DisobediencebyDesign (10 page)

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.

“He doesn’t love her one whit, darling, and he’ll discard
her once he feels she’s been used up. He’ll make sure she has children to keep
up appearances really, but he’ll do it on his own terms. Sophie will be reduced
to nerves living with that man.” Henny had snuggled up to him at that point,
probably realizing how lucky the two of them were. “Sophie’s a treasure,
darling. She deserves more.”

Henny was right. Sophia was a dear little sister and as her
brother, he should look after her.

The door to the estate office creaked open, jolting him to
the present.

Father’s secretary regarded him with a dour expression. “My
lord, the marquess will see you now.”

“Thank you, Billings.”

The secretary held the door while Arthur stepped inside then
closed the door behind him and took a seat.

“Arthur.” Father greeted him pleasantly. “To what do I owe
the honor?”

Arthur glanced over at Billings. “It’s a family matter.”

Father seemed about to protest then merely waved to his
secretary, who exited. He invited Arthur to sit.

“What is the problem?” he asked in a voice trying to convey
fatherly concern. “Is it Henny?”

“No, Father. Henny is very well, thank you. It is rather
Sophia I am concerned about.”

“Ah.”

Father surely had an idea what was coming so Arthur went
straight to the point. “The Duke of Royston was seen attacking a servant girl
at the Fosdyke ball.”

That got a rise out of Father’s eyebrows at least. “Oh?”

“The girl was raped and beaten. Royston left her outside the
kitchen.”

Father cleared his throat. “And where did you hear this,
son?”

He had debated whether or not to reveal the source of
information then had decided to leave that part of the story vague. There had
been several men there that night with whom Arthur and Joseph had discussed
their scheme. Any one of them could have pulled Arthur aside and confided in
him. “One of my business associates saw the completion of the incident.”

“Did the man approach the duke?”

“No, Father. He thought that ill-advised as the duke had just
injured the girl. He did not know Royston’s state of mind and did not want to
incite more violence.”

“I see.” Father leaned back in his chair and steepled his
fingers. “Why do you think this man told you?”

“He knows you and the duke are good friends and that my
sister is being considered for him.”

“Hmm. This girl was a servant, you say?”

“Yes, Father.”

“A servant girl who has no qualms following a man she does
not know out into the kitchen garden?”

He should have seen that coming. “I don’t know the girl,
Father.”

“Ah, yes, but we all understand the lower classes are of a
much more passionate nature than we are.”

Speak for yourself, old man
. “Yes, sir.”

Father sighed. “Son, it is a man’s natural inclination to
accept a flirtatious invitation from a young girl, especially at Royston’s age.
It’s rather flattering really. I don’t think you should concern yourself any
further with the incident.”

Arthur tempered the rage welling within. “I was only
thinking of Sophia, Father.”

“Sophia? How does she fit into all of this?”

“I was concerned the duke might be of a violent nature. I
don’t want to see her hurt. The servant girl had cuts and bruises.”

“Oh pshaw. Men don’t act so fervently toward their own
wives. It’s all rather staid and unenthusiastic. You’ll see after you get
married.”

If you please, sir, no I will not
.

“It’s not quite settled yet with Royston anyway. He has some
debts he’s promised to clear. I want Sophia starting off managing a
well-financed household. And your mother and I want Sophia to have her first
Season after coming out. It’s what every girl dreams about, I suppose.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “What if she meets a suitor during
the summer, then? At one of the many soirées? A peer with good accounts?”

“I suppose such a match is possible. Your mother and I
haven’t discussed it. There may be someone we overlooked.”

Luckily he and Henny had made up a list of all the
marriageable, financially stable, good-natured peers above the rank of
viscount. They would make damn sure Sophia met every single one of them.

“Thank you, Father. I appreciate your taking the time to
talk with me.”

“Very good.” His father shuffled some papers on his desk
then looked up. “Arthur?”

He hesitated, perhaps a bit too hopeful. “Yes, Father?”

“Send Billings back in as you leave, will you?”

“Yes, Father.”

