Authors: Blaise Kilgallen
Her stepmother may have allowed Dulcie’s fall from grace, but something else had caused Dulcie to lose control last night, and possibly, the evening before. What had caused the creepy feeling that terrorized her, until she simply succumbed to Griff Spencer’s kisses and masterful seduction?
And how could he do what he did? I thought he was my friend. Oh, how demeaning to be taken in by both him and my stepmother.
“I will not be forced to marry, Mother!” Dulcie whipped around toward Griff instead of toward the countess. “Not to you or anyone else, Mr. Spencer.” She approached him steadily, with fire in her eyes. “I’m very sorry, but I will never marry you.”
Dulcie yanked the ring from her finger in one swift motion, grabbed his large hand, and plunked it into his palm. “I don’t know where you got this ring, but you can keep it. It meant something between my mother and father, but not to you and me. I may have thrown myself at you last night, and I have only m-myself to blame.” The words caught in her throat, but she continued. “I don’t know what came over me. I hardly know you, nor do I c-care to be shackled to you for the rest of my life. No, Mr. Spencer, I simply won’t wed you. And that’s final.”
“Dulcie, I…”
“No, Mr. Spencer,” Dulcie repeated unequivocally, giving him no chance to explain or plead his case. “My mind is made up.”
Spinning on her heel to face Agina again, Dulcie said, “Mother, I won’t stay in this house any longer. I’m going home to Bonne Vista as soon as my things are packed.”
Without another word, and without a moment’s hesitation or a polite farewell to either of them, Dulcie whirled away, her gown swishing around her ankles as she stalked from the drawing room, pulling the latch closed and running down the hallway toward her room, hot tears streaming down her cheeks.
Chapter Twenty
“Trent, pour me a glass of wine,” Agina ordered. The countess glared at Griff from where she sat on the couch.
Griff strolled slowly by her and went toward the liquor tray sitting on a cabinet against the back wall. He needed a brandy after hearing Dulcie’s adamant declaration. The countess’s lady’s maid avoided him as she brushed by him, a full glass of wine clasped in her hand.
“Better not add anything to the wine this time,” Griff remarked, loud enough for the maid to hear his words as he poured himself something stronger. She jerked to an abrupt halt, not turning her head. The glass wobbled in her fingers; the wine splashing over the rim. It left a damp spot on her dark gown.
Without a spoken retort to Griff, Trent delivered the requested drink to Agina. “Your wine, milady.”
“Thank you, my dear.” The countess’s fingers slid over the maid’s as she smiled up at her longtime lover. “You may leave us, Trent. I wish to speak to Griff alone. Come back to me in half hour. I shall want you then.”
The fond glance Agina sent her lady’s maid wasn’t lost on Griff who eyed the subtle exchange between the women. A queasy feeling curdled in his stomach. Although his interpretation surprised him, he knew of the perverted feelings between men, but he wasn’t aware of that women could be similarly perverted.
So that’s where the mystery lies.
He ducked his head only slightly, picking through ways to use his newfound insight to control—or punish the countess—for what she had done to him and Dulcie.
“Why is my stepdaughter so up in arms about our arrangement?” Agina asked when Griff strolled forward to face her questions. “You were to seduce her into marriage, not alienate her completely.”
“It seems your stepdaughter has a mind of her own, Countess. She stated to me more than once that she didn’t plan to wed.”
“I am her rightful guardian, Griff. She must listen to me. I want the match between you two finalized, fast and firm. Her birthday is six months away, closer than I’d like. Did I not give you enough leeway to tame her into it? I thought I made the perfect choice, because you are extremely handsome and charming, and with convincing ways.”
“Is that so? I thought at the beginning you picked me out for yourself.”
“Don’t be a fool. I confess I tasted your…er…potential, but my mind was intent on finding a husband for the chit so that the tenets of the earl’s will were fulfilled. You must convince her.”
“I’m afraid I must disappoint you. I will be unable to continue this shady charade tonight since I shall be elsewhere, Countess.”
“What? Where?”
“At the Burlington’s ball.”
She laughed. “What makes you think the Burlingtons will let you through the door? A countess’s
cicisbeo?”
