Carnal Pleasures (37 page)

Most members of London’s
ton
had removed to their country estates. Parliament was no longer in session, although the war continued on the Continent. Outbreaks occurred even in the Colonies where an agreement had been signed earlier that year.

Griff was invited to the Burlington’s and at some of the lesser entertainments available for a handsome, young bachelor on the loose. He had managed to retain enough coin to tide him over for a while when the French/Spanish caravan was destroyed and looted. He had kept what he grabbed, deeming it spoils of war.

Rand and Griff spent Christmas and the week between New Year’s at Rand’s parents’ estate. While there, Rand was again badgered by his doting parents to choose a wife and set up his nursery before his father stuck his spoon in the wall. The earl was plagued by gout, and his parents decided not to go to London. Rand repeated his invitation that Griff should remain with him as a guest in Town. Griff stayed because, as Rand said, “Rattling around in the damn empty house gives me the bloody shivers. I’ll be pounding the walls down next thing you know.”

Griff hired a valet and added to his fashion wardrobe. He and Rand spent several mornings at Tattersall’s sale ring until Griff purchased a riding hack he liked and had it stabled at Rand’s. The winter passed slowly at the viscount’s clubs where Griff was permitted guest status. The men maintained a leisurely pace of exercise, gaming, male conversation, and drinking. Approached again by his uncle, an offer was made, but Griff wasn’t ready yet to tie himself to a workaday life—especially buried in a stodgy career of penny pushing at Burlington’s bank.

As warmer weather descended on the English countryside, the thoroughbred racing season was on the upswing. An avid racing fan since his youth, and as much a gambler as his father had been, Griff began to toss away substantial amounts of coin from the ill-gotten gains he brought back with him from the Continent. He found himself drinking too much, and too often, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He still had no roots. What he hoped to accomplish—acceptance by his family—had occurred. But where and how was he to finish off the rest of his years? He realized there was an aching hole inside of him only a certain feisty female could fill. One vice he never harbored in his youth was purchasing favors of street or brothel whores. He had remained celibate ever since he had ravished Dulcie almost a year ago.

He often wondered if he should try to see her again. If it would help to explain. Even Rand mentioned it. But Griff wasn’t ready and remained adamant that he leave her alone.

* * * *

The countess and her lady’s maid lesbian lover disappeared from the London scene shortly before Christmas. A message arrived for the solicitor directing him to deposit Agina’s quarterly allowance into a London bank account. But not even the solicitor knew where Agina disappeared to. Bundy simply notified Dulcie of the information and left it at that.

Chapter Forty-Two

The London Season was about to begin again in the spring of 1814. Dulcie had had no opportunity to participate in it last year. With her health restored and her wealth behind her, she decided to explore the refinements of the new Season. She ordered last year’s gowns packed.

Dulcie was now in full charge of her inheritance. Before moving to London, she petitioned the Reverend Carter, vicar of the tiny church in Pinkney-On-Barrow, to allow his widowed sister, Mrs. Chastity Warren, to act as her companion for as long as Dulcie decided to remain in London. Chastity was more than willing, so the pleasant matronly-looking woman accompanied Dulcie and Simon to London when Dulcie ordered Eberley House opened for the Season.

A new crop of eager debutantes searching for suitable marriage partners, their matchmaking mothers and weary fathers, and the cagey ranks of eligible swains, soon again descended upon Mayfair. Flirtations, improper assignations, secret rendezvous, and illicit seductions made news within the hallowed halls of stately town houses. For the moment, the war on the Continent was all but forgotten. Engagements, marriage proposals, and the melding of ancient, revered titles and houses with great wealth, were all the rage. During May 1814, gossip was rife traveling over the servants’ grapevine quicker than reports arriving from the front. Napoleon had escaped his initial incarceration from Elba. The delighted French flexed their war muscles and returned to fight the Allies on their march through France.

London buzzed with activity. War news arrived every day at Whitehall. The glittering mansions bustled with balls, routs, musicales, lawn picnics, dinner parties, card games and more. The rich and poor alike won and lost at whist, faro, dice, jotting down wagers and challenges in White’s Betting Book.

