ThePleasureDevice (8 page)

“Miss Phillips!”

She giggled. “Mama and Papa weren’t married when they had
me.”

Ah, yes, the scandal. Damn their impetuous hearts. “Yes, but
they eventually got married to raise you, did they not?”

She giggled again, gently, melodically, not cruelly. “You
want a woman who will inspire you to make children.”

His cock stirred uncomfortably. “You are incorrigible,” he
said with a chuckle. “But yes, I want a family. And a wife who will be my
companion and friend, someone with whom I can discuss my work.”

She shifted on her feet and emitted a noise akin to a sigh. “Do
you have family now?” she asked quietly.

“Only my brother and my father. We’re not close.” That was a
subject Nicholas was most definitely not willing to discuss. “You? Do you have
brothers and sisters?” he deflected the question. He already knew the answer.

“No. I am a solitary child. I know no other life, but I
think it must be better to have more than one.”

Nicholas empathized. “As long as the brood gets on with each
other.”

“But wouldn’t they if their parents got on? Is it such a
naive notion to think that if a man and a woman love each other their children would
be happy and convivial?”

It was something Nicholas simply had no knowledge of. “Perhaps
that would be the case. I suppose you’ll discover the answer when you fall in
love.”

Helena shifted her weight from one foot to the other and
back again. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

“Falling in love.”

A spine-tingling shiver shot through him. How the devil was
he supposed to answer that?
It’s like what I’m feeling right now for you?
Well, at least he imagined that was what falling in love felt like. “It’s a
sensation of just wanting to be with someone, no matter how mundane the
situation. I think magazines and novels will tell you it’s all flowers and
carriage rides but really it’s feeling comfortable and elated all at once. I
think you’ll know when you’ve fallen in love.”

“And how will I know if he loves me back?”

That was something Nicholas could not answer. He hoped
Helena felt something for him, thought she might, but short of outright asking,
he really didn’t know. “He might tell you.”

“Then what do I do if he does love me?” she said timidly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if he wants to kiss me? I’ve never been kissed
before. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

The shiver stirred inside, swirling around his heart. “Never?
You’ve never kissed a man?” Why on earth no one had ever tried was beyond his
comprehension.

“Never.”

She stepped closer to the elm, to the crook of a large low
branch. Nicholas joined her, moving until he could see her face illuminated by
the tiniest sliver of pale moonlight. A stubborn root raised above the earth
meant he had to be very close to her to get the view. Very close. The warmth of
her flesh, her delicate perfume enlivened his senses.

“Is it nice?” she asked eagerly.

Nicholas felt his burgeoning arousal grow more insistent. “Is
what nice?” he said, stalling.

“When you kiss Lady Foxley-Graham.” She shifted again, ever
so slightly, but enough that her hand touched his. Her bare, ungloved hand.

Every nerve in Nicholas’ body came alive at the contact. “It
is very nice,” he choked out.

Her fingers, delicate and soft, threaded through his. “Will
you…will you tell me what it’s like?” Her eyes widened at the prospect of
merely listening to him tell her about kissing.

Nicholas swallowed hard. “When two people kiss you don’t
just feel it on the lips.”

“No?” she asked ingenuously.

“No. You feel it…other places.” As if on cue, his cock
twitched to full stand.

“Like where?”

His body ached from self-restraint until he could bear it no
longer. He bent his head and brushed his lips against hers, his heart thrilling
at how wonderfully soft and warm she was.

Helena flinched a little in surprise, a reaction that only
encouraged him, his determination to explore emboldening her. Nicholas pecked
gently at her upper lip, then the lower, then repeated the motion more
languidly. She placed her hands tentatively on his shoulders, holding herself
steady before sliding her hands around his neck, drawing herself more closely
to him. An eager pupil, she mimicked his tasting of her by eagerly tasting him
back, her sighs of desire natural, instinctive. When he tantalized her with his
tongue, she opened her mouth for him, letting him plumb her depths, letting him
take his pleasure with a rumbling growl, mewling her yearning approval. She was
an absolute natural at the game.

He pulled back, panting, incredulous. “That was your first
time?”

“Yes.” She was breathless. “I felt it.”

“Felt what?”

“Felt the kiss in…in other places.”

Damn and blast!
It was outright seduction. “Helena—Miss
Phillips, we mustn’t do that ever again—”

“No,” she sighed.

