Carnal Pleasures

by Blaise Kilgallen

  * * * *

  Griff spent a few hours at White’s with Rand before returning to Eberley House. A footman met him in the foyer. The house was quiet. The countess must still be out, otherwise, the doors and windows on the first level would be bolted shut for the night. He wondered if Dulcie were awake. For some odd reason, he wanted to see her, talk to her, make certain they were still in perfect agreement.

  But of course, she must be asleep. It was after midnight.

  His nerves were taut, edgy. He was quite awake. Talk at White’s about the war and Napoleon had his mind reviving grizzly memories. From what he heard, the war effort was falling short of victory, not going as well as was hoped. But Griff could have told Londoners that, weeks ago—when he was still slogging through the mud of Spain.

  In White’s club room he heard the names of places mentioned during the past few years, and he ticked them off in his brain: Ciudad Rodrigo, Badajoz, Salamanca, all of them were bloody battles in which he had managed to survive without a scratch.

  In his bedchamber Griff stripped down to his shirt, breeches, and boots, poured himself a large dollop of brandy, and fell into a chair in front of the low burning fire in the grate. No, he didn’t want to go back to the Peninsula. But he was determined to equate himself well, find what he was truly made of, and reclaim and dignify his character in the eyes of his immediate family.

  Griff mused, staring into the flames. The members of White’s must have known Griff was Boswell’s son because he overhead snippets of gossip about his father’s demise while he and Rand ate supper. His father had been called a “bloody coward” to put a pistol to his head and commit suicide.

  ‘Read it in The Times a few years back,’ one graybeard said. ‘Wagered his bloody estate on the turn of a card, and lost it. Damn fool must have been befogged with Blue Ruin!’

  ‘Heard he had the French disease,’ another diner detailed his own suspicions. ‘Does devastating things to a man’s cock and balls as well as to his wishful thinking.’

  ‘Mayhap he was brought to Point Non Plus. You’d put a bullet in your head, too, if you rogered too many infected whores,’ his companion added.

  ‘He was on the bloody rocks, pockets to let. I was told he blew his brains out in the alley next to a Cheapside brothel after his favorite courtesan closed the door in his face.’

  Griff ran a shaking palm over his rumpled hair, his long fingers raking tracks through the crisp, blond curls. After his meeting with the banker, he had accepted the fact that he wasn’t able to buy back his inheritance. Well, so be it. He vowed he would never again prostitute himself for money again, either. If he made it back from the Peninsula, somehow, he determined to live a life that had new meaning.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Griff and Dulcie—and Simon—who was also enjoying the ride—tooled along the Serpentine in a spanking, elegant curricle the following afternoon as did numerous well-garbed Londoners riding in flashy carriages and on horseback. Five o’clock of an afternoon in Hyde Park was the place to be and be seen on a brilliant, late spring day during the London Season.

  The curious looked down their noses toward the newly engaged couple, pedestrians stretched their necks over the line of riders and carriages, and took especial note of the trio. No one waved or spoke to either Griff or Dulcie. Neither of the pair had close friends in Town. Griff thought perhaps he might meet Rand and Desdemona taking the air, but that wasn’t the case. After an hour’s exposure along Rotten Row, Griff drove them back to Eberley House.

  Dulcie had chatted with him, animatedly, her face alight with smiles, laughing often while he worked the ribbons and listened. He was glad he had given her enjoyment during the moments of freedom from her stepmother. She beamed as the curricle made its way back to Portman Square.

  “Would you like to see more of London, Dulcie? Perhaps a tourist’s tour?” he asked. “I know my way around, and the countess asked me to make it known to all and sundry that we are engaged and are soon to marry.” He bent his head down toward her. “Even though,” he said with a grin stretching his lips wide, “we will surprise her with the bad news in few days.”

  “Oh, Griff, I would love to see more of London—the Art Museum, London Bridge, and Big Ben, and the menagerie at The Tower…”

  “Whoa! Slow down.” He chuckled at her enthusiasm.

  He halted the horses in front of the Eberley town house. “I will do my best, Dulcie, with what time I have left. Do you know if your stepmother accepted an invitation to a ball? If so, shall we ask her if we are to attend?”