As soon as the knocker was on the door, invitations began to pour in. The news of Dulcie’s new wealth had spread rapidly throughout the
ton
. The gossip mongers wondered about the betrothal between Lady Dulcina and Griffith Spencer that had been announced last season. No one had sent a notice to the papers that it had fallen through last autumn.

In London Dulcie re-hired Marnie as her lady’s maid and companion. The two young women and Simon made the rounds from Piccadilly to Regent, Oxford, and Bond Streets, shopping every day, to add to and spruce up Dulcie’s new slender appearance with additional modish attire and fripperies.

Dulcie had indeed changed since her first visit to Town a year ago. She now appeared self-assured in mind and body. The light brown, shiny, rather uninspiring color of her hair was tamed and coiffed by the talented fingers of her maid, enhancing the sharpened planes and cheeks of her pretty face. She now dressed in the first stare of fashion. Meeting her peers without her stepmother to undermine her confidence, she behaved in a ladylike manner, always warm and friendly at the many functions she attended during the first weeks of May.

Not once did Dulcie glimpse Griff Spencer or his friend, Viscount Titus, at those affairs or on the London streets as she and the women tooled around Town in her father’s fancy carriage. She had hired a new driver to handle the whip and ribbons while they took in the sights.

Eberley House held a myriad of not so bad and not so good memories, that oftimes jarred Dulcie’s nerves. She tried not to linger on thoughts about those of her stepmother’s villainy…and the suspected painful betrayal of Griff Spencer

Dulcie and Simon were up and out for their daily exercise very early as usual one morning. She was startled to see a man in the park, sitting on a bench in the center of the square, staring at her house. Mist rose from the cobblestones like wisps of translucent gauze, obliterating his features, which were hidden beneath the brim of a tall top hat. But it didn’t take Simon long to recognize Griff by his scent. He pulled at his leash to go to him. Dulcie released the dog, and he loped across the street, the two males making a big fuss over one another.

She couldn’t believe it was really Griff even as she walked slowly toward him. She stopped a few feet in front of him. He quickly rose and doffed his hat, his eyes locked with hers. His golden locks ruffled in the spring breeze. His cheeks and the cleft in his square chin sprouted bristles as if he hadn’t shaved yet today. He was without gloves, and neither did he carry a walking stick. His jacket was tailored of dark blue superfine. His cravat looked droopy and not crisp under his plain waistcoat. His bisque-colored breeches were slightly wrinkled where they disappeared into his boots, and he was not quite as fresh or as fastidiously dressed as she remembered.

Dulcie glanced around the square quickly but noticed no riding horse in sight.

“Morning, Dulcie…er, I mean…Lady Dulcina.”

Griff’s gaze traveled hungrily from the top of her bonnet to the pointed toes of yellow leather half boots peeking from under her skirts. Slowly his eyes returned to her newly aristocratic countenance. His smile was tentative when he spoke. “I see you’ve made a complete recovery. You look lov…er, quite well, I must say. I’m very glad.”

No reason to beat about the bush,
Dulcie thought, after seeing him waiting in the square.
I must thank him again. After all, he was my knight in shining armor. If he hadn’t the perseverance and intelligence to discover what was poisoning me, well, I may not be standing here this minute.

“I must thank you again, Mr. Spencer, for saving my life.” She smiled up at him. “And how
are
you? Are you well? Are you healed?”

His grin twisted, and he raised one eyebrow.

Only my heart is wounded. And it still bleeds.

“Quite well and healed, milady,” he replied. “I’m fit as a fiddle, as they say.”

The silence between them lingered like the odor of sour wine.

She had tried for months to convince herself that Griff had partnered her stepmother in the nasty deeds meant to steal her inheritance. Her mind left the idea unanswered as to what truly happened. Even now, she wasn’t completely convinced.

“Well then…” she began.

“I heard you were…” he started to say then stopped.

Uncomfortable smiles hovered on lips across the early morning air. Both were slightly embarrassed. It was almost a year since they had first met. A swarm of memories rushed through the pair as they stood silent, not sure what to say next.

Dulcie was the first to tear her glance away from Griff’s face, reminded rather vividly at what had taken place at Bonne Vista.