It was her duty, Sophia reminded herself, to spend time with
the Duke of Royston, to have him court her. Gone were her carefree days of
meandering on the estate, always ending up at the little iron-and-glass folly
where Joseph spent much of his time. She smiled to herself. Her meanderings
were really fully cognizant endeavors to seek out the handsome American,
although she did devise circuitous routes so as not to be so obvious.

Now with Royston returned for a visit at Harwell Hall, she
had to be far more clever in devising diversions from his attentions. Wedding
planning with Henny was always a standby. Exercising to relieve vague “women’s
complaints” could only be stretched so far. Then there were the one-time-only
excuses—going into the village to the dressmaker’s or the milliner’s, helping
Mama with her charity, wanting to finish a chapter of an exciting novel—and
there were just not enough of those. Eventually she had to give in to a request
for a drive and a picnic. Mama was beside herself imagining the romantic
possibilities.

“Oh my Sophia, all grown up!” she had effused, clapping her
hands. “Out for a ride with Giles.”

“Giles?”

“That’s his Christian name, dear.”

She didn’t inquire further. Mama and Papa had known Royston
a long time, since before he was a duke. Maybe they called him that when they
were younger. Whatever their past Sophia was adamant
she
would never
call him anything but his title so as to maintain an emotional distance.

The day came and what a lovely day it was. What a shame such
fair weather would be wasted on a dull man. But Sophia loved the countryside
and she would eventually need to eat lunch so it was not to be a total loss.
Anna was to act as chaperon, which seemed irregular. Weren’t chaperons dowdy
old servants or spinster relations? She and Anna got on rather well so her
company would definitely alleviate the expected boredom.

The duke arrived promptly at lunchtime, driving a borrowed
carriage—her father’s phaeton—and protested Anna’s presence with a grimace and
a comment that had he known, he would have brought along his valet Jasper to
keep her company. But after helping Anna into the boot, purring pleasantries as
he tucked her in beside the baskets and blankets, he seemed resigned to the arrangement.

“My lady,” he said with exaggerated gallantry, holding out
his hand to help Sophia up to the seat.

Sophia was glad her crocheted gloves were thicker than her
kid gloves. It meant her hand was that much farther from his when she was
compelled to take it. Once seated she had to endure his attentions and pretty
words as he tucked a blanket around her, spending too much time fussing about.
Then with an unexpected agility counter to his stocky build he swung himself up
next to her, took the reins and they were off.

The drive was tedious—fraught with awkward small talk—and
frightening, given that the duke seemed more interested in looking at her—and
sometimes at Anna—than watching the road. The horses—a sleek, matched pair of
Papa’s—seemed confused at times from his muddled handling of the reins. They
reached their destination and jerked to a stop with such a jolt poor Anna
exclaimed her discomfort out loud.

The duke helped Sophia down and stood staring at her until
Anna appeared with a basket and a blanket, probably having decided she was not
going to have him manhandle her again upon her descent.

“Ah, my dear, I promised a picnic but I suggest a stroll
first. How does that sound?”

Sophia turned to Anna. “Are your shoes adequate for a walk?”

The duke winced. “No no no, my dear,” he said, shaking his
head. “Your maid will be preoccupied with setting up our luncheon. If you are
concerned about propriety, we will only be going as far as the creek. I’m sure
your maid will be able to keep an eye on us from here.” He leaned in a bit. “There
are trees aplenty for us to accidentally step behind should our passions take
us in that direction.”

Horror prickled along the back of her neck. She flashed Anna
a helpless look as she took the duke’s proffered arm.

He walked as erratically as he drove, occasionally bumping
into her, his forearm brushing her breast followed by apologies in a low, husky
snigger. Once or twice she was able to turn to see if Anna was still within
sight and to Sophia’s relief her maid stood watching them.

The creek burbled from recent rain, the banks green and
damp. Sophia breathed in the spring air and for a moment, forgot whom she was
with and how she got there.

But only for a moment.

The duke turned to her with such a sudden movement she
jumped back. “Sophia, my love,” he said urgently, grabbing her arms. “Your
beauty inflames my passions. I am convulsed with desire when I am around you.”

