Carnal Pleasures (30 page)

“No, you mustn’t cry for me, love. I’ve accomplished what I meant to do to change my life. I’m on good terms with my family. My tainted name and reputation is wiped clean…and now, I only need to speak with you.”

Hidden in those dark pupils of hers, there was a flame of desire burning bright. He saw she lusted for him, wanted him as much as he wanted her. His breath accelerated; his heart thudded heavily against his ribs. She reached her arms up to hug him to her. He bent down for a passionate kiss and a sweet taste of a rosy, pert nipple awaiting his suckling. After that, he would plunge his engorged cock into her delicious, hot sheath just the way he remembered…

He wasn’t sure what happened next, why time warped into another dimension. He was back in the carriage, careening along a country road. All he knew was that he had to get to her, see her again, talk to her, make sure she was all right, embrace her if she would let him. Even now, he wasn’t certain if they were still betrothed, or if she had given him a coup de grace, and sent him packing. Everything seemed bolloxed up and vague. It lay like a thick, impenetrable mist clouding his mind, obliterating everything he knew, everything he wanted. He exhaled one more long breath and gave up fighting it. He simply couldn’t remember…

* * * *

“I think we almost lost him,” the nurse, Annie Potts said, grabbing for Griff’s wrist while frantically gesturing to the physician who had just entered the ward. She felt for the soldier’s pulse and but found it beating fast, strong enough that she managed a tiny smile. “I would have wagered a shilling that he took his final breath a moment ago.” She shook her head in amazement and tucked her patient’s hand back under the thin blanket.

“But we never can tell, can we?” Dr. Johnson replied.

“Yes, as of now, Lieutenant Spencer is very much alive.” Annie Potts ran a weary palm over her patient’s forehead. It was soaking wet with perspiration. “His skin is cool. Lawdy, I do believe he’s coming back to the land of living. Can you beat that?” She smiled up into the physician’s tired eyes.

“Give him a sponge bath and get some fluids into him. I’ll check on him later.” The physician paused. “He’ll want to thank you, you know, Annie.”

“Seeing him come back from the dead is thanks enough for me.” This time the nurse really grinned.

* * * *

Griff Spencer had returned to England the first week in November. It was the second week in November when Rand Titus came to take his friend back to his family’s town house to recuperate. The wounded soldier was shaky on his feet and as weak as a kitten. Rand’s valet, Bronson, helped Griff leave the hospital, handing him into the viscount’s comfortable carriage.

“Gadzooks, old chap, you look like the wrath of God! But, look now. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll have you fixed up in jig time. Wait and see if I don’t!”

“Rand, I must go to Surrey. I need to see Lady Dulcie.”

“All in good time, Griff, all in good time. Get your strength back. First things first, eh? I’m sure your fiancée would throw a fit if she clapped eyes on you now the way you look.” Rand chortled, trying to keep the conversation light. “You ain’t the handsome Adonis you was when you left London, you know.”

Griff persisted. “Rand, I figured some things out while I was lying in the hospital. Things I think pertain to both my father’s death and Dulcie’s father’s death. I need to talk with her before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what? To get leg shackled? Don’t be a fool, Griff, you’ll be flat on your back again if you go gadding about until you are well. And no good for anything you have in mind. Give yourself a week here, let my cook get some food into you, then I’ll go with you if you wish to go to Surrey.”

“Rand…”

“No, clam up, chum, and sit back. We’ll be at my house in ten minutes. You’re going nowhere, hear me? Not until I say so. I have strict orders from your family. They wanted to take you in, but I insisted you’d do better staying with a friend. Meaning me.”

“Really?” Griff sounded surprised. “I can’t fathom that.”

“Well, it’s true. And by the way, I had Bronson go over your civilian clothes. The trunk you left with me. Your duds are fashionable enough to wear in a pinch, but you’re going to have put on two stone or more to fit well in them.”

“Rand…”

“You’re a hero, Griff. A damn, bloody, live hero, my friend. The Burlingtons are up in the boughs about your heroics on the Peninsula. They’re anxious to see you, talk to you, make a fuss over you, but only when you feel up to it.”

“My aunt and uncle are anxious to see me?” Griff slumped back against the velvet squabs. Finally, he thought, I’ve been accepted. He drew in a satisfied sigh.