“I don’t believe they know of any such gossip unless you have told them.” He quirked an inquiring eyebrow at the countess and saw she had simply threatened. “I’ve done my part, Countess. The proof is on the bed linen. Your stepdaughter is no longer a virgin. But she
is
determined not to marry me. I slipped the ring on her finger as you ordered, and she threw it back at me. Therefore, I am of no further use in this unholy masquerade.”
“You forget yourself, Griff. I told you before that I saw the hungry looks she sends your way. The chit hasn’t forgotten your masculine allure. Especially since you say the deed was done quite handily last night. Believe me, she’ll want more of your cock if she takes time to think about it. Who knows better than I? I had the same satisfaction from you a few nights ago myself.”
The damn woman is driven by nymphomania, he thought. She wants sex from both genders, it seems.
“Now, pay attention, dear boy. You still have time to change her mind, and I order you to do so before she attempts to leave. Use your powers of persuasion…or your male body with all its…umm, inviting attributes. Best get to it, or I will send you packing without a copper jingling in your well-filled breeches.”
* * * *
Griff returned to his bedchamber to think. The countess still wanted him to force her stepdaughter into marriage. How in hell was he supposed to do that? Wasn’t it bad enough that he’d deflowered the girl in a fit of uninhibited lust? He slipped a ring on her finger that didn’t belong to him, and supposedly showed his good intentions.
Loosening his cravat, Griff began to pace in front of the fireplace. His footsteps muffled any sound on the thick carpet, but in his mental agitation he pounded a clenched fist into an open palm. When he paused in his perambulating, Griff heard a faint whining coming from inside the walls. The sounds penetrated from Dulcie’s room to his, the house’s odd construction acting as a conduit between the two. He wondered if Dulcie ever heard him snoring at night. Edging closer to the fireplace, Griff detected sobs mixing with the dog’s whines. It had to be Dulcie. Without thinking, he turned and went into the hallway, on the way to her room. He didn’t knock, but slipped inside silently and pulled the door shut.
Dulcie must have flung herself haphazardly across the bed. She was turned away from the door, with her face buried in the bedcovers. Her shoulders shook as she wept. Even if she were trying to stifle her sobs, he had heard her quite clearly. Griff placed a warning finger against his lips when Simon rose and came toward him from where he lay next to the bed. Griff reached down and patted the dog’s head. Griff approached the bed and stopped beside it.
Dulcie’s sobs slowed and finally quieted. Next, she wiped her eyes and rolled over. Her blurred vision cleared, and she blinked, exclaiming, “Oh, good Lord! Who—how did you get in here?”
Griff assessed her immediate frightened look. “Take it easy, Dulcie, I simply came to talk with you, that’s all.”
She sat up quickly and allowed her legs to slide off the side of the mattress, planting her leather slippers flat on the carpet. She smoothed the untidy hairdo back from her face, and made a more caustic reply. “Don’t you dare come anywhere near me, Griff Spencer! Leave this room right now, and let me be, or-or I’ll do something terrible.”
Simon had plopped down again, next to Griff’s boots.
“I’m not going to touch you, Dulcie, but we need to talk,” Griff told her. His voice was pitched low, calm, coaxing.
“Some great protector, you are, Simon,” she said and aimed a scowl at the dog. He simply laid his muzzle between his front paws and blinked his soft brown eyes at her.
“Please keep your voice down. I don’t want the countess to hear what I have to say. I think you’ll be glad to hear what it is when I’m finished. Besides, I want to get it off my conscience. After that, you needn’t see me ever again if you don’t wish to.” An ironic expression twisted his countenance, but it didn’t disguise his nervousness.
Dulcie shrugged her shoulders and sat up straighter.
“I’m about to bare my soul, Dulcie. There may not be much good inside me left to bare, but I’ll let
you
decide.”
Dulcie dried her tear-stained cheeks with a lace-edged handkerchief she had pulled from a pocket in her gown. “All right, but hurry, Griff, because I want to pack my things and leave this place.”
“First, let me say that I never meant to hurt you, physically or otherwise. Last night…well, last night was part of the plan, but…”
“Plan? What plan?” She tensed her shoulders again.
