Where Destiny Plays, page 8
Which meant Grace could take the opportunity to watch Julius pleasure the blonde in privacy.
Before she had left the examination room, Grace had checked that everything was in order and, finding it so, had joined Julius at the cart. “Dr. Christopher, will that be all?”
He had looked up quickly, uncharacteristically startled. Julius never let himself get lost in his thoughts when in the presence of a patient. He prided himself on being mindful of every detail of every visit, recording observations in his notebooks after a patient’s visit, especially when self-pleasuring was concerned. He had glanced at the blonde lying on the table before him as if needing a reminder that she was even there. Her sweet smile was tinged with eagerness.
“Yes, thank you, Miss Danby. I will call for you if you are needed.”
Grace had curtsied and scurried off to the little room under the stairs.
She let out a sigh at the view of Julius angled over the blonde, his hand poised over her mons, reminding her that he would be touching her there but in a different way this visit, that she would experience a far more wondrous feeling than what was effected with her own hand.
“It might seem overwhelming, almost confusing. But it is best if you set your mind to focus on a pleasurable thought,” he said. “Perhaps if there is a young man you fancy?”
She had crimsoned at that. “Will he know?” Her lilting voice drifted through the well-hidden system of tubes and horns that carried sounds to the occupant on the other side of the peephole.
Grace chuckled at the question. A girl would always have this concern if there was a particular young man she fancied. Only a few of the patients were ever concerned their mothers or governesses might know.
“Absolutely not, my dear,” Julius said in a calming tone. He would never state the obvious—that the young man in question was probably tossing himself off every night to a lewd fantasy of the girl.
Julius scooped a fingerful of oil and smeared it on the girl’s clit, preparing her, subduing her.
Grace sank into the cushions of the wingback and hiked up her skirts, sliding her hand inside the slit in her drawers to play with her own clit. She was already wet. She smoothed the sticky arousal over her pearl of pleasure, matching her own ministrations with Julius’ particular sensual rhythm. The girl gasped then moaned and wriggled her body. Grace understood. The familiar sensual warmth coiled between her legs, as well.
“Good, good, my dear. Now you will know the full emotion of which you are capable.”
Julius took hold of the baton of the vibrating device and clicked on the motor. The gentle whirring of the machine sent a voluptuous anticipation to smolder in Grace’s core.
He pressed the device to the girl’s clit.
The blonde sucked in a breath then exhaled an “oh!”—a typical reaction.
Julius took the girl’s hand and instructed her to grab hold of the baton. When she did, he lay his hand over hers.
Close above her ear, Julius murmured directions and encouragements to the girl, his gaze flicking between her expressions of surprise and their joined hands producing pleasure. And then he smiled, the signal that the girl understood what it was she was supposed to be doing. In a moment, he would take his hand away and simply watch, his cock growing hard, the struggle not to touch himself twitching on his face as the girl climbed to her orgasm.
Grace absolutely loved that expression, his struggle for self-control, his final mastery over himself. It was akin to his mastery over her when they made love at night.
She stroked more swiftly.
Julius lifted his hand from the device, remaining close by in case the girl lost her rhythm. Still leaning over her, he murmured something in her ear and she nodded. He straightened, dropping his hand to his side.
And then he did the most curious thing. He walked to the counter, opened the door to the cabinet, and began perusing the glass bottles of his medicines, jotting notes in the medical accounts register.
Grace stopped touching herself. Something was wrong.
Julius loved watching girls masturbate with the device for the first time, his erection tormenting him with the pain of unrequited release. By the end of the day, he was trembling with need for Grace’s mouth or hand or cunt.
But he was ignoring the blonde. Surely he could hear the melody of her syncopated, quavering moans over the drone of the motor? Perhaps this was a new letch? Was he standing at the counter with his eyes closed, imagining his stiff cock at her yearning cunt, ready to deflower her when she screamed out for more?
No…no, he was not. He was bent in concentration over the ledger book, writing meticulously in the registers.
The blonde girl’s yelp of climax startled Grace back to her own hand between her legs and her dashed climb to the peak. Julius walked over to the girl then soothed her and offered praise. The blonde’s flushed skin and sparkling eyes showed how much she was under his spell. Most likely the first night she attempted solitary pleasure, it would be the pleased expression of the handsome Dr. Christopher that would dance through her dreams.
Grace removed her hand, her fingers cold from inaction. She’d be the one trembling with need that night. She wouldn’t care if Julius was too tired or not in the mood or had work to do.
He would have to satisfy her.
Chapter Seven
Lavinia looked down from the landing to see Arthur waiting for her in the foyer for their planned midmorning stroll. He held his hat in his hand—or rather he tossed his hat back and forth between his hands. Perhaps the earl was as nervous as she. She sucked in a fortifying breath. She was acting like a schoolgirl. The earl was handsome and unattached but he wasn’t looking for a mature widow as a mate. And if he were, it would only be for the Season.
But she had begun dreaming of him as her sultan. She had already begun thinking about this year’s ball at Countess Winthrop’s. If she wore the same costume—
“Lavinia.” Arthur bowed as she approached the bottom stair. “You look gorgeous.”
