ThePleasureDevice (7 page)

His heart clenched when he realized they had almost reached
their destination of Lady Banbury’s lounging form, the landmark indicating a
probable end to their conversation.

He could have sworn he felt her slow their pace at the sight
of the good lady as well.

“Whom did you say you arrived with today?” Miss Phillips
blurted.

“A very dear friend of mine.”

“Oh?” Her eyes widened. “She’s your lover, isn’t she?”

Every nerve in Nicholas’ body fired at the sound of her voice
saying that word—lover. What could he say? The lovely Miss Phillips had
indicated she preferred honesty in men. “Yes,” he admitted softly.

She stared at him, not in shock as he had imagined, but
instead with awe and fascination. “She’s the woman you were with the night of
the Wrexham ball.”

How could she have possibly known that? Of course he had
noticed her across the ballroom floor…

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Very,” he blurted. He thought he was getting back at her
for the snub of his professional status, but suddenly felt rather loathsome for
it.

“Is she married?” she asked clandestinely.

Concern for his reputation, perhaps? Nicholas chuckled. “She’s
widowed.”

“Then it’s allowed, isn’t it?”

Ah, a young woman’s curiosity! So very charming. “Us being lovers,
you mean? I think it would be allowed if she were married and her husband didn’t
care much.”

“But would you do such a thing?” she probed.

An unusual query that he really had never given much thought
to. “No, Miss Phillips, I think I would not. I prefer an affair to have an air
of exclusivity.”

She seemed to sigh at that, and slowed her pace to a crawl. “Do
you love her?”

It was an innocent question, yet tinged with a sense of
urgency. As if Miss Phillips cared about what he felt. His heart jumped. He
could only hope as much.

“I like and admire and respect her a great deal. But I am
not in love with her. My heart is free.”

It was the first time he had confessed that to anyone. She
looked up at him, her face glowing with the excitement of possibility, her
luscious lips curling into a delicate smile. For a second he wished the world
away so he could have the lovely Miss Helena Phillips all to himself.

“Helena! Where are you, my girl?” came Lady Banbury’s
barking cry beyond them.

“I must go,” Miss Phillips said with a hint of regret.

“Until next time,” Nicholas responded gently.

She livened at that, perhaps imagining there was to be a
next time, and turned to attend her chaperon with what Nicholas perceived as a
skip in her step.

Sophia knew why she was standing on the doorstep of Dr.
Christopher’s office at one in the morning, she just couldn’t believe she had
worked up the courage to do such a scandalous and wanton act.

The pretty servant girl who let her in flashed her a
censorious expression as she led her into the wide hall between the two
offices. It was as if the girl knew why she had come.

Abashed, Sophia suddenly questioned both her motives and
actions.

Yet when Dr. Julius Christopher stood before her wrapped in
his dressing gown, his hair disheveled but raked into place by his fingers, his
lids still heavy from sleep, she knew why she had come. His unaffected
sensuality devastated her senses.

“Mrs. Phillips, are you unwell? What is the matter?” He led
her into his office and motioned for her to sit.

But she could not sit. She felt both trepidation and
exhilaration. She looked nervously around the room. It was a different office
from the one she had been in during the day, filled with odd machinery.

“Do you use these devices on women, Doctor?”

“Mrs. Phillips, I hardly think you came to my office to
discuss my equipment.”

“No,” she said bashfully. She would simply have to say what
she needed to say plainly. She looked at him. Lighted by the soft glow of an
oil lamp, he was devilishly handsome. The thought that he had just come from
his bed was terrifically erotic.

“Doctor, I came to you suffering from a malaise I know all
too well. I also know how to take care of myself when I fall into these slumps
of mine. You see, I frequently have this problem when my husband goes abroad,
and I have always been able to handle my affliction. That is, until now.”

He stiffened slightly, his breathing quickened.

She inhaled deeply. “When I was here last, you said you
weren’t sure what you could do for me. But now, Doctor, I think I know.”

Dr. Christopher was thoroughly awake now. “Go on.” He
glanced briefly at one of the machines before returning his attention to her.

“When I pleasure myself with my hand to release my
frustrations, I often think of my husband. Lately, though, I’ve been thinking
of you.”

