ThePleasureDevice (17 page)

Helena began to cry.

It was a most unexpected response. Either she was
desperately in love with him or she felt quite the opposite. Joseph handed her
his handkerchief. “Sweet, please tell me why you are crying,” he said gently.

“I’m so terribly confused, Papa. I thought I was to marry a
duke or a marquess or an earl, and I did meet some very nice young men who
would eventually hold those titles, I even got on with some of them.” She
gulped a mouthful of air. “And I just thought that if I had to marry a man so
that I could be a duchess or countess and make you and Mama happy, then I would
accept that I might not be in love with whomever you would choose for me. But
then I fell in love and he was a doctor and I knew I couldn’t have him and it
was so unfair.”

Joseph was not quite certain he understood the last part of
her speech as it was said amidst screeching sobs and squawking breaths. But if
what he thought she said was really what she said, then he was prepared to
stand by her. “So, sweet, you are in love with Dr. Christopher, then?”

A deluge of fresh sobs fell uncontrollably. Joseph’s
patience with the female members of his household was wearing thin. “Helena,
pull yourself together. What is going on?”

“I’m in love with Dr. Ramsay!”

Sophia gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

As his daughter was thoroughly inconsolable, Joseph turned
to his wife. “Sophie, who is Dr. Ramsay?”

“He is Dr. Christopher’s colleague. They share an office.”

“I see.” Really he did not, but it was something to say.

“Papa,” Helena’s voice was thin and plaintive, “do I really
have to marry Dr. Christopher?”

Joseph wrapped his arms around his daughter. “No, my sweet,
you do not.”

* * * * *

Sophia tore her fingers from her mouth, thwarting the
impulse to chew on her nails as she paced in the library. Joseph had sent her
there while he pondered the predicament she had put them all in. She knew she
deserved to be punished in some way—at the very least berated—for her
unconscionable behavior. Only when Joseph had returned to London did she
comprehend how misguided, how enchanted she had been. Her husband’s presence
had brought her back to reality and sanity.

The door opened and she quickly turned toward a bookshelf,
the titles on the spines a blur from the tears pooling behind her lashes. She
couldn’t face him, she was too ashamed. She heard his footsteps on the carpet,
steady and even, until they stopped right behind her.

She braced herself for his bitter words, balling her fists,
shutting her eyes tight so she would not have to witness her own castigation.

Instead, she felt his hands, warm and strong, on her
shoulders.

“Sophie,” he murmured. His lips delicately brushed along the
pulse in her neck.

Every nerve in her body sparked with astonishment and
yearning. The tears fell to her cheeks as she trembled, her relief still tinged
with despair.

His hands smoothed down her arms, one returning to the high
collar of her dress. “I wonder what it is I do to you that makes you so
vulnerable when I’m gone?” He released her buttons slowly, one by one. “What it
is that a man can do for you that you cannot do for yourself?” He continued
undressing her, taking her bodice off and dropping it on a side table.

Sophia remained still as he unfastened her skirt and
petticoats and pushed them to the floor. His touch was gentle, allaying her
remaining fears.

He wrapped a strong arm around her waist, pulled her hip
back against his thigh, and slowly rubbed in a circular motion on her butt.

She tensed in glorious anticipation.

“Chastisement and discipline.” He rubbed more powerfully. “That
is properly the realm of the husband.”

His swat stung even through the layers of underclothes.

“No one else may do that,” he murmured against her ear. “It
is my privilege.”

The next blow produced a delicious burn that warmed the
wetness welling between her legs.

He urged her around until she faced him, then lifted her
chin and kissed her lips.

He hadn’t kissed her yet since he had returned. He hadn’t
kissed her for months. Her desperate hunger for his touch, his attention,
surged forth. She devoured all he offered, her fears melting into joy at his
own fervor for their reunion. Tears streamed down her face as she encircled his
neck with her arms. He pulled her more closely to him, deepening the kiss,
plumbing her depths with his tongue.