“We can’t. Two people in our positions—”

“No.” It came out as a little moan.

“You’re supposed to marry a duke.”

“Or an earl.”

She couldn’t possibly realize what those words meant to him.
He had to remind himself he was never going to be an earl, never going to have
the lovely Helena Phillips as his own.

But right now she was his. He couldn’t stand it any longer.
He had to have her again.

He reached for her, crushing his lips to hers in
desperation. This time she knew what to do and confidence gave her leave to
delve into her own cravings to touch and feel. Her hands wandered across his
waist, gliding along his chest, wrapping around his neck as he leaned her
against the crook of the old elm. He pressed his hips against her, and she
responded with a tilt of her own, rubbing along his painfully needful erection.
Their bodies undulated naturally, their mouths delighted in mutual cadence, she
met every one of his actions with an equally enthusiastic reaction.

It would be this perfect when he made love to her.

When, not if…

He was a fool for harboring such fantasies.

Still, she was in his arms at that moment…

His hands spanned her back, her spine flexing and yielding
to his hold, arching to give him access to more of her. He trailed kisses down
her neck, along her shoulder, down to her heart thumping and pounding like his
own. Her perfume, heady with arousal, filled his senses. Her breaths were
ragged, each exhale intoned with a plaintive moan, her virgin body yearning for
some unknown fulfillment.

It was wrong to lead her astray. He pulled back, still
entwined in their dangerous embrace. “Helena, darling, we can’t do this.”

“I know.” She gasped for air. “But I want to.”

“I very much want to as well.” He rested his forehead on
hers, feeling the heat radiate from her flushed face. “But we mustn’t.”

She steadied her breath. “Nicholas, is it like that every
time?” Her smile, her eyes, her face glowed with contented wonder.

“When you’re with someone you love, yes, it is.”

She emitted a yearning hum.

He shouldn’t have said that, damn it, he shouldn’t have. He
shouldn’t lead her to believe he was in love with her, even when he knew damn
well that he was futilely fighting the feeling every damn day. Against his body’s
wishes, Nicholas released her. “Helena, darling, you must return inside at
once.” He studied her in the moonlight. “You may need to fix your hair. And put
on your gloves.”

“Yes, Nicholas.” She had regained some of her composure.

“I’ll follow in a few minutes. It…it shouldn’t appear…obvious.”
He watched her go and heaved a sigh, not of regret but of relief. For one brief
moment in time, she had been his. It was the best he could possibly hope for.

* * * * *

Helena did not want to return to the ballroom. She was
already dancing on air.

He had called her “darling”.

He had gazed at her adoringly.

He had
kissed
her.

The handsomest man in the world had kissed her and made her
feel wonderful. The warmth of his lips had penetrated her very soul, as well as
other very intimate parts of her body. Her breasts still tingled and below,
where she touched herself sometimes, she felt sticky and swollen, starved of a
satisfaction she did not yet know but now had an inkling of.

Until that moment, the moment when his arms enveloped her,
holding her steady as he assaulted her with pleasure, Helena had only imagined
such an act. She realized her imagination had been inadequate, lacking in
specifics, not knowing what details to fill in. She certainly had not imagined
the heavenly sensory experience that touched every aspect of her being. The
touch of his fingers, strong yet gentle; the sound of his voice, sonorous and
seductive; the look in his eyes, pleading yet determined; the scent of his
flesh, heated with desire.

The taste of his mouth…

He tasted soft and comforting. It was the only way she could
describe it. She traced a naked finger over her still-sensitive lips trying to
relive his touch, his taste.

When you’re with someone you love…

Helena pondered the words over and over. Did he love her?
How could he? They barely knew each other. And yet, there was something
electric, exciting, so utterly perfect every time they met. She became herself
around him. She did not need to pretend to be something she was not, did not
need to be dishonest for propriety’s sake. She had been thinking of him since
the first time she saw him, then more so after their first conversation,
fantasizing he was with her when she pleasured herself and constantly wondering
when she might see him next.

Was that attraction? Was it inspiration?

Was that love?

She really wasn’t sure. Her mother always pined for her
father when he was abroad, and they most certainly were in love. And when he
returned, her father always kissed her mother in very much the same manner
Nicholas had just kissed her.

