ThePleasureDevice (19 page)

“No, darling, I don’t, because I want you to be my wife.”

Helena stifled a squeal of joy, emitting a clipped squeak
instead. The horrid noise turned heads on the terrace.

Which made her giggle.

“How can I possibly ask you to marry me when you are
laughing?” Nicholas asked, clearly trying to quash his own mirth.

She wanted to scream and shout, twirl about in uninhibited
joy. Instead, she sucked her lips between her teeth, struggling to contain a grin.

“You might want to take a breath soon.”

It was true, she was holding her breath. “Nicholas,” she
puffed, “you’ll need to—”

“Ask your father?” He chuckled. “Don’t worry. After your
last suitor, I plan to do this correctly.”

Hope and possibility flurried about in her head. “He cannot
refuse you. He simply cannot. You’re an earl. It’s what they want for me.”

He was what she wanted for her as well.

* * * * *

Julius had forgotten how exhausting a full day of dealing
with frightened mothers and their ill children could be. Perhaps he had been
rash in dismissing the young Ramsay. The lad was certainly well-liked, from the
inquiries after his health posed by his patients. But Julius had to remind
himself, Ramsay knew far too much and meddled in his affairs rather
excessively. He exhaled a long breath in exasperation.

Grace knocked before entering with the tea tray.

“Thank you, Grace.” Julius eyed her. She also knew too much,
but she was useful and, he had to admit, not just as a servant. He watched her,
certain she was moving her hips in an exaggerated manner.

When she was finished with preparing his cup, she went
around the office straightening up without a word. She had been very subdued
since the incident after he had dismissed Ramsay. As he drank his tea—a bit too
strong for his liking—he wondered if he should apologize.

“Grace?”

She looked at him with a strained expression. “Yes, Dr.
Christopher?”

“Since you’ve been in my employ I have come to rely upon
you.” He took another sip of tea. This time it seemed not just strong, but
oddly bitter. He never used sugar but even a lump of that did not help. He winced
and put the cup down.

Grace stepped forward. “Thank you, sir.” She seemed keen to
observe his expression. He liked that, he supposed.

“I just wanted to say that I hope you understand that if I
have mistreated you in the past, it was a mistake.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Julius stood to leave. A rush of dizziness made him somewhat
unsteady. Exhaustion probably. He got as far as the office door.

Grace was by his side when he fell to one knee. “Doctor!”
She grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her shoulder.

“Thank you,” he murmured, stupefied. “If you could help me
upstairs to the study—”

“No,” she said firmly. “We’ll just go in here.” She led him
into the opposite office and bent him over the examination table. The padded
table felt oddly comfortable under his enervated torso. He watched as she set
to busying about, with what, he wasn’t quite sure.

His limbs felt heavy and weak. He tried to lift his head but
it could only loll against the padding. His eyes grew drowsy watching Grace.
She was doing something with the leather bindings on the sides of the table. He
raised his head with great effort and found his upper body had been strapped
down. “Grace?” he queried meekly.

But she said nothing as she closed and locked the office
door.

A sudden rush of anxiety burst into fear. Grace would never
do anything to harm him, would she?

He heard her move the metal cart closer to the examination
table, heard her set up the electro-mechanical vibrating machine as she had
been taught to do. But she was taking too long, doing something that he didn’t
always do to the machine, something they did infrequently, only with certain
patients. He tried to think, but his mind was growing murkier by the minute.

She went to the cabinets, took something out and came back.
Her movements were matter-of-fact, as if he were an actual patient and not a…

Captive.

She was behind him, unbuttoning his suspenders, unbuttoning
his trousers, untucking his shirt.

She paused only a moment to snap open a pair of shears.

The blades were cold against his back as she cut right
through his trousers and drawers from the waistband to the fly. Alarm lifted
him momentarily from his delirious state when the blades passed between his
buttocks and under his stones. However, she was very careful. She had learned
such delicacy from his lessons in dressing wounds and cutting bandages.

“Now, Julius,” she said with the blades still poised between
his thighs, “you will spread your legs wide. It should be so much easier now
that I’ve cut your trousers.”

He did so with difficulty, his legs as heavy as lead.

She reached under him and grabbed his cock. He jolted up.

“Ah, the locus of pleasure,” she said.

As if a trained courtesan, Grace masturbated him to full
stand, coaxing and giggling in his ear. The stimulation was confusing and
arousing, his mind somehow disconnected yet all at once immersed in the intense
feelings.

She released him, engorged and unsatisfied. Behind him she
moved the machine once again. He heard the familiar click and buzzing of the
motor.

Suddenly her insistent and oily fingers separated his butt
cheeks to massage his anus, twisting inside him and pulling out, first one
finger, then two. Julius sighed.