“A kiss. A difficult task when alone,” he said when they
parted. “Let’s find another.”

He undid her corset slowly, worrying his lower lip at first,
his expression softening in wonderment as the separation of each hook and eye
freed her. He pulled the garment off and let it fall to the ground with a thud,
then loosened the top of her chemise, drawing it down over her shoulders.

“A suck, that’s another.” He uncovered a breast, bent down
and took the nipple in his mouth.

His hot, moist tongue surprised her, awakening her once
again to his lust, quickening her need for him as if she were the libidinous
virgin of her youth. She arched for him, cradling his head in her hands as he
sought the other breast. He kissed the pale flesh before licking her hardened
tip, unrelenting, determined, expertly driving her to a culmination he had
first discovered so many years ago. A sharp nip sent her over the edge with an
ecstatic yelp.

“Yes, yes, let me pleasure you, my love.”

He continued his torment of her sensitive peaks as he pulled
down her chemise and untied her drawers. She complied with his actions
willingly, letting him take control, letting him expose her, letting him excite
her. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the large library table in
the center of the room, then placed her on the edge gently. He parted her legs
as he knelt on the floor before her.

“I suppose it is rather difficult to lick yourself.”

She gasped when his tongue caressed her clitoris, lapping
enthusiastically at first, then tickling the sensitive nub with practiced
precision. She writhed on the polished table, his strong hands holding her
steady at her thighs, his fingers indenting her flesh. She pressed herself into
him, wrapped her stocking-clad legs around his neck, wanting more. He gave her
everything she wanted, everything she needed.

Her cries of pleasure mingled with his moans of
satisfaction.

He moved up her body, kissing every inch of her with wet,
slick lips until he reached her mouth. Her hands cupped his face, the stubble
masculine and thrilling, rough on her sensitive skin. He explored the depths of
her mouth as he had explored her sex, all the while frantically removing what
he could reach of his own clothing, parting from her only briefly to tear off
his shirt. She watched as he stripped, enthralled at his enthusiasm, enamored
at his eagerness, enticed by his excitement. He was rampant, his eyes and face
revealing his devoted desire.

“And you certainly cannot do this on your own.”

He entered her slowly, holding her eyes with his, now
darkened with lust, marking her reactions, sighing his approbation and
gratification as she succumbed.

When he was embedded fully, he held himself there, unmoving,
then clasped her body to his.

“I love you so very much,” he murmured, his breath hot on
her skin. “Nothing will change that.”

“I’m so sorry—”

“Shh, love. I know. I know. I’ve been far too neglectful of
late. Let me make up for it.”

He kissed her lips tenderly, then plunged in, his tongue
mirroring his thrusts below. His hands roamed impatiently, frantically,
touching her everywhere, making up for lost time. He rapidly reached a steady
rhythm, driving them both to the edge of finality.

“Joseph…darling…stay inside me when you have your crisis.”

“Yes, my love.” He slammed inside her one last time,
growling his release amidst her cries of ecstasy.

He held her sobbing, shaking form closely, his own tears
dampening her neck and back.

“Darling Sophie, I’ve no more need to go to America quite so
frequently. I’ve put a man in charge. He’s far better with guns than I am, and
a damn good engineer. He’ll send me reports.” He caressed her back, then
trailed his fingers gently up her spine. “It’s time we acted like a proper
husband and wife. No more affairs, Sophie. Not for a while, anyway.”

“Yes, Joseph.” It was what she had wanted for a very long
time.

“We’ll not let any machines come between us ever again.”

* * * * *

Helena could not believe her eyes. The moment she had opened
the library door just a crack, she knew she should not have been in the
doorway. The scene before her was riveting, like the illustrations from the
naughty books come to life. Seeing her mother and father joined in an intimate
act of lovemaking was jolting at first, but after less than a second, rather
intriguing. They were the both of them in the prime of life, their bodies
perfect paradigms of the male and the female, their intercourse the acme of
physical ecstasy and emotional joy.

