Carnal Pleasures (8 page)

Her stepmother’s nephew was certainly striking-looking with his golden hair, sharp cut, masculine features, and light, piercing eyes. Last night Dulcie noticed he had a small dent in his chin, and she couldn’t, for the life of her, tear her eyes away from it. She wanted to touch a fingertip to that interesting crease. Such a wicked idea. The urge crawling across her brain had imbedded the thought there.

“Good morning, Miss …er … I should say, Lady Dulcina,” Griff greeted her, dipping his chin with a show of respect to her title.

Rarely, she thought, had anyone bowed to her at home. When he met her eyes, she felt a warm ooze of excitement run along her backbone. How can a man be born so beautiful, she thought, when I am so plain?

“I’m well, Mr. Spencer. ‘Tis a lovely day, is it not?”

“I hadn’t noticed until I came up the stairs and saw your smiling countenance, Lady Dulcina. I daresay you brightened my day.”

Good Lord, it was preposterous for one man to possess the breathtaking good looks and then exude such masculine charisma.

A heated blush crept onto Dulcie’s cheeks. She wasn’t used to compliments. She fingered a plain ruffle around her high-necked gown, feeling uncomfortable after hearing his flowery words.

“You know, Lady Dulcina, I saw a portrait hanging in the picture gallery a few days ago. You resemble your birth mother. Do you know that?”

“You noticed a portrait of my mother?”

“Yes. I was struck by the resemblance between you and her when I first met you.”

Dulcie’s hot cheeks grew even redder. “Er, Mr. Spencer, there are several female portraits in the gallery. To which one did you refer?”

“Why the lady in blue. Both she and you have the same lovely eyes and hair.”

She knew her own mother was simply pleasant to look at, not a raging beauty.

Dulcie ducked her head. There was a portrait of Agina hanging in the gallery, too, wearing a frothy gown of pale pink. Dulcie knew in her heart she would never be as eye-catching and beautiful as her stepmother, although secretly, she wished she were. She had entertained the wish when she was introduced to Griffith Spencer last eve. What if his flattery was false, and what if she didn’t believe a word of it? What difference would it matter? It was still nice to hear it. And she
was
attracted to him.

Dulcie knew how unappetizing she looked in her dowdy gown, with its unfashionable color and style. She was naive, perhaps, but it was exciting to fantasize, hearing his flattering compliments.

“Umm, yes, I believe there is a painting of my mother hanging in the gallery. It was ordered when she and my father were first married. I never saw it before today, because I was never in this house before.” She paused. “My mother was handsome in her own way, but as you can see, I’m not a bit like her.”

“Of course, you are, my lady. I find brown eyes like yours are quite friendly, even intriguing. I noticed that much behind your lenses. Dare I hope that you will take my word for it, Lady Dulcina?” he asked.

Take my word for it.
A different innuendo played through Dulcie’s brain. She recalled her stepmother wrote those same words in her summoning letter.

“I usually don’t stoop to flattery,” Griff said, mentally crossing his fingers. “I speak only the truth, milady, and I declare that you are pretty.”

What if the girl was almost as plain as a mushroom, he thought. Her face was piquant, with a childish innocence about her. A sprinkle of freckles that he missed last evening spread over her golden cheeks. Her hair was a run-of-the-mill brown shade. Someone should fix it for her, because right now it was twisted into an unflattering bun, every strand tucked behind her ears. It certainly didn’t flatter or soften her profile.

What if he
were
lying through his teeth? The girl looked dowdy in that mustard-colored dress. It hung on her like a sack and certainly couldn’t do her figure justice. The clumpy footwear he spotted beneath her hemline would suit a soldier slogging through the mud in Spain. If he really tried hard, he might recount additional female enticements, but he needed to sound sincere if he were to cozen her. It wasn’t wise to simply depend upon flowery, physical flattery alone.

The countess had described the girl as countrified, and Griff believed she told the truth. So much so, that Lady Dulcina’s candor was absolutely new and refreshing. He waited to hear what next would come out of her lips. It was no wonder she never heard a compliment from a man in her life, true or false. It struck him suddenly that she knew he was telling tales. She wasn’t dim-witted. Her intelligence told him she chewed on what was said, added a pinch of salt to what she swallowed, and was wise enough not to be taken in by spurious falsehoods.

