Carnal Pleasures

by Blaise Kilgallen

  Griff’s golden brows rose. “Do you have any complaints, Countess?”

  “No, no, not at the moment. But you must not let it happen again. You see, that was a test.” She paused, slyly. “Pour us a glass of wine from that decanter, and I’ll explain the rest.”

  * * * *

  After he did what she asked and sat back down on the edge of the mattress, she said to him, “Hear me out. You are never to speak to me in that tone again, Spencer. Do you understand? I won’t have it. Your father may have thought he could dominate for a bit, but…”

  Griff’s look was sharply curious. “You knew my father?”

  Agina bit her tongue. “If you recall, I told you we met. But that is dirty water under the bridge.” She had lost control and spoke too quickly. An angry retort nearly exposed her earlier lifestyle. She drew in a sharp breath and continued. “Your father was found in an alley in Cheapside outside a brothel he frequented. Perhaps, he was looking for an easy way out of his problems. The Times wrote that his gambling debts were quite overwhelming.” She stopped, glanced at him, and took a sip of her wine. “I believe he had health problems, too, caused by the debauched life he led.”

  Agina knew that Boswell Spencer had caught the French disease from a two-shilling whore he solicited at Covent Garden. After that, Agina had nothing more to do with him other than bleed him out of his blunt when he needed regular doses of opium to alleviate the pain. When he could no longer get a supply without money to pay for the opiate, he had shot himself in front of the establishment where Agina had once been a highly prized prostitute.

  “I wouldn’t know. My father and I didn’t speak. There was no love lost between us.” Griff knew of his father’s demise, but nothing else. He never learned the complete details even when he got hold of a month-old copy of the Times, looking for news of home, and instead, read the death notice with mild surprise.

  “I sincerely hope you won’t end up in the same dire straits. It would be a shame if, like him, your pretty face and lovely body were to go to rack and ruin.”

  Changing the topic, Agina said, “Well, just remember that I’m a countess, and you are …absolutely nothing. Simply a well paid hanger-on with certain … duties.”

  Her wary gaze fastened on Griff, watching for his reaction. She took another sip.

  Griff ignored what the countess said.

  “Well then, listen carefully, dear nephew. This is what I want you to do.” She laid a heavy hand on his arm. “You, my handsome prick, are to be my stepdaughter’s tutor concerning sex.”

  That got his attention.

  “To my knowledge she is a virgin, never even been kissed. Can you believe that?” Agina chuckled. “I’ll give you a fortnight to change Dulcina’s status from a maid to a woman, Griff Spencer. Now that I know you are capable, I want her ravished. Often. So glutted by passion she will do anything to get more of that cock of yours inside her.” The countess raised an eyebrow. “Are you listening?”

  “What?” He must look as stupefied as he felt.

  The countess’s tone and expression was clipped, demanding, and business-like. More like when he first came here. “You heard me. Besides that, I want you two wed as soon after that as possible.”

  When he remained silent, she asked, “Well? Do you agree, or don’t you?”

  His slashing brows arched. “That wasn’t part of our agreement.”

  “Of course, it wasn’t. But I’ve changed the terms since then.”

  “I need to know more,” Griff replied. In turn, his gruff tone imitated hers. He straightened from where he was lounging against the bed’s headboard. He jerked away when she laid a caressing hand on his thigh and threw his long legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet resting on the carpet.

  “This person, this Dulcina, Countess, is a horse of another color. I’m pockets to let, or I wouldn’t be here. I don’t have a kite to fly with nor do I expect one to land in my lap. And I’m too damn pinched without blunt to court a lady wanting frivolities.”

  “You needn’t worry, Spencer. Dulcina isn’t used to frivolities. She is a plain girl without greedy ambitions. She has lived a very quiet life for almost twenty years in Surrey. I had to scold her to come to Town for a Season. She’ll be here very soon. When you two are wed, she will be happy to return to the rustic life she enjoys. Take my word for it.”

