Carnal Pleasures (26 page)

Her choking moans emptied into the air in the room with want and need. Griff desperately wanted her to climax before he gained his own release.

She opened her legs wider, leaned into his caresses, pumping to meet his stroking rhythm.

He gauged her movements, her breathing, and knew she was almost ready to experience sensations she may not have enjoyed under the influence of the aphrodisiac. Her core muscles begin to twitch and then convulse, and he stroked Dulcie faster, harder, until she forced out a long, keening wail, very much like a dog’s howl.

Dulcie’s fingers gripped Griff’s muscled biceps, her fingernails digging into his flesh, shaking with tremors as she tensed, exploded, and came.

Simon’s nose rose, and he howled in concert with Dulcie’s long wail of blissful satisfaction.

Griff pulled his fingers out of her body, positioning himself between her thighs. He braced his elbows and sought the wet and willing entrance to her pussy. Slowly, holding his breath, he aimed the full length and thickness of his penis into her, plunging as far as his cock could go, then stopped.

He was panting, breathing hard and fast. He stroked, his movements growing harder, the muscles in his thighs and buttocks clenching as he pushed in and pulled out. He gripped her buttocks, raising her slightly off the mattress, changing position to intensify his movements, rubbing intensely against her most sensitive spot. He was about to gain release, but he wanted her with him. He reached between their bodies with a thumb and caressed her clit. In seconds, he felt her inner muscles again grow taut.

She must have learned how to reach for the moon, fly to the edge of the precipice, and soar higher than ever before.

He forgot himself for the second time in his libertine life. He pulled out one more time then plunged into her core. His release shuddered through him like an earthquake trembling beneath him, or like thunderous waves of power, spewed from artillery guns in the midst of battle. A new, unique, sweet, taste of heaven rushed through him as he came—along with rollers of pleasure, gripping him until he was breathless and limp.

The walls of her vagina still quivered, milking seed from his cock.

Griff slumped on top of Dulcie, his breathing rapid as air feathered beneath her chin. She hadn’t moved, other than her chest going up and down as she pulled in shallow breaths. He rested his cheek against her, aware that he should remove himself. It took a minute or so until he was able to roll off of her and closed his eyes. He meant to go back to his room as soon as he recovered from the absolutely explosive episode of mating with Dulcie again.

* * * *

When he awakened, dawn was peeking over the roofs of Mayfair. Dulcie was still asleep, her breathing a tiny purr next to his ear where she lay beside to him.

He hated to leave her, but it was time to go. He slid off the bed and donned his robe, fastening the sash tight. He looked down at Dulcie a few moments longer, allowing himself to burn her image into his memory. He didn’t expect to see her ever again.

Griff left Eberley House before either Dulcie or the countess awoke. He checked in with the commanders in Whitehall, tied up the loose ends about his re-enlistment, then stopped by Rand’s townhouse to say farewell to his friend and wish him luck with his courting of Desdemona Burlington.

“I am reminded, Rand, what my cousin said while we were dancing. That she wasn’t interested in callow, persistent youths—the ones who flocked around her. Rather, I daresay, she fancies a more mature suitor. Like you, if I got the drift.”

“Did she say that? Did she mention me by name?”

“Well, no, not in so many words, but I suggest that you don’t fawn all over her like the young puppies. Courting is fine, so be interested and attentive, but not overly so. Let her flirt and make eyes at
you.
Before you know it, Rand, old man, Dessie will be pursuing
you
instead of the other way ‘round.”

“Is that your sage advice, Griff? Is that how you won Dulcina Trayhern’s hand?”

“Me? No, not at all. I’m afraid my engagement to Dulcie was arranged by the countess. I needed Dulcie’s dowry, and the countess wanted her stepdaughter married. No love lost between us.”

It should only be true,
Griff thought, remembering last night.

* * * *

When Griff returned to Eberley House and tapped on the door to which he had been summoned, he surmised Dulcie was still in her room.

“It’s about time you came back,” Agina snapped.

Her two fluffy cats lay on the settee with her, one on her lap, the other one sleeping beside her. Agina slowly caressed bejeweled fingers along the silky spine of the sleepy-eyed feline, who blinked and purred aloud with satisfaction. The second cat snuggled against the countess’s hip.