His lips parted in surprise.

“I cannot get you out of my mind, Dr. Christopher. And I
realize you have the power to fully relieve me of my frustrations.”

His now-labored respiration resonated in the quiet dark
office. “Mrs. Phillips,” he remarked softly, “you are a married woman.”

“And if I were not, would you be willing?”

He looked away briefly and drew in a long breath. “I would
be more than willing,” he said hoarsely.

Her heart leapt. “Please, Doctor, let me explain. My husband
and I have an agreement, a somewhat modern arrangement. We are, the two of us,
very passionate people. We both have our needs. He’s gone so much during the
year that I’ve given him leave to visit a handful of his regular women.
However, in all our years of marriage, I’ve rarely bothered to take the
opportunity myself.” She looked Julius directly in the eye. “But now I’m
plagued by thoughts of you.”

He stood still, frozen in place but tautly pulled, ready to
spring. “Sophia,” he said hoarsely, “I also am plagued by thoughts of you.”

She stepped forward until she was inches from him. Julius
did not move. She untied his robe and slid it open to find him nude on top, his
torso unexpectedly honed like an athlete’s, the wondrously masculine contours
covered in fine black hair flecked with gray. She took his hands in hers,
glancing down briefly to see the shadow of his erection discernible through his
loose pajama trousers.

She leaned in and kissed him tentatively.

He swiftly enveloped her in his arms, clutching her to him
fiercely, his insistent mouth covering hers, feasting on her desires like a
starving man. She wrapped her arms around his body under the robe, the heated
flesh and finely sculpted musculature flexing in need under her hands, a need
so powerful it bordered on desperation.

“Julius,” she said as he trailed kisses down her neck, “I’ve
put a pessary in.”

He stopped and stared at her in incredulous joy.

“I’d like you to spend inside me. I want you to have your
full pleasure too.”

He lost no time. “Come, let us go upstairs.”

* * * * *

His fingers had trembled as he had unhooked her corset. His
hands had felt clammy when he had rolled down her stockings. But now that she
lay naked beside him in his bed, Julius felt only wonder and euphoria. His
confidence had returned.

It had been a long time since he had been with a proper
woman. Too long, really. And what a treat Sophia Phillips was. She was so
utterly responsive, every inch of her flesh sensitive to his touch, every lick
and nip eliciting an urgent cry for more. When he had massaged her clitoris, he
had watched her orgiastic release with glee, reminding himself that it was the
right reason for the act.

And then he had entered her throbbing, wet channel, relief
coloring both their faces, groans of satisfaction escaping from both their
throats. She had matched his every movement with her own, urging him onward to
his release, as if she needed his culmination more than he did. Yet with every
clench, she proved she was in great need herself, her need an insatiable
craving that bordered on an obsessive wantonness.

“Faster,” she had begged. “Harder.”

And he had obliged, slamming into her like a younger man
would, her body gripping him as though she did not want to let him go.

And then he came, his release accompanied by a howl of
contentment, filling her with more than just his emission, but his desire, his
satisfaction.

When they were both spent, he held her, not wanting to let
her go, only for a second remembering she belonged to another man.

She stirred beside him, then stretched, pressing her belly
against his abdomen. “Can you not sleep? It must be two or three in the
morning. Surely you have patients tomorrow?”

He kissed her hair. “I do,” he acknowledged.

The thought of his patients, of his work, spurred an idea. “Sophia,
darling, I would like to show you a new device I have just purchased. A
machine. I think you would be most impressed. It will produce a pleasurable
feeling like no other you have ever experienced.”

She propped herself up on her elbows. “Really?” she said
with intense interest, her fingers dallying in the hair on his chest.

“Yes.” He grinned. “Come, I’ll lend you a robe. Let’s go
downstairs to my office.”

Lavinia threaded her way through the crowd in Lord and Lady
Shotwick’s ballroom as quickly as she could. Luckily for her, Nicholas was
exactly where she had left him, standing next to a fan palm, holding a glass of
champagne nicked from the refreshment room and looking quite dull indeed.