“I think we’re ready.”

Something nudged against his lubricated buttocks, something
oscillating with a rapid rhythm.

Julius lurched when the rubber tip of the vibrator pushed
into the tight puckered hole of his arse. Grace consoled him with encouraging
words while she slowly drove the device deeper and deeper. He wanted it, he
didn’t want it, his mind vacillating until the pain dissolved into an unknown
ecstasy.

Of course he knew intellectually that a man could be
stimulated physically in such a way as to achieve a sort of orgasm, knew from
his research that the ecstasy was more intense if effected along with genital
stimulation. He had, however, never himself actually experienced any such
thing.

Until now.

Grace grabbed his cock and massaged slowly, pumping
steadily, gripping resolutely. Inside him, the vibrations matched her rhythm,
the insistent pulsing intensifying her ministrations. She cooed over him,
assuring him she would take care of him, exhorting him to simply give in and
let go.

Julius flinched in reaction. He never let go. Grace most
definitely should not be in control.

But his body fought his intellect, mired in the most
wondrous sensations it had ever experienced. Grace, he convinced himself, was
simply taking him on a journey he had always been curious about.

He closed his eyes and relaxed on the padding to let Grace
do her will.

He spun into the depths where sensation became oblivion.

His culmination was unexpected, explosive, the most
astounding he had ever experienced.

Grace milked him seemingly endlessly, murmuring praises as
his emission spattered on the floor.

His body utterly spent, his mind retook control with a
nagging thought.

How had he ever lived without Grace?

It was a bold move, to be sure, but Nicholas did not want to
miss his chance, did not want to let Helena get away. He called on Mr. Phillips
at the Phillips’ Belgravia mansion at the earliest possible moment the very
next day after the Raeburn ball, determined to make Helena his bride.

Left to his own devices to wait in the morning room, he
paced around, surveying the décor. From the sleek geometric pottery displayed
on the hand-joined side table, to the Whistler landscape hanging against the
block-printed floral wallpaper, everything was new and modern, as if the
objects had jumped from the pages of one of Lavinia’s radical interior design
magazines. By lacking any sort of history, the room and its contents revealed
inhabitants who were defiantly forward-looking. Even the house itself was new,
the Phillipses probably the very first occupants.

It made Nicholas potently aware that, with Helena at his
side, he would start a new life, free from the entanglements of his own past,
his own heritage.

He was kept waiting longer than he had hoped, giving him
time to practice what he would say, yet also giving his stomach time to clench
with doubt and fear. Permission was not a certainty, especially after the
disaster with Dr. Christopher.

Nicholas desperately wished Helena were there with him. Her
presence would buoy him, her love would give him strength.

The door opened and Mr. Phillips entered, the almost
imperceptible dishevelment of his morning suit hinting at his already having
attended to a great deal of business that day. He raised his brows in surprise.

“Albans, correct?”

“Actually, St. Albans, sir.”

Mr. Phillips snorted at the correction. “What are you doing
here, son?”

American directness was quite disarming. “Yes, to get to the
point, sir, I would like to ask your permission for your daughter’s hand in
marriage.”

“You too?” he exclaimed. He threw up his hands and shook his
head in irritation.

Had the floodgates restraining the legions of Helena’s
suitors suddenly been opened? “Sir?”

Mr. Phillips’ countenance grew stern. “After that blasted
Christopher affair I’m not sure Helena’s ready to marry anyone.”

Nicholas’ heart sank. He had been prepared to plead his case
but was not prepared for such a vehement reaction. “Sir, if I may say so,” he
began quietly, “I’ve known your daughter all Season. We get on quite well.”

“That may well be, young man, but she claims to be in love
with someone else.”

Helena in love? Of course it was with him. “Pardon me for
asking, sir, but who might that be?”

“Some fellow named Ramsay.”

“Dr. Nicholas Ramsay?”

Mr. Phillips brightened only slightly. “Why yes. Do you know
him?”

“Yes, sir. Well, what I mean to say, sir, is that I am Dr.
Nicholas Ramsay.”
Blast!
The man was making him far too nervous.

Mr. Phillips frowned. “What the devil do you mean by that?
Is this a joke?”

“No, sir. You can ask Miss Phillips to confirm, if you like.”

Mr. Phillips paced before Nicholas, staring at him warily,
like a lion ready to strike its prey. “Is this one of those English
aristocratic quirks where the nobility have all sorts of names?”

Nicholas did not know how precisely to respond to that. The
question was partly an insult, partly in earnest. “It may very well be, sir. I
was born Nicholas Atherley, the second son of my father, the Earl of St.
Albans. My older brother, Jonathan, was in line to inherit from my father. But
he died before my father and so I became the heir.”