“Where have you been, Spencer? Did you know that my foolish stepdaughter left the house sometime early this morning before I rose? She left me a note, the ungrateful chit. She says there is an emergency at Bonne Vista, and she must return to the country. Can you believe it? Well, I’ll fix that! You, Griff, are to go immediately to Surrey and fetch her back to Town.”

“I don’t believe I can do that, Countess. You see, I, too, will be leaving Town later today.”

“What? What do you mean? You can’t simply run off. You have responsibilities! The wedding is set for two weeks hence!”

“I can and I will, madam. I’ve been ordered to the Peninsula.”

“Don’t be stupid. You were drummed out of the army a month ago. You can’t fool
me
with your Banbury tales. I know all about your expulsion from the army!”

Damnation! The witch knows about that. She must have spies everywhere.

“I re-enlisted, Countess. Less than a week ago.” He laughed without a touch of humor. “So you cannot manipulate either me or Dulcie into marriage. Seems you are out of luck. The boot is quite on the other foot. I doubt I will return in time for that dreaded day of November twenty-second, Dulcie’s twenty-first birthday, eh?”

The countess jumped up, dumping both cats off the couch. They growled and hissed audibly, whiskers twitching. A double show of feline animosity that flattened their ears against their skulls, after being awakened so precipitously and shoved abruptly to the floor during the countess’s rush across the room to confront Griff.

“Does my stepdaughter know that you’ve jilted her?”

“She hasn’t been jilted. Dulcie knows I am leaving to fight against the egomaniac, Napoleon Bonaparte. She gave me leave to wait for us to marry until I return. It seemed a logical request in case I am killed in the meantime.” His lips twisted into a sarcastic smirk. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,
Auntie
? But nevertheless, Dulcie and I are still betrothed. The announcement was promulgated in all the London papers. It’s a done thing, Countess. The wedding shall simply be postponed until the war is won. I sail tomorrow from Dover.”

If looks could kill, Griff knew there would be a pistol puncturing his chest and buckets of blood pouring from a hole in it from the way Agina’s eyes flashed fire.

“This is quite impossible!” she blustered, squinting at him in sheer frustration and anger. “You’re lying. You must be.”

He shook his head. “I explained to Dulcie about her upcoming birthday and the terms of her father’s will.”

“You did what?” The countess was forced to suck in a gasp, her eyebrows reaching toward her hairline. Her usually smooth forehead deepened into an angry scowl. “You two will not make a May game of me! I knew you were up to some mischief, Spencer. Wait and see if I don’t overset this monstrous calamity.”

“Forget it, madam. Dulcie knows everything she needs to know to give you your comeuppance. As for me, I’m happy to be released from your greedy clutches. I merely came back to collect my things. Unless, of course, you plan to sell them to the rag pickers as you once threatened.” He chuckled wickedly, enjoying each moment of their current discussion. “Oh! And one thing more, countess, I need to borrow Bravo, the earl’s favorite mount—the one I’ve been using to get about Town. You can list him as charitable gift in the war.”

Agina swiftly reached out and picked up a Dresden porcelain figurine resting on a small table near her. Rarely did she lose sight of her goals, but this…this disturbing news was just too much. She flung the piece of chinaware at Griff’s head in a fit of temper, her cheeks tinted carmine by fury and frustration. “Get out! Do you hear me? Get out of this house this minute!”

Griff ducked and backed out of Agina’s bedchamber while she hissed at him like another frustrated feline.

“Trent! Trent! Bring me something quickly. I’m going to swoon!”

Chapter Twenty-Six

A large part of Wellington’s army was stymied in Spain, waiting to cross the Pyrenees into France and strike the Emperor with a final
coup de grace.

Napoleon had made a terrible blunder when he invaded Russia. Thousands of his well-trained troops were wounded and killed during the interminable and unspeakably frigid, Russian winter. Thousands of stragglers streamed westward, back toward France while the undersized, egotistical Corsican rallied his commanders and their soldiers.

Wellington split his army of some seventy-thousand men and sent the majority of them with General Graham, forcing the French on the eastern front to keep a watchful eye on their flanks. The remaining number of Wellington’s force harried Marshall Jourdan and King Joseph of Spain, who had a seasoned troop of fifty-thousand men with them.