“Nicky, dear,” she chimed excitedly. “I’ve filled out your
dance card for you.” She waved it in front of him.

“My dance card?” He grabbed it and began reading the names
as he gulped his drink.

“Don’t worry, darling,” she assured him, whisking the empty
glass from his hand and hiding it in the palm. “They are each one of them
hand-picked by me. Delightful girls. All over the ripe old age of twenty. All
very pretty.”

Nicholas looked overwhelmed. “Thank you, Lavinia. I think.”

“The dancing is about to start, dear, so I best get you
introduced to your first partner, Miss Prudence Waltham. She likes butterflies,
so you’ll have ever so much to talk about.”

“Christ,” he muttered. “I don’t think I remember how to
dance a quadrille.”

Lavinia looked at the card. “Why, that’s not for ages yet.
Come now, be a good boy.”

They almost crashed into Lady Banbury leading Helena
Phillips toward the dance floor.

“Charlotte! I had been wondering where you might be tonight.”

“Running around like a shepherd’s dog trying to get Helena a
chance to dance with England’s finest.” The countess did seem a bit out of
breath. “Mrs. Phillips put me in charge of her daughter, you see.”

Lavinia glanced behind Charlotte to see Sophia Phillips
talking very gaily with Julius Christopher. But more surprising was that the
usually reserved doctor was drinking in the woman’s every word, gazing at her
like a man smitten. “Yes, I see.” She then turned to smile at Charlotte’s
companion.

“So this is Miss Helena Phillips.” Lavinia nodded to the
girl, who was flushed from running about or possibly from the sudden attention.
She was dressed in a most eye-catching gown of reddish-purple silk with an
enticingly low square-cut neckline presenting her bosom above the form-hugging
bodice. She was absolutely ravishing. Certainly every man in the room had
noticed—and probably desired—her already.

“Why, my dear Lavinia, I hadn’t realized you two hadn’t met!
Helena, this is my good friend Lady Foxley-Graham.”

As Helena curtsied, Lavinia noticed she flashed a glance at
Nicholas, then blushed more deeply.

“I know your mother from years past, Miss Phillips. Why have
we not enjoyed your presence before?”

“I’ve been away at school in France, my lady.” Helena gazed
up at Lavinia with admiration in her green eyes.

Now it was Lavinia’s turn to blush at the unexpected
attention. “Yes, of course. I had forgotten,” she said gently to her new
admirer.

Helena glanced at Nicholas again. “Dr. Ramsay,” she said
with a curtsy.

“Miss Phillips,” Nicholas murmured reverently, obviously
trying desperately not to stare.

“Oh how discourteous of me!” Lavinia exclaimed. “But you two
already know each other?”

“We met at the Roxton musicale, Lady Foxley-Graham,” Helena
remarked sweetly.

“After you had left,” explained Nicholas.

“Ah, yes,” Lavinia remembered. It was a most unfortunate
event.

“And what a success it was! One of the Roxton twins is
already engaged,” divulged Lady Banbury.

“Looks like Mr. Darwin was wrong,” Nicholas mumbled.

Helena giggled, then raised her hand to her mouth in mortification.

They’re already sharing private jokes?
Lavinia was
surprised that a friendship had blossomed from only one encounter. But Nicholas
had found the girl quite beautiful the other night. From the look on Helena’s
face, it appeared she was more than just a trifle enamored of him as well. Her
expression bordered on yearning, then swiftly changed to crestfallen when the
orchestra struck up.

“Oh the music has just started. Nicholas, Miss Waltham
awaits. And I’m sure Miss Phillips is eager to dance with her own partner.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Nicholas gave a gentlemanly bow to
the countess and her charge before they dived into the crush of the ballroom.

Lavinia pulled her lover close. “Nicky, if you continue with
your life the way it is, you cannot have her,” she cautioned under her breath. “You
must stop thinking of Miss Phillips. Look, she’s paired with Lord Acton of
Northbridge. He’s heir to the Dukedom of Cleveland. I am sorry, love.
Concentrate on the charms of each of your partners. You’ll find somebody. Trust
me.”

Nicholas sighed morosely. “Take me to Miss Waltham, then.”

