Carnal Pleasures

by Blaise Kilgallen

  “I’ve convinced your stepdaughter,” Griff spat out brusquely, gazing down at the countess where she reclined. “But she says she won’t rush into marriage. No special license, no hurry-up wedding. I’m to court her first.”

  “Was that the best you could do?”

  “On short notice, yes.”

  “I don’t want any slip-ups, Griff,” Agina warned fiercely. “Then you had better court her daily. Make love to her daily if you can. There are enough hidden nooks in this house for trysting. Get her pregnant if you can. Then she will surely rush to face a preacher.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, countess,” he agreed. “In the meantime, I need more of an advance.”

  “What did you do with the draft I wrote you?”

  “I banked it, but I need an equal sum to conclude a business transaction.”

  “You’ll not get another penny from me, nephew, until you’ve finished what we agreed upon.”

  Well, it was worth a try, Griff thought, drawing his eyebrows into a frown. “Fine, then, and don’t expect me for supper, Countess. I’ve already told Dulcie that I will not see her until tomorrow.”

  “I see. But I shall send a notice to the London newspapers tomorrow. I want it spread about the ton that you and Dulcina are engaged and will soon be wed.”

  “All right. She may want to take the air since she’s staying, get away from the house to which you have tied her. A carriage drive along the Serpentine tomorrow may be appropriate.”

  “Perhaps. We shall see. Now leave me. I have a headache.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Griff met Randy Titus for a bachelor’s supper at his town house. Afterwards, they drove together to the Burlington’s ball, arriving a little before eleven o’clock. They joined the queue of guests moving slowly through the receiving line, heard music coming from the ballroom while they waited to be presented. Rand was stretching his neck to get a glimpse of his possible intended.

  “Desdemona is still at the beginning of the receiving line,” he said, grabbing Griff’s arm, “standing between her mother and father. See there? Isn’t she beautiful?”

  Griff looked over and around the heads of six or seven couples lined up in front of him. He had little interest in the debutante even if she was his cousin. He was concerned only in her parents. “Umm, yes, she’s quite lovely, Rand,” he agreed, complimenting the pretty girl in the over-fussy gown. His sharp gray eyes took in a more intense appraisal of his mother’s younger sister, Phoebe, and her wealthy husband, John Burlington. Would they recognize him? Greet him and pass him along the line with the rest of the guests? Or have him thrown out?

  Randy moved ahead to make Griff’s initial introductions to his estranged family.

  “Ah,” John Burlington smiled and stretched a hand out to Rand. “Glad you could come, Lord Titus. My daughter was wondering if you were going to miss the festivities.”

  “Miss Desdemona’s ball? I should think not, sir. I’m here with bells on.”

  “Good, good.” Burlington turned to Griff. “Now who is this gentleman with you?”

  “A former school chum of mine, Mr. Burlington. May I present Griffith Spencer?”

  “Spencer, you say, hmm? My wife’s sister was married to a Spencer.” He looked up at Griff at the same time he unknowingly extended a hand to shake his nephew’s hand.

  “Well, now,” Burlington said, his bristling, gray brows lifting. “Have we met, Mr. Spencer? If so, I don’t believe we have. It’s been sometime…”

  “…since my name was on anyone’s lips?” Griff interposed. “I realize that, sir. “Nevertheless, I’m part of my mother’s family, sir,” Griff replied, grabbing the man’s fingers in a firm grip. “I’m looking forward to reconnecting with…with you and yours.”

  Griff met the sharp, cool stare of the wealthy financier. “I’ve been away from England for several years. But I hope…well…perhaps you’d allow me to meet with you elsewhere to explain.”

  “Er…well…harumph…this is neither the time nor place. But you had best move along now, Mr. Spencer.” And he urged Griff forward.

  Rand had moved ahead and was standing with Desdemona and her mother. “Miss Desdemona, may I present my good friend, Griffith Spencer?” Rand said with a charming, boyish smile.

  Griff took the girl’s gloved hand and raised it to his lips. “How do you do, Miss Burlington? I’m very happy to meet you,” he said, gazing down into his cousin’s blue eyes. “Perhaps, you will be good enough to save me a dance later on?”