Griff sucked in a measure of truthfulness. He would bolster her ego, and she would fall into his seductive clutches within the countess’s expressed timetable.

“Please, Lady Dulcina, I hope you don’t think me a wordsmith who speaks only to hear himself talk,” Griff coaxed, keeping his own thoughts under wraps.

“Thank you, Mr. Spencer, you’re very kind.” She smiled. “And perhaps, short-sighted, like myself.” Then she giggled, unconsciously nudging her gold-rimmed spectacles up on her pert nose.

He warmed to the musical sound of her giggles, so he chuckled with her. “No, not at all. I see what is in front of me quite clearly.”

Quite abruptly, he asked, raising a finger, “Do you need those spectacles?”

Dulcie quickly removed them. “Oh my! I expect I forgot they were perched on my nose. But they do help a bit.” She folded the earpieces and shoved the spectacles into a pocket of her gown. “I confess I am a bit short-sighted.”

Her honesty made him chuckle. Glancing behind her, Griff changed the topic. “Where is your dog, Lady Dulcina? I heard you say he never left your side.”

“Simon? He finished his morning outing and is snoozing in my chamber. Later, I will turn him loose in the house when the countess leaves. He will soon be comfortable in these surroundings.”

“Ah, yes, well, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I believe I spied two felines strolling down the hallway earlier. They might be skittish with Simon around.”

“Simon is used to cats. Our stables at home are inhabited by a number of good mousers. He won’t bother the Countess’s pets. He will mostly likely ignore them. You’ll see.” Dulcie smiled up at Griff again.

“I wonder if the cats will enjoy their introduction to a new experience.” He winked at Dulcie, knowing she had no idea to what he referred.

Griff’s skin suddenly prickled with renewed interest and anticipation. He was looking forward to their upcoming intimacy. His thoughts warmed now that he had opportunity to get to know her a little better.

“Well then,” Griff continued, with more questions this time. “I get the feeling that…er…my aunt frightens you with her scolds. Is that so?”

“No, of course not, but I would rather not stir the stew pot, you see. She has already reminded me of what I must do, and since I am here, at her invitation, I must do what my stepmother asks.”

“Oh? I daresay. I plan to do some shopping myself, so I shall relegate my army uniforms to the rag bag.”

“You are no longer in the King’s service?” she asked.

“No. I sold out.”

He lied. Another falsehood added to the list crowding his guilty conscience.

“Oh, I see. Well then, shall you be staying in London?”

“Yes, for the time being.”

Again, Griff switched subjects. “If you are going shopping, it is impolite of me to keep you talking here with me.”

“I’m not allowed to leave the house, Mr. Spencer. You heard what the countess said last evening. So, I’m not going out, but I understand my stepmother will be away for several hours.”

“Under house arrest, are you?” His grin was mischievous.

“No, but it almost seems that way.” She grinned back at him. “I’m told the countess arranged for a modiste to come here until she says I may go traipsing about London on my own.” Dulcie shook her head. “I hate being cooped up like a chicken in the hen house. I am used to being outside in the fresh air and sunshine, and…”

“Well,” Griff interrupted. “I shall make it a point to keep you company if you must stay in. After all, London is often quite dismal and rainy, and the atmosphere can be clouded by unhealthy coal smoke.”

Dulcie said nothing, just stared up at his chin.

Aware of her gaze, Griff rubbed a hand across it, unsure if he advertently forgot to wipe a bit of breakfast off of his face.

Shifting into another question, he asked, “May I call you Dulcina? After all, we are almost relatives.” One of his golden eyebrows arched as if waiting for a positive reply. “By the way, my given name is Griffith, but Griff is what my friends call me.”

“Oh,” Dulcie said, her lips pursed into a cupid’s bow. “Well, yes, thank you. Then I suppose you may call me Dulcie. That is what
my
friends call
me
.”

Griff inhaled.
We’ve got that settled. Now I can get down to business.

Chapter Eight

Agina sent a footman to tell Dulcie to present herself in the small drawing room on the lower floor. The countess was pacing when Dulcie arrived.

“I will be away most of the day,” the countess said, looking at the small, jeweled watch pinned to her bosom. She had made an appointment at the office of the earl’s former solicitor, scheduled a luncheon engagement later, and followed it with a visit to a friend’s pianoforte recital and tea. Agina now halted her pacing and perused the girl’s gown once again, her eyes sharp and penetrating. The countess shook her head.