She did not watch to the end, that was an intimacy for them
to experience only. But when she silently closed the door and walked away, she
wondered if she would ever share such a perfect union with another soul and
rejoiced that she would not have to take part in such acts with Dr. Julius
Christopher.

Julius read the note over and over until he could no longer
decipher the words. Sophia’s handwriting was as precise as her meaning. Mr.
Joseph Phillips had disallowed the marriage of his daughter to Julius. The
engagement was rendered null and void, as the consent of both parents was
required for the marriage of a young woman under twenty-one years of age.
Sophia warned against Julius pursuing the matter and reminded him the promise
to marry was obtained by fraud.

It was, of course, one possible outcome, but as Mr. Phillips
had been overseas for an uncertain amount of time, one that Julius had hoped to
avoid.

What the hell compelled the man to return all the way across
the Atlantic back to England anyway? With their damn democracy and
republicanism and egalitarianism, Americans couldn’t tell a baronet from the
Prince of Wales. Someone must have told him.

Lavinia
.

Julius cursed the woman.

She couldn’t stand that her former lover could find
happiness without her. That was it, wasn’t it? Surely her latest fancy-man was
not enough of a distraction that she had to meddle into his life as well.
Clearly, Dr. Nicholas Ramsay needed to learn a thing or two about women, and
one was that they could not be relied upon for promoting a man’s career.

“Out!” Julius yelled as he stormed into Ramsay’s office.

Grace clutched the tea tray for dear life, her face twisted
in anxious surprise.

The young doctor rose slowly from his desk, a pen still
poised in his hand. “Dr. Christopher, what is the matter?” he asked in a voice imbued
with a mixture of assurance and distress.

“You are the matter. I want you out of here. Now. You are
not needed back.”

“I don’t understand, sir,” he said far too coolly. “What is
it I am supposed to have done?” The sod should have been whining.

“Please, Dr. Christopher, Dr. Ramsay is a good doctor. The
patients love him—”

“Grace, stay out of this. Go to my examination room at once
and wait for me there.”

“Yes, sir.” She curtsied before leaving.

Julius strutted before his colleague who, it appeared, was
finally feeling some measure of agitation. Good. Let him wonder what the future
held for him.

“I offered to mentor you and allowed you to share my office
based on the recommendation of a certain woman. Due to current circumstances
that woman is no longer in my favor.”

“Lavinia? What has she done?”

The use of the familiar name only highlighted the fact that
the young man was bedding her. “Lady Foxley-Graham has convinced my fiancée’s
father to not consent to the marriage.”

Ramsay paled. “I’m certain she did no such thing, Dr.
Christopher.” The hesitation of his words betrayed his knowledge of the scheme.

“Obviously she did it for your benefit. But why Helena would
marry a dolt like you is beyond comprehension, really.”

Ramsay just stared at the floor, pursing his lips in
strained emotion.

“I will give you five minutes to gather your personal
effects, then I want you out of here. Truthfully, I hope to never see you
again. Do you understand me, boy?”

“Yes, sir, Dr. Christopher.”

Julius strode out and into his own examination room, where
Grace sat primly on a chair waiting for his instructions. She was far too
nervous, as if she had been part of the plot all along. He eyed her intently.

“You haven’t been sleeping with him as well, have you?”

“What! Who?”

“Your Dr. Ramsay.”

“Dr. Ramsay!” As if the idea had never crossed her mind. “Oh
no, sir. I would never. Please, you have to believe me!”

She remained seated during her protest, staring up at him,
her golden-brown eyes wide and helpless. He absently took off her cap, pulling
the pins from her hair until it fell to her shoulders in soft brown waves.

Like it used to.

Her hair was still the same color it had been twenty years
ago, chocolate brown mixed with streaks of gold and ebony, always a welcome
sight against the crisp white of his bed pillows. Julius grabbed a handful of
her tresses and pressed it to his lips, then drew the strands through his
fingers, slowly, until he reached the ends. He pulled upward, evoking a squeak
of complaint.