  Agina ran a smoothing palm along the rigid spine of her latest cicisbeo, aware the muscles of his back hadn’t relaxed. “Never fear, dear boy, I daresay you and I can console one another when the matter is satisfactorily concluded. As soon as you abandon your mousy wife in the country where she belongs—you may warm my bed once again. Until then…well, you’re to make your magnificent cock available only to my stepdaughter.”

  Her arrogance galled him, but he asked, “What about a dowry?”

  “Of course, it will be yours. But that is all you will get. Half of Dulcina’s inheritance is hers to do with whatever she wishes after she is wed. If she gives you a generous allowance as her new husband, that’s all to the good. That way I won’t have to frank you. If not, perhaps I shall offer you pocket money if you make yourself useful in my bed.”

  The old witch plans to keep me beneath her thumb, does she? Well, not if I can help it.

  Asking for more information from the wily countess, Griff’s frown deepened, and he asked, curiously, “Who is currently in charge of her inheritance?”

  “Why, I am, of course, as her guardian. As soon as Dulcina is wed, she and I will share the former earl’s income until one of us cocks up our toes.”

  “I thought a husband was given the duty to … er … take care of his wife’s funds.”

  “Only if it is written in the marriage agreement, my boy. I will see to it as her guardian that you are dependent on Dulcina’s coin.”

  “And what happens if she doesn’t wed?”

  “Oh, I assure you, dear boy, I will see to it that she does. If not to you, to someone else. If she isn’t wed by the time she reaches her twenty-first birthday, almost everything belongs to her. You understand I must protect myself. I won’t let that happen.”

  “I see. She’s twenty now?”

  “She attains her majority on November twenty-second this year. Don’t think to bamboozle me, Spencer. I’m too sharp for that. I tamed her father when I married him. Not that it was easy to convince the earl that he couldn’t live without me until he made me his wife. But I did it. The girl’s inheritance was spelled out by the earl’s ridiculous will, but I’ll not be left with a measly year’s allowance of a few thousand pounds. I permitted the man’s sloppy, inept lovemaking before and after we were married. Now, I won’t give up half of what is rightly mine. I earned it.”

  Griff’s quick thinking considered the countess’s newest conditions. He needn’t deal with the woman’s demands on his body for a while. He had no desire whatsoever to fuck her again. Something must be wrong with him, but he couldn’t help himself. The idea nauseated him. Her touch brought on quivers of distaste even as his cock reacted to her ministrations. Was it the vivid memories of those boys being abused by their so-called protectors that brought back those perversions? They did what they had to survive. It dawned on him he was doing much the same thing. He would hate to be dominated, especially by an unfeeling, crass woman like Agina Trayhern. It was enough that his father had dominated him during childhood.

  “If you refuse or are not up to the position, I’ll engage someone else tomorrow, and you, dear boy, will be sent packing. Take my word for it.”

  Standing up slowly, Griff pulled on his top boots and shirt, and buttoned his breeches. He leaned over and reached for the full glass of wine sitting on the bedside table. “To our mutual benefit, countess,” he said, toasting her sarcastically. He quickly tossed down the wine, turned without further word, left her.

  Chapter Five

  Dulcie hugged an arm around her dog, Simon, as they rode through the outskirts of London. Her eyes were bright with wonder. She
was a bit frightened, too, so she swallowed hard to hide her fear if only to herself. She looked out the window, watching the hustle and bustle as the vehicle wove through the congested streets and across a wide bridge that brought her and her four-footed companion finally into the center of Town. Noises emanating from the busy streets battered the dog’s ears and seemed to excite him. He growled and whined when a huge dray, its wagon heaped with produce, rattled along the pavement, its metal tires rumbling by them too close for the dog’s comfort.

  “Hush, lad,” Dulcie said, smoothing the spiking ridge of hackles along the dog’s rigid spine. “They can’t hurt us in here, Simon. Be silent.”

  It wasn’t long before the coachman pulled on the reins, and they entered Portman Square in Mayfair where the carriage turned into a circular, cobbled drive. The driver halted the horses in front of an impressive, red brick town house. Quickly, a footman came down the steps to meet the vehicle and its occupants.