  Griff spoke to her softly. She looked quickly over at Rand for approval rather than to her mother who was speaking to someone else.

  The viscount nodded.

  “It will be my pleasure,” Desdemona replied smoothly. “I shall keep a spot for you on my dance card.”

  Rand managed a sly wink at Desdemona and moved along to introduce Griff to Desdemona’s mother.

  Phoebe Burlington’s brows arched then pinched into a frown as she heard the name.

  “Griffith S-Spencer? M-my sister, Eloise’s, son?” she stuttered in surprise at the same time Griff bowed over her gloved hand.

  “Yes, aunt, one and the same.”

  “But-but…I thought…”

  “You thought I was dead? Raised from the grave?”

  “Mother?” Desdemona piped up from her mother’s side, overhearing the unusual words. “What in the world is going on?”

  She looked back up at Griff. “I don’t understand.”

  “Never mind, Dessie,” her mother said, cutting her off. Phoebe’s cordial expression had frozen where she normally pasted on a smile while standing in the receiving line. Her blue eyes turned icy when she was startled by her nephew’s sudden appearance out-of-nowhere. “I’ll explain later, dear.”

  Glancing up at Griff, Phoebe said, “Mr. Spencer, we need to speak at some other time and place. Not here.” She managed to send a tiny smile toward Randolph Titus.

  “I am at your utter disposal, ma’am,” Griff replied. Bowing to both perplexed females, Griff followed Rand down the short, carpeted staircase into the glittering ballroom where they mingled with several hundred invited guests.

  * * * *

  Rand was able to jot his initials next to two slots on Desdemona’s dance card, including the supper dance. Griff signed for a set of country reels.

  While Rand took Desdemona into supper, Griff was free to wander on his own. Griff noticed John Burlington speaking to his wife and then walking toward Griff who was standing near the raised dais where the musicians sat. The small orchestra had stopped playing, the ballroom was almost empty, and the lavish, standing buffet was underway.

  “Mr. Spencer,” Burlington said, approaching Griff. Puzzlement had settled upon his expression. “My wife asked me to have you escorted from our premises, but I decided to speak with you first. What do you want with us, young man?”

  Griff carried a half full glass of champagne in his hand, but he relinquished it to a passing servant. “Only to make my apologies to my mother’s family, sir.” He added, “And hope I can convince you both that I am a changed man—explain what occurred to me during the past years to change me so that I can again become a part of the family.”

  “Harumph! My wife tells me you were as rotten as any apple in the barrel—the same as your father was. Drinking. Gambling. Whoring.” Burlington ticked the accusations off on his fingers. “I daresay both of you broke my sister-in-law’s heart. Of course, Phoebe didn’t bring up the worst part. But never mind; I know what transpired. As part of several gossipy, financial circles, I know what happened to Eloise’s dowry and the family estate left to her when she married your father. The estate was declared in ruins.”

  “I’m sure all of that is quite true, sir, but it is no longer true now. My mother taught me more than affection and simple manners. She also instilled in me an acceptance of honor and discipline. When she died…well, I must confess I fell away from her teachings and dove into the opposite direction.
I embraced my father’s gross, disreputable leanings in the underworld of greed and wicked morals.”

  “And?”

  “I joined the King’s army to get away from my father’s influence.”

  “Whether you no longer care or not, the war with Bonaparte and the French is still going on, Mr. Spencer, quite vigorously. I note that you no longer wear a uniform.”

  Griff noticed, too, that his uncle’s demeanor had cooled considerably, that and because of his wife’s instructions. His tone wasn’t friendly, nor did he use Griff’s given name.

  “I seemed to recall having read the Spencer name in a brief report a short while ago,” his uncle said, running a fingertip along his thick moustache and fussing with it to groom it. “Are you the Spencer from Wellington’s force on the Peninsula? Were you wounded?” He eyed Griff, coldly. “You look well enough,” Burlington said, appraising Griff’s manly physique beneath his civilian clothing.