The servants at the Surrey estate had remained closemouthed about the poisoning. They firmly believed themselves blameless for an accident that almost took their mistress’s life. Dulcie never believed it
was
an accident. She was convinced someone had deliberately planned to do away with her by putting the rat poison in her sugar bowl.

Only one person could be that devious and vicious, and therefore, she concluded her stepmother must have been the culprit. From the time they met, the two had daggers drawn to hold the attention of the earl. Agina obviously planned the heinous act after Dulcie refused to change her mind about her engagement to Griff Spencer. As long as he remained alive, fighting on the Peninsula, Agina was unable to arrange for a new husband for her. Dulcie firmly believed that if she had died before reaching her majority, the countess’s friendly solicitor might petition the courts to interpret the codicils of the earl’s will in Agina’s favor. His widow, being Dulcie’s guardian, might well inherit the entire un-entailed fortune. Agina would have had it all.

Finally, Griff’s melodious voice encouraged Dulcie to continue. “Er, Lady Dulcina, I believe you were saying?”

She hesitated, her smile still faltering. “Yes, I suppose I was, wasn’t I?” Her words trailed off and didn’t continue. Instead, her curious gaze again roved Griff’s countenance, hoping, or perhaps, searching for some semblance of change on it.

Dulcie and Griff stared at each other for long moments.

Simon had wandered away, sniffing amongst the bushes and rolling around in the grass. Finally, he retreated from his perambulating and sat between them, looking up and watching their faces.

Dulcie’s pulse began to throb in her ears. When she had turned her gaze on Griff, focusing her full attention on him, a quivering sense of renewed desire ignited her inner core. The rapidity of her heartbeat accelerated. She had thought from the start that Griff Spencer had been…beautiful, a golden Greek Adonis…but now she saw he also looked tired, weary, and down-at-the-mouth.

The more she thought about him, the more she wanted to cure what was blue deviling him. Could she soothe his tattered feelings, wrap him in her loving embrace, and never let him go? Did she dare try?

“Have you broken your morning fast?” Dulcie asked Griff abruptly.

“What?” Her question seemed to floor him. “No, not as yet, er…but I suppose I should be going.”

Dulcie bent and picked up Simon’s leash. Turning, she handed it to Griff. “Why don’t you come back to the house with us, Griff?”

The smile on his face echoed the joy in his heart.

* * * *

Their meeting had been a bit strained, but soon their conversation smoothed out and became more comfortable. They talked about what Dulcie had been doing after arriving in London. Griff asked if she were enjoying her current visit, whether she had made new friends, where she had been and what she had done to amuse herself. They didn’t touch on any of the other awkward moments.

Well…almost.

The two had sat at this table alone more than once, a lone footman serving them. They had shared suppers in Eberley House in more formal settings, too, and neither forgot what happened after those suppers.

When Griff’s coffee cup was empty for a third time, and Dulcie had drunk her second saucer of tea, it was time to say goodbye.

Wasn’t it?

Dulcie walked Griff to the front door and asked the downstairs’ footman to return Griff’s hat. He didn’t put it on, but stood facing her, turning the brim in his fingers.

Dulcie turned to the young servant. “Would you be good enough to take Simon up to my quarters, Joshua?”

“Of course, milady.” He clucked to the dog, who followed Joshua up the curving stairs.

Dulcie turned back to Griff.

“I wanted to repeat that I owe you a great deal, Griff,” she began. “I started to tell you outside, but…well, I suppose I wanted to spend more time with you.”

He looked down into her face, remembering the faint sprinkle of freckles over her cheeks when they met for the first time last spring. He ached with longing. He wanted so badly to kiss her, take her into his arms, then carry her to bed, and make passionate love to her for days on end…maybe forever. Instead, he said nothing, just waited to see what else she might say.

“Must you leave, Griff?” She asked with her usual candor. “Do you have a place to stay?”

“Dulcie…?”

“Stay here with me.”

Her insides were in knots as she blurted out the totally improper request. “Please, Griff. I-I need you. If you say no, I don’t know what I shall do.”

* * * *

Dulcie reached out and took Griff’s hand, leading him into the first-level parlor. She shut the door behind them, leaned her back against the oak, and waited, expectantly, not letting go of his fingers.