“So where does ‘Ramsay’ come in? And the part about being a
doctor?”

“Ramsay is my mother’s surname. And it is traditional for
second sons to take on a profession of sorts, so I became a doctor.”

Despite his weak attempt at cluttering subterfuge, Nicholas
could tell his omissions were not missed by Mr. Phillips. “Why do you not use
the name Atherley?”

Nicholas drew in a bolstering breath. Honesty worked with
Helena, so it might be the best course of action with her father. “My father was
cruel to my mother, sir, as was my brother. When I reached my majority and
received an income, I left my family and went abroad. I decided to study to
become a doctor. A few years ago, I received word that my mother had been
killed by my brother. In her honor and to distance myself from my father, I
took the name Ramsay.”

“And how much of this story does my daughter know?”

Nicholas started at that, slightly abashed. “I’ve only just
told her, sir.”

“What do you mean by that—’only just’?”

“Last night, sir. I told her everything last night.”

“Last night?” He slammed his fist on a table dulling the
polish. “Last night! You’ve known her for how long—two months?—and you only
told her last night?”

“I was only just recently made earl, sir.”

“But you thought nothing of harboring secrets from the woman
you supposedly love?”

“Until I was made earl I was not considered worthy of your
daughter’s hand. We were merely friends, sir. The truth did not seem important.”

The second the words came out Nicholas wanted to take them
back.

“Truth not important?” Mr. Phillips hissed. “Well, tell me
the truth now, Ramsay. When you say your father and brother were cruel to your
mother, what do you mean by that?”

Nicholas swallowed hard. “My father beat her and cheated on
her, my brother was cruel with his words,” he admitted ashamedly.

Mr. Phillips eyed him. “And how did your brother die?”

It was as if he knew, and knew the answer would be damning
to Nicholas’ suit. “My brother shot himself, sir.”

“And your father?”

“My brother shot my father. The wound was not treated
properly. He died a short while later.”

Mr. Phillips clenched his fists and paced slowly but
determinedly in front of Nicholas. “Guns,” he muttered. He stopped and rounded
on his guest. “So, Nicholas Ramsay, doctor and earl, what you are saying to me
is that you come from a family of a murderous and violent disposition and you
have been hiding this from my daughter for most of the time you’ve known her.
Now I should ask you, if you were in my position would you allow your daughter
to marry such a man?”

Nicholas was stunned at the question and all it implied. “Sir,
it is not like that at all. I love Helena—”

“Do you know what love is, young man? I have been married
for eighteen years to the woman I love. I have never been deceitful to her.
There are no secrets between us. I have been nothing but honest with her. And I
expect no less for my daughter. Do you understand?”

Nicholas fought back every angry riposte, desperately
tamping the rage welling within him. Before he could respond the door to the
morning room opened. It was Helena.

She looked at both men, wide-eyed, realizing she had just
interrupted something rather grave.

“Papa?” Her brow twisted in anguish.

“Helena, sweet, do you know this man?” Her presence had softened
him somewhat.

“Of course, Papa,” she intoned with quiet incredulity. “We
danced at the Raeburns’ last night.”

“Yes, of course you did. What I mean is, do you know his
name?”

“His name?” Helena looked questioningly at Nicholas, but all
he could do was nod. “His name is Nicholas,” she responded.

“Do you know the name given him at birth?”

Alarm flitted across her face. “Papa?”

“Do you know who he is?”

“He is a doctor,” she responded meekly, “and I suppose he is
now Earl of St. Albans.”

“Do you know how his mother died?”

“His mother?” Helena turned to Nicholas again, fear in her
eyes. “She was killed by his brother, Papa,” she said helplessly.

“And do you wish the same fate to befall you?” Mr. Phillips
bellowed. “Helena, this man has asked for your hand in marriage and I have
forbidden it. He has won your love through deceit, concealing his family’s
murderous past. I cannot allow such a union. It is almost as preposterous as
marriage to that Dr. Christopher.”

Helena paled, gaping at her father, wavering as if she were
going to faint. She turned to Nicholas, tears in her eyes. He reached for her
but she ran from the room.

Nicholas’ heart tightened, the loss of his love leaving him
bereft, debilitated, the same overwhelming bleakness he had felt after reading
the news of his mother’s death.

He turned on his heel and left.

* * * * *

Alone in her room, Helena sobbed into her pillow.

She had no idea what had just transpired between Papa and
Nicholas. All she knew was that she loved Nicholas enough to spend the rest of
her life with him. But she also loved Papa and had to respect his decision.

Except in this instance her father was wrong. She was sure
of it. Nicholas would never hurt her. Never.

She gulped air and cried until her head hurt, until she
could cry no more. Until she fell asleep from exhaustion.