She was sure she blushed. He certainly did.
“I apologize.” He gripped the brim of his hat. “That was perhaps too forward of me.”
“Oh, no. Please do always flatter me. I fear I have only a few years left of such ardent flattery. After that it’s ‘you’re looking good for your age’.”
He chuckled. “I’m sure no one will ever say such a thing to you.” He indicated the front door. “Shall we?”
It was a lovely day on the cusp of spring, not a cloud in the sky. She had decided against a parasol, choosing instead a wide-brimmed straw hat more appropriate for summer. And the neckline of her dress had a sheer lace insert that would shield her pale bosom from the sun. Like a gentleman, he allowed her to set the pace.
They chatted about the estate, Lavinia pointing out details and vistas she remembered—some fondly, some not so fondly. Nicholas’ father and brother had been terrible at managing the grounds, and all over were the tell-tale signs of their inaction.
After a spell, Arthur slowed his pace and linked his hands behind his back. “Since we are to be godparents I suppose we should discuss our views on religion.”
“Religion?” Lavinia turned to him, a little flustered.
“We have been chosen the spiritual shepherds of this child.”
She stiffened. If he were some sort of evangelical, she’d have to be careful of what she said. But, little by little, his earnest expression melted until a twinkle flashed in his eyes and a smirk tugged at his lips.
Inwardly she let out a sigh of relief. “You’re joking.”
“Only just partly. We are meeting with a bishop. We should have something prepared.”
His gaze flickered to the sheer panel covering her bosom. She swore she saw yearning in his eyes.
“Well then, I suppose I must believe in God. At least I don’t actively not believe in Him. I rather think that makes me an agnostic. In the dispassionate sense, not in the Huxleyan sense. My position on God is rather ill-considered.”
He chuckled. “It sounds more considered than you might think.”
“And you?”
“Rather the same as you. Although I do maintain a strong streak of humanism, which would mean I place human endeavor above God. The bishop might not approve.”
“A bit unusual for an industrialist, isn’t it? I think of such men as self-interested rather than interested in the plight of other men.”
“It’s because of my industrialism that I became a humanist.”
“Oh?”
“Joseph and I happened to start our venture just as the railway was becoming a major force in America. However, it was also at the very same time as their American Civil War. Being established in the north, we managed to avoid involvement, in battle action at least. One could not avoid the impact of slavery or the war on the whole of America. After the war, there were freed slaves who sought work in the north at manufactories like ours. Many companies saw the glut of workers as an opportunity for profit, to offer lower wages. Joseph saw it as an opportunity to acquire the most talented workers. He was adamant that we not exploit the black man.”
“Joseph?” Lavinia lifted a brow. “Joseph Phillips?”
“Yes.” Arthur chuckled. “He appears gruff on the outside but inside he has a heart of gold. He’s from a laboring class background; he knows what it is to be exploited. We decided to pay according to level of skill and not color of skin.” He sighed. “We lost some good white men that way but we also convinced others of the evils of such prejudice.”
“And you made a handsome profit.”
His grin showed off his pride. “We did, I will admit. But it got me thinking about what’s been going on in my own country. So I read Marx and Engels.”
“Oh my. Is the Earl of Petersham a communist?”
“I hardly think so. Perhaps a bit of a Radical. My association with Joseph changed me. It’s definitely not in my blood. My father finds extending any sort of rights to the working man a bit shocking.”
“As do many peers.” She smiled. “But you’ll discover that eventually when you join the House of Lords.”
“I hope to delay that inevitability for as long as I can. I eschew politics. I leave that up to my solicitor.”
“Mr. Peel?” It was very difficult to forget the excessively tall man.
“Yes. Geoffrey keeps the partnership abreast of any changes in the law we need to concern ourselves about.”
“Well, I do know at least one Radical in Lords. The Earl of Ryburgh. I can make the introductions. He’ll be a good ally when the two of you are colleagues.”
“I take it you follow politics?”
“Oh, I do. Most assiduously.”
“Ah. My father will be glad to know we are acquainted then. Perhaps you can be of assistance when I attempt to effect change in the hallowed halls of Parliament.” There was that twinkle again.
She laughed. “So we are meant to discuss our roles as godparents. Have we decided what we shall tell the bishop, my lord?”
“That we shall guide the child to be one who will ‘walketh uprightly, worketh righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart’.”
“Very good. Quoting scripture should put us in his good graces.” She boldly wrapped her arm around his. “Up ahead is the gatehouse. You can discuss your Radical politics with Mason. He’s been very subtle in his strategy to gain power for the working man. Well, one working man in particular, I suppose.” And Mason would be impressed to see her with a handsome man on her arm.
* * * * *
Lavinia sat on the window seat in the Atherley library, staring blankly through the stained glass. Here and there lost pieces of color had been replaced with clear, offering a view of the gardeners on the estate. Inside the vast stone room, the deafening silence was dampened by rows of bookcases where once were pews. It was brilliant how one of the earls had seen fit to recast the Gothic chapel into a library during the age of enlightenment and reason.
