Yes, my lady.”
Sophia sighed. July had proved to be the longest month of the summer and August was hinting it too would be interminable. Peers and politicians clung to London and environs as Parliament plodded on, which meant Papa, the consummate political peer, stayed in town. Arthur did as well, as most of his business associates were hangers-on to the political sphere.
The Season hadn’t been as fun as she had hoped. She keenly felt Henny’s absence especially as, one by one, the girls she had debuted with became engaged. Royston still dogged her at every turn and for that reason she relished her time playing hostess to Arthur. Even entertaining investors’ wives was far more tolerable than anything to do with Royston.
She sometimes saw Geoffrey at balls and teas but mostly saw him at Arthur’s dinners. He often inquired after Anna on those nights, wondering if she had something to keep her preoccupied as if waiting for Sophie at Arthur’s house was somehow different than waiting any other place. Anna had her own room on the top floor and always had a book to read or mending to finish. Sophia reassured Geoffrey that her maid was indeed just fine.
And then there was Joseph.
She loathed having to play a part during dinner and in the drawing room when all she wanted to do was link her arm in his and lean her head against his shoulder as if they were an old married couple. Sophia knew she blushed around him. Of course he was exotic and charming and most of the women blushed in his presence but her reasons were much more deeply felt.
And then the guests would leave, although sometimes Geoffrey would linger to distract Arthur, and Sophia had to play another part. It would be unseemly to simply exit the drawing room with Joseph, even though all knew they would be spending the night in each other’s arms. So she would leave first and go to her room where Anna would undress her. Not long after that Joseph would rap lightly on her bedroom door, Anna slinking past them as they embraced.
Every moment she spent with him alone was exquisite. Pleasantries and conversation were left for when they were in company. Their time alone was purely for carnal pleasures. He worshiped her body with his, each time taking her to heights she thought she had already climbed, showing her the different ways a woman and man may make love, how one position flowed into the next. She could straddle his hips and ride his cock, lifting and settling rhythmically, “as a man rides a horse”. Then that position could be reversed—rather awkwardly the first time—allowing Joseph to “admire the charms” of her backside. And when he could take her slow slides up and down his cock no more, he maneuvered himself to kneeling, holding her steady, never breaking contact, then slammed into her from behind as she arched over the mattress on all fours.
And that was just one night. The next morning they explored yet more variety of love-making.
But Sophia spending too many nights at Arthur’s house made her brother nervous. People might talk, he worried. He made sure Geoffrey was in attendance at every dinner he held.
“It makes it seem more official, Sophie,” he had explained. “The three of us partners.”
Yet her presence at breakfast, giggling as she and Joseph flashed knowing glances at each other, proved a source of consternation to her brother. He suggested Joseph go away for a spell.
“I’ll visit my house in Lamberton,” Joseph offered. “I’ve heard Scotland’s lovely this time of year.”
All agreed. Joseph would leave for a fortnight and to dispel any lingering rumors of impropriety involving the American, Arthur would continue to have dinners late into the night with Sophia as hostess staying over until morning.
The night before he left Joseph gave her one more lesson. They lay in her bed, skin still flushed from love-making, fingers tangling, breathing each other in.
“Of all the books I’ve given you,” he murmured against her, “which is your favorite?”
Sophia propped herself up on an elbow. “Ooh, The Lustful Turk.”
Joseph’s brow crinkled with his wide grin. “The one with the sultan and the English girl?”
“It’s exotic. I like exotic.” She drew a finger down his chest, tracing the shadowed curves of his muscles. “Like you. You’re exotic. If it were The Lustful American, I think I would enjoy the story even more.”
; He chuckled. “Well you can make that one up.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean write my own naughty story?”
He threaded his fingers through her hair, arranging it to spill over her shoulder and curl onto his chest. “You don’t need to write it down—you can simply speak it to your lover, guiding him through the fantasy.”
“Hmm.” She lay back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling thoughtfully. “You’re an American privateer and you’ve just captured my ship.” She bit her lip, a little abashed at her thoughts. “I’m an English lady. I was held captive by your freedom fighters during your war for independence and they’ve just set me free.”
“Only to fall into my lustful clutches.”
“Yes!”
“Will you be easy to conquer?” He nuzzled into her neck, the tip of his nose tickling along her pulse. “Surely the patriots had their way with you and have made you wanton.” His featherlight touch from her belly to breast prickled her flesh and the deep tones of his voice reverberated within, encouraging her toward a new sensuality.
“No. The rebels knew I was worth more if I remained a virgin. My husband, a colonel with the British army, died before we could consummate our marriage.”
Joseph lengthened himself on top of her, pushing her knees apart. “A virgin?” He quirked a brow. “Your innocent treasures are worth more to my cock than to my purse.” He pushed his erection between her thighs.
She spread her legs wider, already wet.
“Do you deceive me, my lady? A daughter of the aristocracy does not so easily open herself to criminal scum such as myself.”
How wicked. She pushed against his chest. “Blackguard. I will not let you have your way with me!” She clapped her thighs shut in vain, her words at odds with her grin.
He handily resisted her struggles, his legs far too strong, his desire far too eager. Yet she could be wily when she wanted.
A swift graze of her nails across the sensitive skin of his hips incited a jerk and a yelp and provided an instance for her to roll out from under him. She stumbled off the mattress, the glee of victory welling within. Yet he regained his senses quickly, lunging for her, wrapping his brawny arms around her waist, tossing her onto the mattress amidst her untempered squeals, this time on her stomach. He stretched out on top of her, his bulk weighing heavy, trapping her, his cock prodding between her legs.
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