The memory of Nicholas’ pained and defeated expression
before her father ripped her from her dreams. Nicholas wanted to be with her as
much as she wanted to be with him. She had to do something.

It was late afternoon, still an acceptable time of day for a
young lady to visit a friend. If she took the back stairs and left the house
from the servants’ hall, no one would think anything of it. Busy servants
certainly wouldn’t inquire as to where she was going and if she had permission
to go.

Helena had only been past Lady Foxley-Graham’s house, and in
a carriage, but she was certain she knew where it was and how to get there. She
knocked on the wrong door at first, and was directed to the right one.

Lady Foxley-Graham was certainly very surprised to see her.

“Miss Phillips, this is quite unexpected.”

But Helena was tired of formalities and let loose with a
deluge of emotions. Lavinia, as she requested to be called, listened to her
every word, consoling her.

“Lavinia, why would my father forbid us to be together?” she
asked through sniffles and tears.

“He’s worried for your safety, I suppose,” she replied,
stroking Helena’s hair as her mother would. “He must have been shocked to hear
of Nicholas’ past. Your father cares for you very much.”

“But Nicholas is nothing like his family! He’s sweet and
kind and ever such a gentleman.”

“You must prove that to your father.”

“How can I?”

“We’ll think of something, dear.”

Lavinia told her butler to cancel all her engagements for
that evening, that she was to be undisturbed “by anyone”.

Helena giggled. “You’re expecting him tonight, aren’t you?”

Lavinia blushed. “Helena—”

“I don’t mind. It makes him ever so much more appealing
having a longtime special friend like you. That’s a point in his favor, don’t
you think?”

Lavinia laughed. “Well, I don’t think your father wants to
know that Nicky has a mistress. We’ll keep that part out.”

Nicky
. It was so personal, so intimate.

“Lavinia, tell me everything about him. Please.”

For the rest of the evening, Helena was enthralled with
stories about Nicholas Ramsay.

* * * * *

Morning light streamed into the library as Helena searched
Lavinia’s collection for something diverting. Lavinia had decided Helena should
avail herself of her books while “this whole horrible business” was being
settled. She had said she would send word later that morning to Mama and Papa
about her whereabouts.

“Helena, I think I’ve found the novels,” Lavinia called from
the other side of the room. “Ah, yes, here they are.”

Lavinia held out a volume of Jane Austen.

“
Persuasion
. Ironic, isn’t it?” Helena took the book
and settled on the window seat.

The door to the library crashed open.

“Vinny, what do you mean by canceling last night! I’ve been
in a complete funk. I needed you—”

It was Nicholas. He stopped the moment their eyes met.

“Helena,” he greeted her with strained emotion. “Lavinia, I
apologize, I had no idea you had company.”

Lavinia went to him, caressing his shoulders tenderly. “Darling,
Helena has run away from home.” She took his hands in hers and led him to the
window seat. “She came here, of all places. Her parents do not know where she
is yet.”

Helena knew she should feel a pang of envy but she did not.
It was exciting to see Nicholas and his lover acting so comfortably familiar
with each other.

Nicholas looked at her with concern. “Helena, is this true?”

“Nicholas, my father was beastly to you. And to me as well.”
She looked up at him. “You came to ask for my hand and I want to marry you. Why
does he want to keep us apart?”

Nicholas perched on the edge of the window seat. “I
completely understand his motives. He’s trying to protect you from a wretched
life, which, I am sure, far too many wives must endure.”

There was a tap on the door before the butler, Mr. Sims, entered.
He shot Nicholas a withering look as he handed Lavinia a calling card on his
silver tray.

“Oh! It appears I have a visitor. I must excuse myself.”
Lavinia gave both Helena and Nicholas the once-over. “You two behave
yourselves. I will only be downstairs. Wait here and I will return.”

When she left, Helena giggled.

“Why so amused?”

“I think Lavinia is afraid I will ravish you in the library.”

Nicholas flushed crimson. He sat back on the seat and gazed
at her. “You should behave yourself, young lady. For both our sakes. You’ve
done a very bad thing and your parents will think I’m to blame.”

Helena pouted. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I was just so
upset.” She reached for his hand and almost fainted from joy when their fingers
touched, interlacing. “But my father was so unreasonable.”

Nicholas exhaled and leaned against the side of the niche. “I
think part of it is that I wasn’t completely honest with you about my past, but
really I had no need to be. I was never going to be considered a potential
suitor for you. I was only a doctor.” There was a twinkle in his eye. “Then
everything happened so fast and I wanted you to be mine as soon as possible. It
was really my mistake for thinking I could suddenly ask for your hand without a
proper courtship.” He toyed with her fingers still touching his. “I suppose I
was emboldened by my love for you.”