She touched her finger to her lips again, then traced them
with her tongue. They felt tender, almost bruised. Would everyone at the
Shotwick ball know what she had just done? Could they tell just by looking at
her?

As she pulled her gloves from her reticule, she realized how
much she did not want to return to the ballroom. It was filled with dull,
uninspiring men, men who did not thrill her, who did not attract her, who could
never send her mind and body reeling, spinning, like Dr. Nicholas Ramsay could.

As she tugged her gloves on, she decided she did not care
very much what anyone thought, even if they could tell she had just had the
most incredible experience of her life.

She smiled. She still felt Nicholas’ kiss in a million
different places, some of them very far from her lips.

“Doctor, sir, who is that woman?” Grace asked from behind
the modesty screen as she took off her dress.

“Which woman, Grace?” asked Dr. Christopher absently.

“The one what comes over and sleeps here.” She tugged at the
hooks on her corset.

“She is a very dear friend of mine. Her name is Mrs.
Phillips.”

Dear friend?
“Is she in love with you?”

“Never you mind that, girl! Are you ready yet?” The doctor
seemed annoyed.

Grace stepped out from behind the screen.

“On the table.”

Grace got on the examination table and placed her feet in
the stirrup-like holders. Propped up on her elbows, she watched Dr. Christopher
make his preparations.

She liked watching the doctor when he was busy, when his
handsome features were unclouded by insincere expressions of concern or
interest. When Dr. Christopher concentrated on something scientific, his eyes
became soft and dreamy, he would suck in his lower lip, wetting it, and he
would even talk very quietly to himself, his seductive baritone growling
indistinguishable syllables.

“Right,” he concluded to no one. “Now, Grace, my girl—”

Grace loved it when he embellished her name with little
terms of endearment.

“You understand what I need you to do, correct?”

“I’m to think about the feelings I feel, then describe them
to you.”

“Very good.” He took off his jacket and laid it neatly over
a chair. “Then we’ll compare what you’ve felt with the vibration device with
what you feel with penetration.”

That was a word Grace was not sure she knew. “Doctor, sir?
What do you mean? Penet—”

“Penetration. Inside you. When a man places his member
inside you.” He unbuttoned his waistcoat. “You said you were not a virgin.”

“No, sir. I mean yes, sir, I haven’t been a virgin for a few
years. I like men.” She was babbling, but his presence was quite distracting,
especially when she was half dressed and he seemed to be taking off his
clothes.

“Good. Then we will compare the pleasure you feel with the
two events.” He carefully laid his waistcoat over his jacket.

“Sir, will there be a man involved or a machine?”

He chuckled. Grace liked it very much when he chuckled. “It
will be a man, my girl. It will be me.” He sat on the chair and proceeded to
remove his shoes.

Grace could hardly believe her ears. “You, sir?”

“Yes, me. I will be the one penetrating you.”

Her breath quickened at the prospect. She and Dr.
Christopher were going to engage in intimate relations? It was all she had
imagined since he had first pleasured her in the bathtub. Where would they do
it? Her bed? No, her bed was far too small for two people. Would she be invited
into his bedroom? Would they make love on his four-poster? Since being his
housemaid, she had been in his bedroom many times, making up the bed, changing
the sheets, folding his laundry, placing it in his chest of drawers. Dr.
Christopher didn’t keep a valet, and Mrs. Jennings kept to the cooking these days,
so it was Grace who did everything for him. Whatever he needed and whenever he
wanted.

And she relished every minute of it. She would do so much
more for him. Now perhaps he was finally asking her to do precisely that. Much,
much more.

“Lie back, my girl,” he said coolly as he lifted her
petticoats.

Grace did as commanded. She had taken off her drawers like
he had asked and now lay before him splayed open, all of her desires exposed
for him to see.

“Good, girl. You’re already wet.” His warm fingers stroked
her, spreading her sticky moisture. “Last time you had said you thought of
someone while I stimulated you with the electro-mechanical device. Do you
remember?”

“Yes, sir.” It had, of course, been him she had thought
about.

“Good. Let’s see what you think about this time.”

Still propped on her elbows, Grace watched, riveted, as Dr.
Christopher unbuttoned his fly and pulled off his suspenders. He slipped his
trousers off, then folded them and placed them on top of the pile of his
clothes. Surprisingly the normally very particular doctor was not wearing
drawers, tantalizing Grace with a view of his bare, muscular, masculine thighs.
His magnificent member jutted forth, tenting his shirt. Grace wet her lips in
anticipation.