Now Griff faced another battle and several small skirmishes in which his brigade was engaged since he had returned to the Peninsula. Neither Griff nor his fellow soldiers knew exactly where they were. They knew there were troops to the north because they heard the dull thunder of artillery fire echoing over the hilltops. In the field, an aide-de-camp galloped past him in a cloud of dust, carrying, he suspected, current reports on the new fight brewing.

The division of which Griff was a part halted. The military grapevine spread the word that the army had come up with the main body of the enemy
.
At the village of Vittoria, the two sides collided.

It was misty and damp on the morning of the twenty-first of June. Heading back to France the massive train of baggage carts, caissons and artillery wagons waited on the other side of the Zadorra River
.
In the caravan were several fourgons containing gold worth almost five million French francs

General Hill had the honor of opening the battle and took the heights in mid-morning. About half-past eleven o’clock another brigade began to move forward.

“Hey, why the devil are they moving?” someone asked.

Another officer in Griff’s group, Roger Pentagon, replied, “If there’s no sport, we get no pie neither!”

“Hell, how should I know?” Griff shouted back, also irritated at being kept out of the action. “I heard a Spanish peasant alerted Wellington that there’s no guard on the bridge of Tres Puentes. I think they plan to cross there.”

It was another of the French’s crucial errors. Wellington swiftly crossed the Zadorra with several divisions. Now Griff watched and waited, anxious to join the fray, hoping to earn a hero’s pride to bring home to his newly acquired family. A shell burst almost under Bravo’s nose, kicking up a shower of dust and sharp pebbles. The gelding squealed with fright, capering about in a mad struggle to bolt until Griff got him under control with whip and spurs.

After the first burst of artillery fire, the French stopped shelling. “Why don’t we advance?” Pentagon yelled.

Griff was out of patience. “I agree,” he shouted back, spinning his mount in circles when the horse continued to fidget. When he had first ridden up, he believed the village would be taken without hesitation. His men were keyed up for battle, now they sat their horses and waited.

“There’s the signal. Let’s go.”

As officer in charge of a small group of seasoned soldiers, Griff yelled and wheeled his horse, dashing recklessly toward the village. He was in the forefront of the brigade until his horse checked. The leery animal refused to put a hoof over the stream’s bank. Griff bullied the gelding, but twice the frightened animal came to a slithering halt. With a furious oath, Griff kicked his feet clear of the stirrups and vaulted out of the saddle. He grabbed hold of the tail of a bay horse running past him and hung on until he was dragged across the brook and up the far bank.

The rider stopped and had the nerve to chastise Griff. “What have you done with your horse, Lieutenant, pray tell?” the officer drawled.

Griff knew the man, but wasn’t fond of his hauteur or snide, aristocratic remarks. “I abandoned the damn brute,” he answered, squinting upward to meet the man’s eyes.

“How like you,” the boldly handsome fellow commented, wearing a casual grin as he sat quietly on his own mount. “I daresay then you will have to walk to get into the fight.”

“Who cares?” Griff retorted. “I’ll do what I have to.”

“In that case you had best run fast, for we—the men of my company—like to be first in the field, old chap!”

Just that moment, Bravo chose to reappear, weaving erratically up the riverbank toward Griff. He grabbed the horse’s reins and hopped onto his back a second time. During the furious gallop toward the village, Griff noticed the horse’s lack of courage was put to rest. Hoarse from cheering on the men galloping beside him, Griff plunged into the fight.

Dusty, disheveled, intent on herding the scattered troop into some semblance of order after their impetuous sweep through the village, the two officers met again on the other side of the river. Griff rode up to the man he met at the riverbank. Griff felt his cheeks burning with excitement. The Captain met his gaze with a flickering smile. “Finished harrowing hell and raking up the devil, are you, Spencer?” he asked.

Griff couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “Bloody hell, Blakey, that was damn good work!” He stretched out his hand. “Thank you for the loan of your horse’s tail, old chap!”

A short while later, Griff was still smiling when he approached the Light Brigade’s commander, Lord Dalhousie.