She froze in panic. “Your Grace, please, I am not used to
being wooed with such extravagant words.”

“I cannot help myself. My body trembles in your presence.”
One hand released her arm only to wend its way around her waist. “I am greatly
aroused.” He pulled her toward him with a jerk.

His wheezing breaths huffed wet and heavy against her
forehead. She turned her face away. “Your Grace, sir, please let me go.”

The arm at her waist tightened. “I will, my darling, in
exchange for one little kiss.”

Disgust shivered up her spine to break out in a sweat on her
brow. “Please, Your Grace, don’t ask of me that which I cannot give freely.”

“Ah such virginal coyness is utterly delightful.” He cupped
her cheek, pushing her head to face him.

“No,” she whimpered.

“Relax, my darling, you’ll enjoy it.”

Never
. She would never kiss him. There could be
nothing more foul than kissing the Duke of Royston. She placed her palms
against his chest and pushed with all her might.

He didn’t budge. Instead he let her go. Sophia fell backward
with a thud, slipping on mud as she tried to right herself then tumbling down
the creek bank.

Instantly he was on top of her in a feigned attempt at
rescue. His body weighed her down, his weathered face hovered above her. He
licked his lips.

“Sophia, I only want what will eventually be mine.” His hot,
moist breath wet her cheek. “Don’t think you’ll be able to put me off our
wedding bed. You should avail yourself of the fruits of my experience.” His
hips pressed slightly into her. “You’ll grow to crave my presence.”

No
. She tried to push him off. He gripped her wrists
with one hand.

“Please leave me be.” She closed her eyes, wringing tears to
fall down the sides of her face.

He pawed at her skirts. “I promise the pain will be
momentary and if you’re a good girl, the pleasure will be endless.”

“My lady!” Anna’s anxious cry rang above her. “Are you
injured?”

The duke barked an expletive then stood and helped Sophia
up.

Anna stared at her like a frightened rabbit.

“I’m fine, Anna,” she assured, brushing her skirt, righting
her bonnet.

Anna smiled in relief before staring at Sophia’s dress. “My
lady, you’re terrifically muddy.”

Sophia had purposely worn an old dress, something she was
never going to wear again so she wouldn’t remind herself of the occasion.
However, she had planned to give it to Anna. Now the dress was ruined.

“Ah,” said the duke, looking too long at her backside, “but
it hasn’t soaked through. You’ll not catch a cold.”

Anna curtsied and apologized as if she had interrupted a
planned event. “My lady, I’ve prepared the luncheon, if you are so inclined,”
she said politely.

“Yes, Lady Sophia, we mustn’t let a little misstep upset our
whole outing.” The duke’s smile was sickeningly sweet.

Sophia
was
hungry. She pursed her lips and readied
herself for the rest of the afternoon.

* * * * *

Anna brushed out Lady Sophia’s hair, the long tresses still
damp from her evening bath but finally clean. They had both been surprised at
how insidious the mud had been at the base of her chignon.

When she first saw her lady fallen on the creek bank—her
bonnet askew, her skirts crumpled at her knees—Anna was certain what had
happened wasn’t a simple accident, that she had been
made
to fall in
some way. By the time they finished luncheon, Lady Sophia’s mood was in such a
state that the wickedness of the situation was fully apparent—to Anna at least,
as she knew her lady’s moods. The duke continued to chatter away as if Lady
Sophia wasn’t sullenly picking at her food in a muddy dress.

The dress was from Lady Sophia’s autumn wardrobe, a lovely
violet silk with green and cream stripes, pagoda sleeves with cream lace lining.
Anna had admired it during a hunting luncheon and her lady had said she could
certainly have the dress the following year. The day’s events left the fabric
quite stained and her lady had offered her profound regrets for its condition
when Anna undressed her. Anna decided to take it anyway. Her mother would clean
it, alter it and give it to one of her sisters. The dress would not go unused.

Lady Sophia followed her reflection in the mirror. “Thank
you, Anna, for coming when you did, when I had fallen. I think the duke was of
a mind to do something most monstrous.”