  The truth was becoming extremely difficult for Griff to confess. He’d been through a difficult encounter of soul-searching once today. Did he now have to bare his soul again to his uncle and the rest of his family to gain acceptance? Would doing so mitigate his former disgrace? He didn’t think so. Not if his uncle knew about his current connection with the countess. As many pitched battles as he had suffered through in the Peninsula—the pestilence, heat, and gore—facing his stern-faced uncle this evening, he was deathly afraid. He couldn’t allow himself to unburden himself fully until he squared himself with Whitehall.

  “No, sir, I sold out of the army less than a month ago.” He would never actually state his reason nor the fact that he had been booted out of the army. “But—but I plan to re-enlist.”

  What in blazes am I thinking to make such a stupid promise, allowing the words to jump out of my mouth? I hate the army. I hate the Peninsula. I want nothing more to do with war and fighting, but here I am, like an idiot, pledging to return to Wellington’s army—and possibly, die, facing the French. God help me!

  “I see. Well, then, when must you go back?”

  “I’m not absolutely certain. But I hope it will be soon.”

  Maybe I’ll be fortunate, and they won’t accept me at Whitehall.

  “I have an appointment at Whitehall tomorrow, sir.”

  God, I’m digging myself deeper and deeper into this tacky spider web of lies, ain’t I? Do I truly mean to re-enlist?

  “My boy, I shall tell my wife you have changed. ‘Twas your mother’s family who banished you, Griffith, not me, since we never met. I’ll take your word for it, and stand up for you, now that I hear your renewed intention to fight for England against the Corsican devil. See if I don’t. We’re in need of more brave men to defeat the damn Frogs.” Burlington reached over and lightly gripped Griff’s shoulder. “Come now, have supper with us and enjoy the rest of the evening.”

  “No, sir, I think not, but thank you, Uncle, for sticking by me.”

  The men shook hands.

  Leaving word with a footman to alert Rand, Griff left the ball. He felt the cool night air, his gut still churned with nervous energy. Instead of hailing a hackney, he decided to walk back to Eberley House. His impetuous decision about re-enlisting galloped around in his brain during the hour’s walk along the Mayfair streets. He would take the funds he had squirreled away from Agina and buy another commission. Tonight, having made up his mind during the walk, he could get a good night’s rest. It might be his last for a long time hence; or it might mean joining an unending sleep like so many others when he returned to the Peninsula.

  * * * *

  Dulcie lay wide awake. No sounds emanated from anywhere on the second storey. Her stepmother had ordered a supper tray in her bedchamber, and Dulcie asked for the same, since it would be depressing sitting at table alone without, at least, Griff sharing it. She had wandered through the lower level to her father’s study before suppertime and brought a book with her to read, but unfortunately, she couldn’t concentrate. Rambling thoughts tumbled through her head long after her earlier conversation with Griff Spencer.

  After she ate, Dulcie decided to speak to her stepmother. When she was allowed into her stepmother’s bedchamber, she found Agina being treated for a headache, watching Emma Trent placing wet cloths on the countess’s forehead.

  “Mother, I’m sorry to disturb you,” Dulcie began. “I simply wanted you to know that I am going ahead with your wishes and am betrothed to Griffith Spencer.”

  “It’s about time you listened to me, Dulcina,” the countess replied through tightened lips. “I expect you to be wed very soon.”

  “No, since I’m forced to wed, I want it done up in style. I want an extraordinary wedding, with all the lavish trimmings…”

  “What? Are you dicked in the head, miss? Do you know what that will cost?”

  The countess waved an entreating hand toward Trent. “Bring another cloth doused with lavender water, Trent. My stepdaughter has assaulted me with more silly demands to cut up my peace.”

  “Of course, my lady.” Dulcie earned a swift frown from the lady’s maid who laid another cool, scented cloth gently on Agina’s furrowed brow.

  “I’m certain, Mother, that my father left funds enough to give me a lovely wedding. If you will be good enough to let me read his will…”

  “Arrgh! You ungrateful, impudent chit!” The countess sputtered her words at Dulcie in anger, her shoulders lifting off the chaise “Read your father’s will? The earl’s solicitor explained everything to me. You needn’t read it. You’ve been well taken care of by me since your dear father expired. I’ve already spent hundreds on a fashionable wardrobe so you’re worthy enough to snare a husband. If I had known you were going to seduce my nephew, I may have saved the expense.”