She had spent the better part of the day discussing religion, politics and history with Arthur and Mason. The former butler, now steward, somehow seemed younger than his sixty-odd years as he effused about the plans for the buildings and property, and especially about how clever and good-natured Nicholas was with the entire project. Mason had been waiting for the opportunity to bring life back to Atherley Keep. It was ironic that such life could only be effected by the deaths of the former occupants.
And over an impromptu luncheon, Mason had lauded the new countess and how eager he was to meet the rest of her family. Arthur seemed very pleased with the man.
Lavinia sighed. One problem with house parties, even ones as small as this, was that she never got sufficient time to be alone with her thoughts. And she needed to be alone with her thoughts after having spent so much time with Arthur. She was inexplicably drawn to him. Of course, he was handsome and witty so most women would find him alluring. But there was something else, something familiar, as if they had always known each other.
At least he was doing a very good job of distracting her from nagging memories of Julius and inappropriate thoughts about Nicholas.
The library door clicked open.
Nicholas entered, surprise flitting over his countenance when he spied her. “Vinny. I didn’t know you were here. I can come back another time.”
She patted the seat next to her. “It’s your house, Nicky. Sit.”
He thinned his lips. “I know that look. You want to be alone.”
Funny how some memories clung to the minds of old lovers. “I can spare a few moments with you.”
He sat next to her on the banquette a little too close for her fragile emotions. But his warmth was welcome nonetheless. She would simply have to deflect her body’s stirrings with words.
“You and Helena appear to be happy.”
He grinned. “It’s glorious, wonderful. I cannot explain it. As if there’s a ball of pure joy burning within me. Whenever I see her, it sparks and flares. When we’re apart, it smolders, waiting for the next time I see her.”
“So you’re smoldering now.”
“Ha! I am. And I have you to thank for it.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “She’s in the solar with Arthur, writing to her grandmother.”
“I’ve noticed you don’t refer to him as Petersham.”
“He insists on the use of his Christian name. And he’s always been ‘Uncle Arthur’ to Helena.” He chuckled. “But I can’t call Mr. Phillips anything but Mr. Phillips. There’s something so formidable about him that inhibits me despite his urging.”
“I heartily agree.” Formidable was a good descriptor for the man.
He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re family now.”
The squeeze became a caress along her arm, the delicate strokes shooting straight to her sex. Against her better judgment she relaxed into him. “How do you mean?”
He burrowed his nose in her hair and breathed in. “The godmother of my first child.” His exhale was hot on her neck.
“Nicky, don’t.” Her protest was meek.
He licked along her pulse point, his tongue cooling her heated flesh. “Don’t what?”
She turned to face him. “Don’t tempt me in the public rooms of your house.”
His smile was devilish. “Like you said, it’s my house.”
His lips lingered over hers for the briefest of moments, his eyes gauging her reaction. But she did not flinch, much to her consternation. She wanted him. Wanted someone at least, and Nicholas was right there in front of her.
His mouth was warm and inviting, his tongue delicately probing. He knew precisely where to hold her, to stroke her, his hands spanning her back, his thumbs teasing her nipples, inciting them to harden under her clothes.
But his wife was upstairs and workmen were just beyond the window. She pushed him off gently.
“Nicky, please. I don’t think we should continue our affair.”
“I wish I could have married both of you.” The furrow in his brow heightened the earnestness of his words.
“And you can erase any fantasies of having us at the same time. I’m afraid I harbor no attraction for feminine delights, even with a beauty like Helena.”
That got a chuckle out of him. He released his hold and leaned back. “Arthur seems interested.”
Heat flushed her cheeks. “Did he tell you?”
“He didn’t have to. He couldn’t stop staring at your plunging neckline last night. Although neither could I.”
Lavinia pressed her palm to her chest in a vain attempt to quell her thrumming heart. “One does not simply start an affair based on physical attraction. There has to be more.”
“And is there?”
“What?”
Nicholas smirked. “Vinny, you just spent practically the entire afternoon with him.”
“So I did.” And so everyone noticed. “On my part yes, I will admit to an attraction.”
“Ah, of course. You prefer the man to take the initiative.” He leaned in. “You prefer to be seduced,” he murmured in her ear.
He knew her too well. She would only let her own flirtation go so far then would pull back to see if the man was interested. If he persisted, she would give in.
The smirk deepened. “I’ll see what I can do.”
She rounded on him. “Nicky, don’t you dare.”
He held up his hands. “Don’t worry. I won’t. I don’t think he needs any coaxing. He’s probably just being polite. Especially in front of his niece.”
“Thank you.”
He took her hand in his. “But there is something you should take note of. A peculiarity about the house. It seems there used to be quite a bit of bed hopping a hundred or more years ago. Especially amongst the guests.”
“Oh?” Intriguing.
“You’ll find a hidden door in the paneling of your room, which connects to the neighboring bedroom via a private passageway. What’s most extraordinary about this arrangement is that the doors can only lock on your side. So while you have access to the neighboring bedroom, it is not reciprocated.”