Thank God. At last, I’m home.

Chapter Thirty-One

The household servants noticed that Dulcie’s skin lacked its healthy color. It flaked and looked like parchment. Her lips were dry and cracked. And all she asked for constantly was something to drink.

Dulcie couldn’t hide her distress any longer. The smell or taste of food did nothing but make her heave up a putrid, rusty-colored bile after which, she would ask for more tea, with lots of sugar to sweeten the taste. She ate almost nothing and slept for hours at a time.

The countess visited her regularly, asking how she felt. Was she feeling better? Did she have any idea what was wrong with her?

Dulcie wasn’t about to mention her scandalous condition; she fully believed she was with child. Her menses had ceased, so that must be the reason for all this ill feeling. She prayed each night that she would make it through this awful time, and that Griff would soon be home. She wished, too, she might visit Bitsy Bowden; the girl had birthed four, healthy children. Dulcie knew she wasn’t strong enough to leave the manor and have her questions answered by her friend. She wanted her and Griff’s baby to survive, but the way things seemed, she didn’t think either of them would live.

If Dulcie rose out of the bed at all, it was to sit quietly in her nightclothes in a chair in her room. Simon was rarely out of her sight. The dog lay beside her, and she conversed with him as if he were her best friend. The housemaids were stunned, unable to understand why their mistress’s health went downhill so rapidly when she had glowed with health several weeks before. Was she pining so desperately for her betrothed?

Denny Wall asked about Dulcie when he didn’t see her outside or around the manor. He sent word to her by one of the housemaids that he planned to marry soon and hoped she would be well enough to attend his wedding. Dulcie wrote him a note saying she hoped she would be well enough, too.

Finally, the Bonne Vista’s housekeeper begged the countess to call a physician in to see what was wrong with Dulcie. The countess had constantly put her off, saying the girl wasn’t ill.

“I would rather this didn’t go any farther or bandied about with the servants,” Agina told Mrs. Travis. “But if you must know, it is my considered opinion that Dulcina’s fiancé left her in…er…an interesting condition. The girl hasn’t told me yet, though I questioned her. You see, my stepdaughter has all the symptoms of breeding.”

Even the housekeeper understood that innuendo. Mrs. Travis nodded sagely to the countess and kept her thoughts to herself. She knew some women did not fare well when with child. She crossed her fingers and prayed her young lady would feel a whole lot better very soon.

Both Agina and Trent knew what was wrong with Dulcie. The trouble was, the girl was fighting her condition. Her birthday was only days from now, and still Dulcina hung on with the same tenacity that her father had before he died. The earl had had a slight heart condition. A London physician had made that determination. But Trent and Agina had dosed the earl for weeks with their own herb potions, claiming they helped him. He even believed they were doing him some good. The earl’s heart finally lost the race, galloping like a racehorse in his chest. It continued until he finally collapsed in his club one day and succumbed in his bed at Eberley House.

* * * *

Less than a week had gone by, but Griff was on tenterhooks, forced by the anxiety coursing through him. For some reason, he knew he needed to warn Dulcie of something dangerous. He wasn’t sure why, only that he couldn’t get it…or her…out of his head.

His first and only letter to Dulcie had been dispatched with a wounded soldier, but he had no way of knowing if she read it. He never was good at keeping up with correspondence. Of course, he later realized that Dulcie couldn’t possibly send a reply. She wouldn’t know where or when a letter might reach him. He surprised himself during his last weeks in the Peninsula that he had sent a brief post to Rand as to his whereabouts, or the viscount may never learned of his condition.

Bronson had helped Griff with his morning ablutions ever since he came under Rand’s care. Griff’s uncle, John Burlington, made him a short visit and promised his wife, Phoebe, and their daughter, Desdemona, would visit him as soon as he felt more up to snuff. The family planned a homecoming celebration for Griff whenever he gave them the word.

Griff donned civilian dress. He had done his duty to the King, the Regent, and his country, and now, he wanted to get on with his life. He never wanted to wear that army uniform again. He thankfully sold out his commission.

His clothes hung loosely on what once was a robust physique. He still had to sit on the side of the bed, breathing too rapidly, and resting until he could finish dressing. Today, he was determined to browbeat Rand into making the trip to Surrey with him or without him.