He laughed derisively. “Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it.”

He wrapped her hair around his fist and pulled her out of
the chair, yanking back until her face was in full view. She cringed in pain.
Then he did the one thing he had been waiting decades to do.

He slapped her.

“Julius?” Tears streamed from her frightened eyes.

But he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear her
explanations or her protests or her promises. She had nearly destroyed him back
then. She needed to learn her place now.

One hand pressed against her mouth, he dragged her by her
lovely brown hair to the examination table and bent her over, securing her arms
with the restraints meant for an uncooperative patient. Her dress was certainly
an impediment to her lessons, so he grabbed his medical shears and cut down the
back, back up through the lacings of her corset, back down through the sheer
fabric of her chemise, careful not to nick her smooth, creamy flesh nor slice
her luxurious locks. His cock livened as he pulled aside the rent clothing,
disappointment sputtering through him at the sight of her cambric drawers.
Those too he cut, right through at the crotch, admiring the sight of the lacy
fabric slipping down to her ankles.

“I cannot tolerate such behavior, my dear. It is most
unbecoming for a lady to betray her lover. You have been very wicked.”

He grabbed his ebony-handled vectis, never realizing until
that moment that the obstetric instrument was well-shaped as a tool of
chastisement. He drew in a long breath as his hand caressed the coolness of the
looped metal end, the feel of the sensuous curve under his fingertips sending a
lascivious thrill to pulse within him. He lifted his arm and struck the vectis
against the perfect white skin of his lover’s behind.

She cried out at the impact. He lovingly touched the now-pink
flesh, soothing her, priming her for the next swat.

He mirrored the strike on the other fleshy cheek and cooed
honeyed words to ease her fears.

By the fourth blow, she was no longer crying. She lay
unmoving, subdued.

Julius fingered her cunt. She was wet, deliciously so. He
chuckled to himself. Pain did always result in pleasure. He kicked her legs
open as he unbuttoned his fly. Entering her was a bit of a nuisance, as she was
not totally primed. It wasn’t his problem, though, his only concern was his
relief and her reprimand.

He slammed into her with such force the table moved. He
grabbed her hair once again, holding it like the reins of a horse, while he
plowed into her over and over, this time with the needed leverage. She endured
her discipline silently. Her submission was most appreciated, her cunt even
fluttered around him. As quick as his anger with his old lover was to flare, it
was just as quick to assuage. His crisis was upon him rapidly.

He pulled out and spewed his semen onto her naked back and
thighs. As he let his breathing calm, he watched rivulets of the milky fluid
course down and drip onto the floor.

Disgusted, Julius left the room and closed the door.

* * * * *

Nicholas was overjoyed with the news. Helena was free of
Julius Christopher and his debauchery.

Helena was his.

Well, he hoped at least. Mr. Phillips’ arrival on the scene
certainly shook up one man’s plans—he would have no idea how the American would
react to his offer of marriage.

Lavinia’s butler should have been used to his rather boorish
way of bursting into her townhouse and demanding to see her wherever she was.
She was, as usual, in her morning room reading the afternoon paper.

“Darling, the most wonderful news,” he said as she smiled at
him in surprise.

“Nicky! Sit down.” She patted the couch next to her.

Instead he pulled her up out of her seat and whirled her
about. “Vinny, I’ve been shelved by your former lover.”

“Julius? Whatever for?” She looked so charming with tendrils
of loosened hair framing her inquisitive face.

“Because of you.” He gave her a squeeze of victory. “It
seems you were the author of a great plot to bring Mr. Phillips back to England
and refuse consent to his daughter’s marriage.”

“Yes, I suppose I was.” She freed herself from his zealous
embrace. “How did Julius come to find out?”

“He’s not daft, darling.” He grabbed her hands. “Vinny, she’s
free. Helena’s free!” He felt possibility all around him.

She beamed, his own happiness reflected in her expression. “Nicky,
come with me upstairs. I’ve something for you, for precisely this occasion.”