  “Oh yes! I’ve never attended a ball! Or a country assembly either.”

  * * * *

  Agina commanded Dulcie and Griff to accompany her to several nighttime affairs.

  She had taken Dulcie shopping for a ready-made ball gown. She penny-pinched on the dress as she always did when it was something for Dulcie. The countess’s favorite modiste’s customer had rejected the order so the cost had been lowered. The countess was certain her stepdaughter would never again have use for such an elegant gown, but she bargained for it anyway. Dulcie was thrilled by the fashionable ball gown. It was a lovely shade of pale green, if rather plain. But the fabric was special, a textured weave. The floating silk fit Dulcie’s frame with little alteration and could be worn immediately.

  Though Dulcie never fussed with her appearance in the country, she knew she needed to when appearing at a London ball. Marnie did up her hair in an elegant do. Dulcie never owned impressive jewelry except her mother’s engagement ring, so her neck was left bare. The gown exposed a goodly amount of young, tender skin. Dulcie decided not to wear her spectacles, although she wouldn’t be able to see nearly as clearly without them.

  It was their last evening out, and Griff ran into Rand and Desdemona Burlington at the Mercheem’s ball. Griff even had another opportunity to dance with his cousin while Rand escorted Dulcie in a country dance.

  “Er, Mr. Spencer,” Desdemona said when they began to dance, “I was told we are related.”

  As usual, country dances called for intermittent promenades around the ballroom during the intricate figures, and permitted light conversation between partners.

  “Dear Miss Burlington,” Griff replied, leading Desdemona around the dance floor’s perimeter, “yes, we are. And since we are cousins, can we not forget the formalities? I know we scarcely met, but we should get to know each other better.”

  “Of course. I daresay you are correct.”

  “Then why not call me Griff? It is what Rand calls me.”

  She dimpled up at him. “And you may call me Dessie. ‘Tis what my parents and my special friends, like…er, Lord Rand…do.”

  “Dessie, it is. Good. Now, tell me. Are you enjoying your come out?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “I’m sure you have a number of suitors hanging onto your skirts, do you not?” Griff probed to see if she had a special liking for Rand.

  “Oh dear, yes, I’m afraid so. But I do wish some of them would not be so persistent. I’m not ready to make a choice. But I have just learned my substantial dowry is part of the problem, and I feel as though I am being smothered by too much callow attention.”

  “Oh, is that so? What a pity.” Thinking himself too mature for such hi-jinks, Griff simply smiled down at his young cousin.

  “I heard you are to be wed, Cousin Griff.”

  “Yes, well…that’s quite true.”

  When the dance ended, he deposited Desdemona with her cluster of young friends.

  He met Rand, who had also returned Dulcie to her stepmother. The two men pushed through the crowd toward the French doors opening onto a large balcony, seeking a few uninterrupted minutes of conversation.

  “My cousin tells me she is hounded by a rash of young puppies seeking her hand, Rand. Have you made inroads on courting her yourself?”

  “None, unfortunately. She is very friendly, kind, and polite, and she seems to like me. But that is as far as it goes.”


  “Have you flirted with her?”

  “Ah, Griff, you know I never was good at flirting.”

  “Well, you had better learn, old chap, or she…and her large dowry…will fly out the window with someone else.”

  “I don’t need her money, but you managed to snag a rich wife, Griff. How did you do it?”

  There was no way Griff would spill the details of Dulcie’s denouement to Rand or anyone else. He punched his friend lightly on the shoulder as they started back inside to the ballroom. “I charmed her, what else?” And he left it at that.

  * * * *

  Dulcie knew Griff would leave London the day after tomorrow. It would be months, perhaps, years, before she would see him again. She knew, without a doubt, that she would miss him terribly…and be anxious about his welfare while he was in the midst of such danger. At first, she was unable to figure a way out of her marriage. Then Griff had thought of a way to postpone it, and committed himself to re-list in the army, this time on the war on the Peninsula. He had done it for her sake. Now she could only pray for his safe return.