As they joined in the fray, Lavinia saw the most astonishing
sight. Dr. Julius Christopher was dancing with Mrs. Phillips and looking as if
he actually enjoyed it.

* * * * *

It turned out Nicholas did remember how to dance the
quadrille. And if he made a misstep, Miss Penelope Hardcastle very generously
covered his blunders.

Miss Hardcastle was really quite lovely, as Lavinia had said
she would be. His partners at the Shotwick ball were all of them quite lovely.
The problem was that he simply could not see spending a lifetime with any one
of them. And he certainly did not want a middle-class marriage of convenience,
where a wife was no more than a housekeeper, a man the breadwinner. Nicholas
wanted a modern marriage, based on love, one where he and his wife could
converse intelligently when he returned home from the office, then spend the
rest of the evening in energetic pursuits in the bedroom.

It was well after midnight when he found himself in the
garden of the Shotwick mansion, walking aimlessly, avoiding clandestine
couples. The fresh air was a soothing respite to the stifling staleness of the
ballroom. He took off his gloves, shoved them into his pocket and flexed his
fingers in the cool night, inhaling deeply, realizing at that moment the real
reason he was alone in the garden. All he could think about was Helena
Phillips. He had watched her on the dance floor whenever he could, trying not
to be too obvious in front of his partners. She even caught his eye every once
in a while. He knew he wasn’t supposed to encourage himself in that way, but
ever since the Roxton musicale he could think of nothing else. Even when he
made love to Lavinia, he sometimes imagined it was Helena in his arms.

A couple absorbed in conversation came toward him along the
path. He quickly ducked behind the thick trunk of a gnarled tree.

“Ow!” hissed a female voice.

Nicholas turned around in the dark. “Who’s there?”

“Dr. Ramsay?”

He would know her voice anywhere. A tingling heat ripped
through his body and ended at his crotch. “Miss Phillips?”

“You stepped on my toe.”

“Oh dear. Are you all right? Did I injure you?” His eyes
adjusted in the dark to see her smiling demurely at him.

“No,” she assured him with a soft laugh.

“It seems I’ve been stepping on a lot of toes this evening.”

She giggled. “Did you like any of them?”

“Who?”

“Your dance partners, silly.”

“They’re all very nice and pretty. I don’t think I want to
marry any of them, though.”

“But how do you know after only one dance?”

Nicholas drew in a breath. He knew, he just did. “I suppose
I didn’t feel anything. Like a spark, or a magnetic pull. I really don’t know
how to explain it. There was just no…no attraction.”
Like with you
.

“You make love sound so scientific, Doctor,” she remarked
with another giggle.

“Shh! Miss Phillips, we really oughtn’t be alone in the
garden like this.”

“No,” she agreed with amusement. “We really oughtn’t.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I could ask the same of you, Dr. Ramsay.” She sighed. “It
was so stifling in the crush of the ballroom. I’m supposed to be in the ladies’
retiring room at the moment. But then I saw one or two of the ladies going out
into the garden, and the lure of the starlit night was simply too much. I
suppose they’re escaping to the arms of their lovers with stars in their eyes.”
She sighed melodiously. “I have to content myself with the consolations of this
old elm and the twinkle in the night sky.”

Nicholas cursed the elm for offering comfort to Helena
Phillips before he did. “I would have to agree, Miss Phillips, that being out
amongst the stars and the trees is far more enjoyable than the disappointments
of the dance floor.” It seemed particularly dark, as if Lord Shotwick, or more
likely Lady Shotwick, had purposefully left sections of the garden unlit. “Is
stargazing another one of your pursuits?”

“Come,” she said invitingly as she moved deeper into the
recesses of the ancient tree. Nicholas was compelled to follow.

“Look up. You can see the constellation Virgo between those
branches.” She pointed. “That’s Spica—the brightest star.”

Miss Helena Phillips surprised him at every turn. “How
wonderful,” he murmured.

“There are various stories about who Virgo represents. My
favorite is Demeter. She is the goddess of grain, of agriculture. She holds
Spica—”

“Ah, yes, Latin. An ear of grain.”

“Yes! She holds an ear of grain in her hand against her
thigh, and another is held upward.” Helena drew the goddess with her finger
against the sky. “Do you know the story?”