Bronson helped the weakened Griff Spencer navigate the central staircase, grasping his elbow to steady him while Griff gripped the mahogany banister.

Rand was eating when Griff slowly entered the breakfast room on the lower floor.

“Well, now, this is a pleasant surprise, Griff.” Rand rose to greet his friend. “Glad to see you up and about.”

“’Morning, Rand.” A solicitous footman pulled out the chair for Griff. “As soon as I break my fast, I need to ask your indulgence.”

“Oh? What’s that all about?”

“I need the use of a carriage to take me to Surrey.”

“Still lusting for your fiancée, ain’t you?”

“Cut the gaff, Rand, I have a good reason for trekking to Surrey. Will you give me leave to borrow your equipment and a driver? I don’t think I’m strong enough yet to ride.”

Rand frowned, eyeing his friend’s determined countenance.

“Of course, you’re still not well enough…”

“Then I shall hire a vehicle and a driver.”

Rand backed down. Griff had badgered him for most of the week to let him go. “No need for that. I’ll go with you.”

“No,” Griff replied, firmly. “I’d rather you didn’t.” He thought about it and softened his reply. “Do you mind very much?”

“All right then, hear this. You should know some things, Griff.” Rand paused. “I ran into the countess a few weeks ago at one of the
ton’s
dull card parties. She asked about you. Of course, I simply told her you were alive and well. Which you were when I got your post. She let on that she planned to visit her stepdaughter. I believe your betrothed has an important birthday upcoming.”

“Damn the witch!” Griff exploded. “Dulcie’s birth date is November twenty-second. Now I know I have to see her.”

“Not to beg the question, but what in blazes are you gabbling about?”

“The countess is still after Dulcie’s inheritance!”

“You’ve kept me in the dark, Griff! What havey-cavey business is this?”

“Never mind. Do I get the carriage, Rand, or do I send a footman to hire me transportation?”

“Of course not. Mine is yours to use. Where are you headed?”

“I was led to believe that Bonne Vista is situated outside of Richmond in Surrey.” Griff rose, wavering a little until he gripped the back of a chair. “Don’t worry. I’ll find it. Thank you, my friend. I’ll do fine.”

* * * *

The coach ride from Mayfair to Richmond took several hours. The carriage slowed to a crawl in London but made good time when tooling along the open road. Griff chomped at the bit, anxious to warn Dulcie against the countess. Reminders of her had kept him sane during those days and months in Spain. Her image floated through his mind like torrid, erotic dreams as he lay in his camp cot on the blistering, dusty plains of Spain, sleepless and weary, reliving the hours he held her in his arms.

When the driver finally pulled up in the center of Richmond, Griff ordered him to get precise directions to Bonne Vista. Then they were off. Twenty minutes later, the horses trotted up the carriageway toward a stately, red brick manor house.

Griff went up the stone steps to the front door. His movements were slow and slightly painful. He was breathless from the steep climb, but he straightened his shoulders, rapped the polished brass knocker several times, and waited impatiently, huffing from exertion.

Sommers answered the door, a quizzical expression wrinkling his forehead.

Griff didn’t wait for the butler to ask whom he was or whom he wished to see. “I am Lady Dulcie’s fiancé. If you will be so gracious, tell her Griffith Spencer is returned from Spain.”

Sommer’s face brightened, but only for a moment. The welcome sparkle in his eyes died rather quickly. “Yes, yes, of course. Please do come in, Mr. Spencer. We were hopeful you would arrive in time.”

Griff passed his top hat and gloves to the old retainer, and removed his outerwear. The butler handed Griff’s things to a waiting footman. Straightening the ruffled shirt cuffs from his jacket’s sleeves, Griff tucked his cravat into place. He had noticed the look on the aged butler’s countenance; something sharp and painful knifed into his gut like the bit of shrapnel that pierced his flesh. Fear gripped him, clogging his throat. “Tell me, man,” he rasped. “What am I in time for, may I ask?”

Avoiding a reply, the butler said, “I had best announce you to the countess…”

“No,” Griff said immediately. “No. I don’t wish to speak with the countess. Er…she and I are not on the best of terms at the moment. I would rather you announce me to Lady Dulcina, if you please.”

“But, Mr. Spencer, er, forgive me. Milady is not well. I believe I must make you known to Countess Eberley.”