  Griff had set his initials next to the final set of dances on Dulcie’s card. “Are you ready for this?” Griff asked, approaching and bowing over her hand where she stood on the edge of the polished dance floor.

  Dulcie blinked, her lashes fluttering. She envisioned what his fashionable eveningwear hid beneath them when Griff halted in front of her. Awareness jolted through her as she looked up into his smiling eyes, conscious that he was real, made of male flesh and blood, oozing with exciting masculinity. He wore no gloves, and she felt his warmth as he held her hand. Muscles, beautifully sculpted as marble statues, felt solid and strong under her fingertips when she laid them on his jacketed forearm.

  She lay in bed last night flipping through that scandalous book. She trailed her fingers over the illustrations, wondering, in reality, how his bare skin would feel were she daring enough to caress it. And that other, unthinkable portion of Griff’s male flesh…well, she had never dreamt what it did to her the night they fell into bed together. Visions of nude male statues…and pictures of Griff, especially…had her twitchy. She had returned the book to her father’s book room before breakfast, mortified if anyone had caught her perusing the sketches.

  She hesitated, not answering Griff. He countered by asking, “Would you rather take a breath of air before we leave instead of dancing? It’s still relatively warm on the balcony. And there’s a very pretty moon above.”

  The wish to share more time with him bubbled through her veins. It was almost like the night she drank the tainted wine. Surely, her cheeks must bloom with color. “It is rather warm in here, Griff,” she said. “I would like some air.”

  He held out his forearm, and she placed her gloved hand on it. They wove their way through the gathering sets of dancers toward the balcony. The orchestra began to play, and the final notes of music wafted onto the night air. The balcony was deserted. The three-quarter moon rode low over the roofs of Mayfair. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

  Dulcie and Griff stood next to one another facing the stone balustrade enclosing the wide balcony. She had brought a lovely, ivory fan with her—a surprise gift from her stepmother. She waved it before her to cool her heated cheeks. For several moments, they stood silent, gazing over the darkened garden lying below them. Flowerbeds and shrubs were lit by the moonbeams shining down upon them.

  Griff turned, resting his lean buttocks against the railing. The moon lit Dulcie’s face, enhancing her prettiness. “Well, Dulcie,” he sighed softly, “the week flew by. After tomorrow, I’m off to war. Is there anything special you wish to do before I go? Any place you haven’t seen yet?”

  She swallowed hard, trying not to pucker up, ready to douse her cheeks with tears like a watering pot. No way could she thank him for spending those hours with her during the past week, gently flirting with her, making her laugh, all the while escorting her wherever she wanted to go around London. As a last treat, he had taken her to Gunter’s for an ice, because she never tasted anything like that delicious confection before. Weeks ago, she had anticipated enduring only unhappiness while at Eberley House, an unwanted punishment to be spent with her uncaring stepmother. Looking back now, those days with Griff had been her happiest. She would never forget those hours … or him…ever.

  Dulcie touched Griff’s jacketed arm lightly. When she did so, he straightened and bent close to probe her expression. “Has it been worthwhile, Dulcie? I mean the time we spent in our enforced companionship? Have we convinced the busybodies that we are committed to our betrothal?”

  “I do believe so, Griff. Everyone we’ve met seems to accept it as fact.”

  “Have you told my stepmother yet that you’re leaving, Griff?” she asked boldly.

  “No, but I will. In person, Dulcie, or she will try to force you to beg off—and jilt me.”

  “When do you plan to do so?”

  “Trust me. I promise I will get it done before I leave.”

  He held her gaze for a silent moment before he added, “And I suggest that you leave Town as soon as possible, too. Tomorrow. Make some excuse. While she is out seeing friends, pack up. Leave a note and tell her you were called away to Surrey in an emergency. But say you expect to be back in time for the wedding. She needn’t know yet that the wedding will never take place. Do it, before I go. Stay in the country where she can’t hound you or change your mind. Will you do that for me? Please?”

  “Yes, of course, Griff. You are wise to warn me.”

  He heard her audible sigh when she took a step closer and looked at him with the strangest look on her face. He explored her countenance in the moonlight, wondering what she was thinking.