  Before the door opened and metal steps of the carriage were let down, Dulcie clipped a leash onto Simon’s collar to allow him to precede her outside.

  “Good day. I’m Lady Dulcina Trayhern,” she said, stepping down. “Countess Eberley’s stepdaughter. I believe she is expecting me.”

  The footman nodded. Closing the carriage’s door, he escorted Dulcie up the wide, stone staircase where a black-garbed butler stood at the entrance to the mansion. She noticed he didn’t seem too happy to see her. Or perhaps, it was his normal dour expression. Her lips twitched in a forced smile. She repeated her name to the butler and asked, “Is my stepmother at home?”

  “Not at the moment, Lady Dulcina,” he said, acknowledging the relationship immediately. “The countess and Mr. Spencer had a previous engagement.”

  It was just like my stepmother not to be here after demanding I come to London immediately. Her rude behavior is nothing new.

  Glancing around the foyer, Dulcie didn’t realize she emitted a sigh that the butler must have interpreted as annoyance.

  “Er, my lady, I’m certain Lady Trayhern would have been here to greet you had she known exactly when you were expected.”

  The man is a veritable gem, even with his sour puss, she thought. My stepmother never worried if my feelings were hurt.

  “Would you care to see your rooms? Perhaps you would like to rest a bit until they return? Everything is prepared, and…” he said, pausing and eyeing the dog. “I’ll see that your … er, canine … is cared for by a groom and taken to the stables.” He reached for Simon’s leash, but Dulcie held on tight.

  “No. Simon stays with me,” she said, firmly.

  “But milady, the countess is not fond of dogs. She doesn’t allow them inside the house. She is more especially enamored of felines.”

  Dulcie braced her shoulders. The countess’s butler wasn’t going to browbeat her and send Simon to the stables. No way.

  “What is your name?”

  “Bender, Lady Dulcina.”

  “Bender, I’ve raised Simon from a pup. He is quite agreeable and well behaved. He won’t harass the countess’s cats, since he is fond of our barn cats. I won’t have him living outside in the mews. Simon stays with me. If the countess doesn’t want my dog in the house, then both of us shall turn about and leave London posthaste.”

  The butler’s aggrieved expression turned to carved stone, but he didn’t attempt to take the dog’s leash away from Dulcie. “As you wish, milady.”

  Having won one battle, Dulcie threw another pertinent appraisal around the large foyer. A double set of curving stairs, one on each side of the entrance foyer, led up to the second floor. Several closed doors led off the foyer on the main level, and she noticed two hallways leading beneath the staircases to the rear of the house.

  “We’ve been in the coach for several hours, Bender. My dog needs to go outside to relieve himself before going up to my rooms. I shall return in a moment.” Without another word, Dulcie, clucked to Simon, spun around and went back down the outside steps toward the lush shrubbery in front of the mansion. A small patch of beautifully manicured grass lay between the shrubs and a tall, wrought iron fence barricading the street.

  “But… but…” The butler called out to her until no further words came out of his mouth. He rolled his disapproving eyes toward the foyer’s high, domed ceiling. Meanwhile, a single, small piece of luggage had been brought inside from the carriage and carried above stairs by a footman. A groom directed the coachman and the vehicle toward the rear of the house.

  “Good lad,” Dulcie said when Simon finished watering the plants. Returning together, the two retraced their steps while the butler waited. “Thank you, Bender. We’ll go to our room now. Come, Simon.” She clucked again to the large, black dog trotting by her side.

  * * * *

  Very soon another carriage pulled up to the entrance to Eberley House. Inside it, Griff was curious to see a different vehicle being driven around to the mews. As usual, a footman appeared immediately to tend to the coach’s door. Griff jumped down and offered a helpful assist to the countess as she descended the pull down steps. She took Griff’s arm as they walked up to the house.

  Bender opened the front door. Stepping inside, the couple halted. With the door closed behind them, the butler alerted the countess. “Lady Trayhern, your stepdaughter arrived a few minutes ahead of you and Lt. Spencer. She went to her rooms to freshen up.” He didn’t mention the dog. “Shall I advise her you have returned?”