He lifted the hem of his shirt. Grace sucked in air at the
sight. Dr. Christopher was more than well-endowed. He was huge. And beautiful,
the length and breadth of the smooth pink shaft in perfect proportion to the
swollen glans.

He pulled the fabric of his shirt taut at his waist and tied
one end in a knot. He touched her briefly again.

And then he entered her.

Grace gasped at the invasion, thick and delicious, suffusing
her mind and body with a satisfaction she had craved. She looked up at him,
wanting to know if he felt what she did. But the expression on Dr. Christopher’s
face was thoughtful, perhaps clinical, his mind absorbed in an analysis of what
the rest of him was doing.

It was not at all like what she had imagined their union
would be.

She closed her eyes, casting herself in a different
scenario, one where Dr. Christopher was the solicitous lover Julius, leading
her by the hand into his room. There he would undress her, draping each one of
her garments delicately on his slipper chair. Enveloped in a sudden chill, she
would shiver and he would utter comforting consolations as he led her to the
bed, tucking her under the goose-down comforter. She would watch him, wide-eyed
with need, while he took off his own clothes.

Grace could now envision a complete picture of him utterly
nude. Oh! What a sight he would be to behold! She had seen him working in his
office at night in his shirt, his collar off, the placket unbuttoned, his
sleeves rolled up. He had glorious hair covering his arms and chest. Grace
would tangle her fingers in the silky strands as he hovered above her stretched
out in the proper position of love.

He would cup her breasts one at a time, then languidly draw
his hand across her belly to find she was ready for him, wet for him. And he
would enter her, his magnificent cock stretching her, filling her, eliciting a
rapturous cry from her throat. He would wait a moment until her ecstatic throes
dissipated, then begin his erotic motions.

Grace would answer his movements with encouragements of her
own, willing him to go faster as she rocked her hips in rhythm to his thrusts,
letting him know her body craved him, needed him. His groans would remind her
that he needed her just as much.

Her ravenous wail of ecstasy would spur him on to his
crisis. With a deep jerking thrust he would spill every drop of his seed deep
inside her satisfied cunt.

Grace would breathe a sigh of relief as Julius rolled over
and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her in afterglow.

A waft of cool air nipped between her legs. Her eyes flew
open. The office.

“Very good, my girl!” Dr. Christopher exclaimed, already
half dressed. “Very good! Your orgasm was quite stupendous.” He pulled out a
small black journal from his desk. “Now you must tell me everything you felt.”

Grace stared at him blankly. He was everything yet nothing
like the man of her fantasies. “I thought of someone,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows in interest. “Oh? Tell me.”

“It was the same man. A bloke I fancy. I thought about the
two of us together.”

“And what about a comparison of the two acts? Is one better
than the other?”

“No…I don’t think so.”
Especially when it’s with you.

“Hmmm.” Dr. Christopher wrote in his notebook. “Could you
live the rest of your life without one act or the other?”

“Do I get the bloke I fancy?”

He looked up at her in surprise. “I suppose. Is that
important?”

“Then as long as I get the bloke I fancy, I don’t think it
matters much to me which act I would live the rest of my life with.”

Dr. Christopher’s surprise turned to befuddlement. He
scribbled some notes. “Indeed this is most curious. Grace, my dear, women are
fascinating creatures, are they not?”

She smiled.
Not as fascinating as you.

* * * * *

“Nicky,” Lavinia began with trepidation. “I received a
letter from your father this morning.”

Nicholas remained silent. He did not look up from his
newspaper, but his fingers gripped the pages of the
Evening Standard
a
little more tightly.

She adjusted her skirt over her legs stretched along the
sofa in the library. “He says your brother is really awfully in debt, and he
himself is not much better. He asks for money, of course.”

Nicholas crushed the paper just a little bit more. “I don’t
give a damn about my father or my brother. They can both go to hell and rot for
all I care.”

“Yes, dear. I thought as much. I just don’t like keeping
secrets from you and thought you should know.”

He looked over the paper at that, put it down and reached
for her. “Sometimes I wish I could just marry you.” He pulled her into his arms
and kissed her smiling lips.

Lavinia giggled as his attentions turned to her cheeks and
neck. At the crook of her shoulder, he gave her a little bite. “Nicky!”