He did, but Nicholas just wanted to listen to her melodious
voice. “I’d love to hear it,” he said as he leaned against the trunk of the
elm.

She smiled. “Demeter had a beautiful daughter, Persephone, a
girl pure of heart and soul who was her pride and joy. One day, Persephone was
innocently picking flowers in a meadow when the ground suddenly opened and out
of the fissure came Hades, the god of the underworld, riding fiercely in his
black chariot. Hades coveted the beautiful Persephone and wanted to make her
his bride. He grabbed her viciously and whisked her away to his kingdom in the
center of the earth.”

Helena’s countenance grew earnest, her voice carrying a
touch of intensity. She loved telling stories, it was clear. Probably because
she loved reading them. Nicholas sank back farther against the thick trunk,
contented, his heart swelling with the shared joy of her words.

“Besieged with grief, Demeter went looking for her daughter
but could not find her anywhere. She wandered the earth for four months,
fasting, tearing her hair, pleading with the gods and man to help find her
daughter. Her grief was so terrible the earth grieved with her. There was no
sunshine, no warmth, only rain and snow and ice. The fields remained barren and
mankind began to die because of her mourning.”

She painted the story with her hands, expressed the emotions
in her intonation, her passion and utter engrossment affecting. Nicholas’ heart
thumped a little harder in his chest.

“Finally, Helios, the god of the sun, revealed to Demeter
the horrific fate of her daughter. Hades refused to give up the beauteous girl,
now no longer an innocent, having been subjected to his vile desires—”

Nicholas was unable to tamp down his own improper desires,
his cock stirred

“Until Zeus intervened. But Persephone had eaten four
pomegranate seeds whilst a wretch in the bleak underworld, and as a
consequence, Zeus required four months of the year she should endure with Hades
as his queen. The rest of the year she would be on the earth, the center of her
mother’s loving attention.” Helena bit her lip shyly. “And that’s the story of
the seasons. Four months of cold and winter, eight of warm spring, summer and
autumn.” She smiled at him.

“Thank you.” He smiled back. “You are a very engaging
storyteller.”

She blushed, or Nicholas imagined she blushed in the gray of
the night. A moment of silence passed and he realized they were quite alone. In
the dark. A little spark of lust rose insistently inside him.

“And what about you?” he asked, trying to distract himself. “Did
you like any of your partners?”

“Well, the best dancer was Lord Aldersley, the son of the
Duke of Underwood. But all he talked about were his sheep.”

“Animal husbandry is quite scientific, you know. You may
grow to like being a duchess sheep farmer.”

Helena giggled. “You make it sound so interesting.
Unfortunately, Lord Aldersley made it sound awfully boring.”

“Well, at least you like him.”

“I liked his dancing. That’s different.”

“Yes, of course. I understand completely.” Nicholas had
liked Miss Hardcastle’s dancing too, but not her vacuousness. “One of these
days, though, you’ll meet someone you’ll like for more than just his dancing.
And, I suppose, you could learn about sheep,” Nicholas offered.

Helena laughed softly. “I suppose. Mama learned about
machines because of Papa.”

“Machines?” Unwittingly, an image of Dr. Christopher’s
device flashed in his brain.

“Papa designs machines that make metal fittings for railroad
cars and undercarriages. When Mama first met him, she knew naught of that. She
just knew she loved Papa. So she was inspired to learn and now she consults
with him on his business. She was the one who told Papa he should make his
machines pleasing to the eye even if only laborers were to use them.”

“They sound well-suited to each other.”
Like us
.

“They are, very. And I simply do not feel the same way about
Lord Aldersley. I like sheep but he certainly does not inspire me to want to
learn more about them than I already know.”

Nicholas knew precisely what she meant. “Love as
inspiration. Spouse as muse.”
You
.

“Yes!” Helena looked up at him in the dark. “Isn’t that like
the ‘attraction’ you mentioned?”

“Yes, yes, it is,” he agreed. “And I was not inspired to
marry and have children with any of my dance partners.”

She grinned at that. “You don’t need to get married to have
children, Doctor.”