Agina did not want Dulcie’s rich inheritance bruited about Town simply by dressing her in lavish gowns to enhance her appeal to other unattached suitors, since she planned to throw Dulcie and Griff together
.
However, just looking at the girl’s ugly gowns constantly offended Agina’s vision and might have the same effect on Spencer.

“I told you a modiste I engaged will be here later today. I’m sure you know nothing about fashion, Dulcina, so I made a few suggestions to her. Nothing out of the ordinary, simply nicer colors and gowns that fit better than those you brought with you. I don’t believe you need a vast variety. The woman has my utmost confidence. She will make certain you have what will catch a man’s eye.”

It would be easier—and safer for her schemes—if Griffith Spencer did the dirty work without an outside suitor messing up Agina’s plans. She left it up to him to fulfill their agreement during the time agreed upon. She would help, and Spencer would ravish and marry her stepdaughter in less than a month.

Agina continued, “I won’t have you wasting funds on gaudy fripperies. After all, I plan to find you a husband very soon.”

The countess slowly circled Dulcie. The girl stood unmoving, silent, her chin ducked tight against her chest, twisting her fingers in front of her waist. She was uncomfortable, as always, by her stepmother’s appraisal.

“I called in a hairdresser, too.”

“But Marnie has already…”

Abruptly, the countess stopped and snapped at her. “That reminds me. What have you done with that beast of yours? Where is he? He should be put in a kennel. Why is he loose in the house? One of my dear babies came running into my bedchamber earlier, frightened to death.”

Dulcie tilted her stubborn chin upward and gritted her back teeth. She may have allowed her stepmother’s words rain over her head like a dull-witted nonentity, spouting commands, but denigrating her pet was something else. She would not have Simon maligned or mistreated.

“Simon and your cats met in the upper hallway, Mother. Simon did not chase them. Rather, he ignored them. But if that is the case, I shall repack my bag, Mother, and return to Bonne Vista. I am fully aware of your enmity toward Simon.”

And also to me
, her mind echoed.

“But unless he stays with me, I won’t stay in London. We’ll go home together.”

“Argh!” The countess threw her jeweled hands up in the air in exasperation. “What an ungrateful wretch you are! Don’t you know I am simply following your deceased father’s wishes? He wanted you married and settled. Therefore, I propose to find you a husband.”

Just then, Bender tapped on the parlor door. “Come,” the countess said, her voice sharp-edged with annoyance.

“A Monsieur Henri is here,” the butler announced, stepping through the doorway holding a small silver tray, a business card resting on its gleaming surface. “Shall I tell him he may wait?”

“Of course you may,” the countess nodded, then spoke to Dulcie. “Go up to your room, Dulcina, and ask that rotund maid, whose name I do not recall, to stay with you. You cannot be left alone with the wishy-washy hairdresser, if only for propriety’s sake.” Agina paused, frowned, and repeated, “And, for heaven’s sake, do something with that black beast of yours. Put him in your dressing room so he doesn’t attack the effeminate fop and frighten the pantaloons off of him.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dulcie replied and hurried out of the parlor and up the stairs to her quarters, glad to be from under her stepmother’s gimlet gaze.

* * * *

Dulcie’s hair was shaped and scissored into a semblance of docility by the hairdresser. Marnie sat watching so she might imitate his wizardry with the curling iron.

Later, Dulcie spent several hours with the countess’s modiste and two of her clucking assistants. The bird-like dressmaker explained what was needed in the way of underpinnings, nightwear, as well as day dresses, afternoon dresses, outerwear, etcetera. After listening to her stepmother, at first Dulcie argued she didn’t need so many garments. Then, her wicked thoughts centered upon Griffith Spencer’s attractiveness, and instead, she allowed the woman to have her way. Madame Cloett promised to deliver two finished gowns by the following day.

It was nearly teatime. Time had flown, and Dulcie never had an opportunity to eat lunch. Still wearing the same gown she put on that morning, she was smiling as she patted her new hairdo and entered the small back parlor, expecting to see Griffin and her stepmother inside.

Neither of them was in evidence. After fifteen minutes of waiting alone, her stomach grumbling, Dulcie forgot about tea and went to her room. She leashed Simon and led him down the back stairs to the lower floor.