  Agina ran an agitated hand over the damp rag resting on her brow. “Your father asked me to find you a husband, Dulcina, and I planned to do so. Instead, you were bold and willful, and went ahead and acquired what you wanted on your own.”

  Agina immediately threw out yet a questing hand to her lady’s maid. “Bring me a powerful headache potion, Trent,” the countess asked, not giving Dulcina a chance to reply. “My head is pounding after hearing the chit’s foolishness.” Turning her head, she glared at the girl. “Leave me now, Dulcina,” Agina snapped. “I don’t wish to see you again today.”

  “I’m sorry, Mother,” Dulcina apologized. She was about to turn away and leave when the countess spoke again.

  “You may think yourself a lady, Dulcina, but you are no longer ladylike nor chaste, so I caution you to behave and wed my nephew after the banns are announced for three weeks. There will be no exorbitant wedding plans, nor lavish expenditures. You may return to Bonne Vista with your husband and stay there forever, for all I care. I’m sure you will have no further need of fripperies when you’re rusticating in the country.”

  Dulcie clamped her lips into a straight line and said no more. She spun away and left the countess’s chamber.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dulcie woke early the next morning. Subtle, half-dreams had taunted her during the night. The dreams seemed vivid enough to titillate, waking her and leaving her tense with anticipation. Of what, she wasn’t sure. It was no use going back to sleep, so she dressed quickly to take Simon outside. Unexpectedly, she met Griff Spencer in the foyer.

  “Shall we accompany Simon on his walk together?” he asked as she came down staircase.

  She nodded. As always, Simon was glad to see Griff, his tail swinging wildly.

  “Give me a moment, and I’ll get my hat,” Griff said after patting the dog.

  She watched Griff take two steps at a time up the stairs. She couldn’t help but admire his agility and strength. In her dreams last night she envisioned him naked, hovering over her in his bed while he made ardent love to her. The bronzed skin on his chest glowed with warm, male flesh. Gleaming, golden, chest hair reflected flames in the fireplace. Without his clothes, she was reminded of a sketch of a beautiful, marble
statue she had seen in one of her father’s tomes about Greece.

  The “other” night was difficult to remember. She had a slight inkling that Griff wore a shirt, but no waistcoat or jacket. She wasn’t certain if he had even removed his boots! She had been in a state of semi-unconsciousness—so many things happening inside of her and out—all at once. She recalled clinging to him in panic when he tried to calm her, embracing her with what seemed tenderness and slow caresses. Then she had lunged at him, grabbing his mouth in a frenzy of uninhibited passion, and sucking on his lips until he plunged his hot tongue between her teeth. She could still remember his taste. He had kissed her back, powerfully, taking his time about it. Memories brought a flush of heat to Dulcie’s cheeks while she waited in the foyer for Griff to join them.

  Griff’s leather boots tapped down the polished stairs to meet them. She noticed his jaunty way of walking had a lively spring to it, and he always seemed to be smiling whenever they met. Dulcie found herself assessing the man who was now her fiancé, or in reality, her soon-to-be-husband, unless they discovered a way out of their dilemma.

  Griff gripped Simon’s leash as a footman opened the door for the trio. She advised Joshua they were out for a short walk but would be back for breakfast.

  Griff asked him to notify the cook. “I daresay a breath of fresh air will give us a hearty appetite.”

  Pausing at the bottom of the entrance steps, Griff asked Dulcie, “Are you feeling better today? No leftover trembles or twitches?” His gaze was warm on her face

  “Much better, thank you, Griff. I seem to be rid of the heebie-jebbies from the other night,” she replied meeting his eyes. “And you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He said he was fine, but she noticed something new hiding behind his expression. Was it because they agreed to their engagement? It was his idea, not hers, so why should he feel any remorse? They didn’t plan to play it out in full. There had to be a way to wiggle out of the messy situation.