Anna slid the silver brush through a handful of silken
strands. “I had thought as much, my lady.”

“You see he was about to kiss me. I do not want to be kissed
by him. Ever.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t as if her lady had never been kissed before.
At the very least there was the rather dashing and handsome Mr. Peel. His
kisses were truly seductive. Anna’s insides flipped every time she thought of
the night of her lady’s birthday party. She would love a chance for such an
opportunity to arise again.

But really Lady Sophia should be engaged to him by now. Yet
for some reason, Mr. Peel was not considered a proper suitor. And while there
had not been an official announcement the duke’s successive invitations to
Harwell Hall implied
something
. A something that made him think he had
the right to kiss her.

Anna shuddered. Lady Sophia wed to the Duke of Royston? The
idea was appalling.

Practically every female servant at Harwell Hall had been
groped, leered at or inelegantly flattered by the man. That morning she had
bristled as he tucked the blankets around her skirts, squeezing her thighs in
the process. Everything about the duke was thoroughly disgusting.

Anna placed her hands on her lady’s shoulders, the sign she
was finished. “Whatever I can do to help you, Lady Sophia, please let me know.”
Anna met her mistress’ gaze in the mirror.

Lady Sophia clasped her hands with trembling fingers. “Thank
you, Anna.”

After making sure her lady was comfortable in her bed, Anna
said her good night and left for her own bed upstairs.

The hall clock chimed the early morning hour. The family and
their guests had stayed up very late talking, playing games and having a bit
too much brandy. She could not stifle a yawn and almost tripped on the stairs,
righting herself drowsily…

Someone grabbed her from behind, lifted her bodily. A hand
clamped over her mouth as her candle was snuffed out.

She struggled, tried to scream, but the man carrying her was
too strong and too determined.

He carried her to his room, told her to shut up, that if she
did not shut up he would hit her…if she did not let him do what he was going to
do to her, he would hit her harder…if she told anyone about any of this, he
would do so much worse than merely hit her…

An hour later, when she stumbled into her bedroom, shaking
with hatred and fear, she understood completely why her lady did not want to be
kissed by the Duke of Royston.

* * * * *

Arthur leaned against the mantel in his library then swirled
the brandy in his snifter. The amber liquor reflected the flames from the
hearth as if it were liquid fire in the bowl of the crystal. He smiled. He was
satisfied. And happy. Every aspect of his life was falling into place, and at a
mere twenty-four years old. Most men of his class were whoring and gambling at
his age, getting it out of their systems before the day came when they would
have to assume the responsibilities of a peerage, an estate—most likely
sprawling and poorly maintained—and spend endless hours in Parliament, debating
the price of grain. But Arthur wasn’t the whoring and gambling type.

And neither, it seemed, was Joseph. As business partners,
they were perfect for each other—Joseph had the ideas and technical know-how,
Arthur had access to money and investors. He was rather lucky to have been
introduced to Joseph during the one time he allowed himself the opportunity to
sow his wild oats in that exciting upstart of a country, the United States.

“Now what?” Joseph asked languidly from the leather
wingback.

The day had been a busy one of answering correspondence, of
compiling lists, of checking financial accounts. Arthur hadn’t been able to
talk much to Henny since breakfast but she had been busy with wedding plans
anyway. He wasn’t even sure she was coming to his room that night since she had
excused herself early at dinner. He had been far too tired to join his family
in the drawing room afterward so he and Joseph had decided to have a quiet
evening alone.

“Well now that we have loads of interest in the scheme, the
idea is to meet with small groups when we get to London. Show them the plans,
answer any questions.” He sipped his brandy. “I expect there’ll be lots of
questions about America in general that I simply will not be able to answer.”

Joseph chuckled. “It’s a country that spans three thousand
miles and is full of all sorts of people from all sorts of places. I wonder if
I will be able to adequately respond myself.”

Arthur flashed a grin. “Then you’ll have to make something
up. Something that makes America seem exciting enough to be a high-yield
investment but not so thrilling that they’ll fear they’ll lose all their money.”