He pulled back to his side of the sofa, laughing.

“I received some other news this morning when Charlotte
stopped by. The Roxton twin who got engaged, remember? It’s to Lord Davenham.”

“Good God! He’s old enough to be her father.”

“Well, that’s not always such a bad thing. I married a man
old enough to be my father and look where I am now.”

“Sharing a bed with a man young enough to be your son.”

Lavinia swatted her lover’s leg.

“What else does Lady Banbury say?” Nicholas noticed his
demitasse was empty and refilled it from the teapot.

Lavinia grinned devilishly at him. “Sophia Phillips is
sharing Julius’ bed.”

“Yes, well, I know that. Puts him in a much better mood. I
think the housemaid is a bit jealous, though.”

“And she says Helena Phillips has been acting queerly the
last few days. Since the Shotwick ball, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh!” Nicholas appeared genuinely concerned. “How so? Is she
ill?”

“Nothing to pin down, Doctor, darling. She’s morose one
minute, then on a cloud the next. She’s forgetful and distracted, which is not
like her at all. She even requested that her corset be tightened.”

Nicholas blushed at that and resumed his perusal of the
afternoon paper.

“Well, if you ask me, I think she fell in love with one of
her dance partners.” Lavinia looked over at Nicholas to see his reaction but he
had turned his attention to his teacup. “I think it might be the Marquess of
Aldersley—you know, the heir to the Duke of Underwood? He’s very handsome and a
good conversationalist.”

“He’s a bit of a bore, if you ask me.”

“Perhaps it was one of the other dozen young men she danced
with. Or all of them. Girls her age simply cannot make up their minds, really.”

Nicholas crumpled the
Standard
in a huff. “Christ,
Vinny. Stop it.”

“Stop what, Nicky?” She glared at him, an inkling of the
truth nagging at her. She wanted to hear him say it.

“I kissed her.”

Lavinia stared at him in shock. “You did what?”

“I kissed her,” he said succinctly, staring back.

She got up from the couch. “Nicky, how could you!” She began
to pace.

“Vinny, how could I not? It was glorious, it was magical and
I would do it all over again.”

“The poor girl. You’re leading her on with romantic notions—”

“Good God, you’re not jealous, are you?”

“Darling, no!” Lavinia stopped. “No, I have no right,” she
said quietly. “But Nicky, to rile up a young girl’s senses when you cannot
follow through, it’s…well, it’s seduction.”

Nicholas leaned his head on the back of the couch. “And what
if I’m in love with her?”

Lavinia sat beside him. “You can’t have her as Dr. Nicholas
Ramsay.”

“I know.” He stared broodingly at the ceiling.

She nuzzled against his chest. “Please, darling, just leave
her intact for her husband.”

He kissed her forehead. “Yes, Vinny. I will.”

* * * * *

Helena knew Dr. Ramsay worked at the medical office on
Chelsea Manor Street, but the maidservant who led her in said Dr. Ramsay was
with a patient and that she was expected by Dr. Christopher anyway.

Mama had escorted her only to the front door. She seemed a
bit embarrassed upon leaving but had said for Helena to be a good girl and to
listen carefully to what Dr. Christopher would tell her.

For his part, Dr. Christopher was rather animated when
greeting her. “Come in, come in, my dear. Have a seat. Thank you, Grace. You
may go,” he said politely to the servant.

Helena sat down. Dr. Christopher drew up a seat alongside
her.

“Now, Miss Phillips, your mother says you have been complaining
of fatiguing vexations. Is that correct?”

She really didn’t know if that was a medical term or not. “Yes,
I suppose so.”

He put his hand on her thigh just above her knee, an action
that was oddly intimate and not very clinical. “Tell me, in your own words,
what you have been feeling,” he said solicitously.

“So many emotions,” Helena sighed. “I’m miserable one moment
but then something happens and I’m quite happy, elated even. Sometimes I’m
cross. I think I’ve snapped at Mama once or twice. I don’t know. I feel
frustrated about something but I don’t know what.” The warmth of the doctor’s
hand seemed to have an unexpected calming effect.

“Might those frustrations have to do with your activities
this Season?” His deep voice was lulling.

“Well, yes. The parties, the preparations, what to wear, how
to act, whom I’m allowed to talk to, whom I’m allowed to dance with. It’s all
very unsettling, really.”