They quickly climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Nicholas lay
on the familiar bed and watched her root around in her jewelry cases.

“It’s been a few years, but I know it’s here somewhere.” She
kept looking. “Aha!”

She sat on the bed next to him and opened her hand. In her palm
were three rings.

“This one’s yours,” she said handing him a masculine band of
gold. “Your family signet ring, remember?”

He did remember. He had put it on the nightstand in his
bedroom at the estate the day he left.

“Your mother found it and kept it. She wore it around her
neck.”

“Oh God. I never knew that.” Old emotions of sorrow and
regret swelled in him.

“And this was her engagement ring. It’s been the property of
the Earls of St. Albans for generations. And this,” she held up a simple but
elegant gold band, “was her wedding ring. It was made expressly for her by your
father.” She placed both in his outstretched palm.

Nicholas stared at the precious rings, remembering how tiny
his mother’s hands were, how delicate her fingers. How small she was against
the brutality of his father. He could no longer hold back the tears.

“Shh, shh, love,” Lavinia consoled. “I took them from her
room after her death. She always meant for you to have them. She actually
predicted Jack would not survive your father. She knew you would come back and
return honor to the family.”

He put his own ring on his pinkie finger. It felt heavy, its
weight not just from the gold but from the memories of his painful past. He
knew he would grow accustomed to the feeling of it on his hand, just as he
would eventually grow accustomed to the responsibilities of his position.

“It still fits you, darling.” Lavinia traced the
circumference.

“Yes.” Nicholas held the engagement ring to the sunlight
streaming through the window. “Emerald,” he said. “It will look lovely on
Helena with her coloring.”

“Yes, darling, it will.”

“But, Vinny, what do I do? Mr. Phillips will think it odd an
earl has simply come out of the woodwork to marry his daughter. Especially
since Helena has absolutely no idea.”

“Yes, you may be right.” Lavinia pressed a finger to her
lips in thought. “Look, I have a plan, Nicky darling. Tonight is the Raeburn
ball. I’ll send a message to Charlotte to make sure the entire Phillips family
is in attendance.”

“But surely Helena will not be in any mood to go to a ball.”

“The girl must not appear to be too distraught over a broken
engagement, otherwise no other man will think there is room in her heart. She
will be there. And so will you. I know Lord and Lady Raeburn intimately. I’ll
make sure your entrance is most memorable.”

* * * * *

Grace remained in her position bent over the examination
table long after Julius had left. His mood was a new one, and she wasn’t sure
what the consequences would be if he found her attempting to free herself.

The once-warm ejaculate had turned cold long ago, its
wetness now dried globules cool on her back, uncovered and exposed to the
chilly air. She had been utterly terrified during the whole ordeal. Dr.
Christopher had never hit her before, had never before threatened her with any
implement, sharp or otherwise. As he cut her clothes in his agitated state, she
had braced herself against a nick. Her bum still ached where he had struck her.

While she knew him to be eccentric, she had never thought
him dangerous. Her only consolation was that she knew he relied upon her for
his experiments, perhaps even enjoyed their times together. She’d been
faithful, loyal in her desire to serve him. He couldn’t possibly have been
angry with her.

No, it was someone else.

A woman.

Deep in the recesses of his past a woman still tormented
him, still tortured him. Whoever she was, Julius needed to forget her.

It was dusk when Grace decided she had waited long enough.
She worried at the buckles of the restraints, loosening them until she could
get her hands through. Her clothing sagged on her body. She took off what was
left of her drawers and turned her dress around. She was about to leave, to go
to her room, have a bath, attempt to salvage what she could of her dress, when
she was stopped by an idea. She looked at the doors of the cabinets lining one
corner of the room, knowing what existed behind them. She had watched Dr.
Ramsay make tinctures of opium for mothers and for children, so she knew the proper
proportions. Well, at least, how not to kill a man.

After all, she didn’t want to hurt her Julius. She just
wanted to prove her worth to him and help him forget.