  “Ah, she’s here, is she? It’s about time.” Pulling off her kid gloves, Agina meandered toward one of the curving staircases. “No, Bender, Spencer and I shall greet her at supper. Set another place at the table. Have one of the maids sent up to my stepdaughter’s room. I’m sure the country widgeon won’t know what to wear to supper, so she will need help.”

  “Yes, milady. Right away.”

  The pair had returned from an afternoon soiree and musicale. Griff felt like an actor in a stage play, fawning over the countess for what was for him a miserable hour of chitchat. She had instructed him how to behave, so he knew what was expected of him. Still, it singed his male ego. He had been edgy most of the afternoon and wondering if he was expected to perform for the countess every night until the stepdaughter arrived.

  Griff had encountered Randolph Titus again at the afternoon musicale, but his friend simply nodded to him without a verbal greeting. Nonetheless, Griff was pleased to recognize a friendly face. He really should call on Rand again very soon and see which way the wind blew between them.

  In the carriage on the way back to Portman Square, Agina demanded Griff sit beside her instead of sitting facing her. The countess then promptly caressed his private parts. He was disgusted when his body responded, although he acted aloof while avoiding her eyes and gazed out the coach’s window. His cock, it seemed, when stroked, behaved dandily no matter who did the stroking. In silence, the countess had pawed his member, rubbing along its length to keep him aroused. The woman was a blasted sex hound.

  When they entered the mansion’s foyer, Griff was certain the sizeable bulge in his breeches must have been evident to the butler’s sharp eyes, so he quickly removed his hat and gloves, and held both in front of his groin. Would Bender or the rest of the servants believe the Banbury tale the countess told them about him being her distant nephew? Or had she regularly brought cicisbeos to the house, and the discreet servants looked the other way?

  Griff followed the countess up the stairs to the second storey. “You and I will speak later,” Agina said to him, glancing over her shoulder and dismissing him, letting the door to her bedchamber snap shut behind her.

  Phew! A reprieve, Griff thought, feeling relieved and much happier that the wench had finally shown up.

  After the countess shut the door to her suite, Griff immediately went to his room. Yanking the door open roughly, he was still aggravated by Agina’s mauling. He needed a drink, something to calm him. He stripped off his dress sword and red uniform tunic and threw them on the b
ed. His top boots clicked across the uncarpeted section of oak flooring in his bedchamber. A decanter and glass sat in readiness on a side table next to a leather armchair. He poured himself a good dollop of what tasted to him like smuggled French brandy.

  Easing into a comfortable chair, his balls still on fire with the hard-on from the countess’s irksome teasing, Griff spread his thighs and hoped soon his damn cock would shrink to normal size. Massaging his balls didn’t help. He was almost ready to stick his dick in a keyhole and get release. Griff stared glumly into the unlit fireplace until something took his mind off his arousal. He thought he heard a low growl coming from somewhere nearby. Did the countess keep a watchdog in her bedroom? He had seen her fondling and cooing with two cats earlier that day.

  Now he sat up and listened harder. Damnation! Am I hearing things?

  He swallowed another mouthful of the potent liquor, letting it burn its way to his stomach and leaned back again. His hearing remained on alert, but he heard no more growling, so he put the idea of a dog anywhere in the immediate area out of his head.

  While he mused and sipped his brandy, he digested the information he had gleaned from the episode with countess last night. So, the witch has a stepdaughter. She had never mentioned family to him before, until she made up a convenient nephew. Catching on, he realized Dulcina must be the earl’s daughter by his first wife. Now Griff pondered his options. How old was the stepdaughter? What did she look like? Not that it mattered that much to him, but the countess said she was plain. How plain? He would wed a cross-eyed, buck-toothed scarecrow if she had money—and lots of it. He was also very curious as to how large her dowry was. The countess never said how much he would be entitled to when he married the girl.

  Griff took another swallow of brandy. He hoped he didn’t have to keep his eyes shut and hold his breath to fuck this one, too.