  It was just as well she couldn’t read his mind, because he wanted very much to take her into his arms and kiss her, deeply, as a last farewell. They were alone on the balcony. The soft strains of music filtered out to them, and he suddenly knew, deep in his gut, that the woman beside him meant a lot to him—whether she was a rich heiress or not.

  “I want to thank you for everything, Griff,” Dulcie said. “I owe you for…uh, I wish…well, never mind. But would you mind very much if I kissed you goodbye?”

  His eyebrows arched, a bit surprised by her question, but he said, “You owe me nothing, Dulcie, just the opposite. I stole your innocence. I’m sorry, and I apologize for that. I truly never meant to hurt you.”

  “No, no, I won’t remember the bad parts, Griff. I’ll promise to remember only the nice parts.”

  “I can’t forget, but I hope you can forget and forgive.”

  He reached out with a long index finger and tilted her chin up to meet his gaze.

  She leaned into him and raised her lips. He dipped his head. Hers was an untutored kiss, a thank-you kiss, nothing like the lust-filled, passionate kiss she ground onto his lips while in the throes of the love potion. But before Griff could help himself, his kiss escalated into more. He lifted his mouth for a brief moment. When she didn’t pull away, he captured hers again, plunging deep, his tongue swirling behind her teeth in a quick, hot, flurry of desire. He wrapped himself around her, one hand on her waist, the other gripping her shoulders, and pressed her tight against him. They melded into one silhouette, one indivisible, dark form outlined by the silvery moonlight.

  Their kiss was long in length and became passionate in its intensity. Dulcie surrendered to him, feeling his desire a hard lump against her stomach as a bevy of sensations bombarded her senses. Her hands reached around his waist, under his jacket, and pulled him closer. Her lips reached for his. Each of them slowly inhaled, neither wanting to destroy the magical moment on the balcony

  Griff pulled Dulcie’s tongue into his mouth, teasing it, dancing with it erotically, until he heard a soft groan escape her. His lust grew stronger, flamed hotter. It would be a long time before he made love to a woman again—any woman. A very long time. At this precise moment, he wanted and needed Dulcie as much as if he were dying of thirst on t
he red, arid plains of Spain.

  Dammit! There are too many clothes hindering us! I want her undressed, naked!

  He ground his erection against her lower body, imagining himself buried in her clinging wetness.

  “God help me,” he rasped out, “I don’t want to go and leave you, Dulcie!” He lowered his mouth to devour her mouth again.

  A soft, muffled sob escaped from her, and her hold on him tightened. ”Hold me, Griff. Hold me tight,” she begged, her voice sounding as panicky as he felt.

  Just then, a male voice cut across the darkened balcony. “I say, Griff, is that you out here?” The shadow of a figure in eveningwear darkened the doorway from the ballroom. The music had stopped, though Griff and Dulcie never heard it cease. Sounds of couples breaking up the sets and chitchatting as the ball was ending finally broke into the kissing couple’s delirious haze.

  Griff sprang away from their embrace and straightened his cravat and jacket.

  Dulcie wavered on her feet for a moment until Griff grabbed her elbow to steady her. Caught unawares, she rapidly fluttered her fan, desire and wild temptation still raging through her veins when she and Griff kissed. Passion slowly diminished into a simmering afterglow.

  “Rand? We were just coming inside,” Griff lied.

  “I believe the countess is looking for you,” the viscount said. “She called for her carriage ten minutes ago and is about to leave.”

  “Bloody hell,” Griff murmured between his teeth, praying that his breeches didn’t show evidence of his arousal. “Is that right, Rand? Then we shall have to hurry,” he said, taking his time before placing Dulcie’s hand back on his forearm. He escorted her through the doorway, pausing next to his friend. “I’ll stop by tomorrow, Rand,” Griff said, turning to bow to Desdemona as he and Dulcie said their goodnights. Locating the countess in the overflowing foyer, they followed her to the waiting carriage.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It was after two o’clock in the morning when the carriage rolled to a halt in front of Eberley House and the three occupants went into the mansion.