“May I sit down a moment, Dulcie?”
“Take that side chair.” She indicated one that was two steps away from the bed. “What is this plan of yours?”
“Not mine. The Countess’s.” He wouldn’t fly all his dirty linen in the breeze yet. He would tell her what she needed to know, but no more than that. “Dulcie, were you given your father’s will to read?”
“My father’s will? What does that have to do with this conversation?”
He leaned forward, his palms resting on his thighs. “I’m explaining the reason why I am here—in this house.”
She squinted over at him and reached to don her spectacles, her gaze remaining suspicious. “Ah yes, I suppose there had to be a reason. My stepmother arranged this, didn’t she?”
“Never mind that for the moment. I’ll get to it.” He stared at her and repeated, “Did you read your father’s will?
“No, I never read it.” She tore her gaze away from him and plucked at a fold of her gown. “I was never given the opportunity. And I don’t suppose I ever asked to see it. I was too shocked when my father died so suddenly in London. I went into mourning and never thought about his will. I suppose I just assumed…”
“Don’t ever assume, Dulcie, especially, if it has anything to do with your stepmother.” His smooth forehead puckered with a frown. “Did your father’s solicitor contact you?”
“If he did, I don’t recall. The first weeks after my father’s death…when first the countess told me…But why are you asking me these questions?”
Griff didn’t reply immediately. “Yes, I can imagine you were overset. You were, what? Seventeen? Eighteen at the time?”
She nodded, her gaze focused on him.
“I’m sure the countess took control of everything and told you not to worry. Am I correct?”
“Yes, but I found out just today that she is my legal guardian. She must have bamboozled my father…”
Cutting off her comment, Griff agreed. “I wouldn’t doubt that one bit. But it’s neither here nor there. Let me tell you what she has in store for you…and your rather substantial inheritance.”
“You know about my inheritance? How did you find out?”
“Your stepmother spelled it out to me. It was how she, er, talked me into seducing you so she could force our marriage. I do have some honor left in me, Dulcie, believe it or not.” Griff’s expression stiffened.
“The countess knows that if you don’t marry before you turn one and twenty, the earl’s entire un-entailed fortune will be yours, and Agina will inherit only a yearly stipend from the estate. If, however, you marry before that time, you and she will split the earl’s substantial income and investments—half of the estate’s yearly income. Of course, your husband would be in control of
your
wealth when you marry, as is the usual case. Your stepmother is aware of my somewhat disreputable reputation. She plans to hold it over my head until I funnel additional funds into her willing pockets after we wed.”
“You mean she intends to…er, extort money from her own relative—you? Her nephew?”
Griff winced. He wasn’t yet ready to tell Dulcie that he and the countess had no familial connection. He had made up the tall tales about his service in India to entertain her, but not the truthful, bloody battles in which he fought on the Peninsula.
“That’s correct. Me, or I suppose anyone that you marry.”
When she didn’t say anything else, he continued. “If you remain unmarried for the next few months, when your birth date arrives, your stepmother will be left with an income of something like 2000 pounds a year to subsist on.” Griff leaned farther forward where he sat facing Dulcie. “It’s a fortune, really, but not if you are aware that the countess has a need for extravagant wealth, seeing how she lives.” He halted and waited for Dulcie’s response.
Briefly, Dulcie rubbed palms down her tear-stained cheeks. “Then I certainly shan’t marry you or anyone,” she said finally, scrutinizing his face. “But thank you for telling me.”
“I’m not finished, Dulcie.”
“Oh? What else is there to say? I’ve already told the countess I’m leaving London…”
“I don’t think you know what kind of hold she has over you.”
“What hold?”
“Legally, she
is
your guardian, Dulcie. Accept that. It is true. And you are a minor until your next birthday. You must do what she says until you reach your majority. Until then, she can
force
you to do her bidding.”
“What? Oh, my Lord! I didn’t know that.” She clapped her hands over her cheeks a second time.
Simon lifted his head, hearing the anxiety in his mistress’s voice, and whined.
Griff reached down and stroked the dog’s glossy fur.
“She can stop you from leaving Eberley House. She can stop you from leaving Town. She has the power to do so. She can even hold you captive here until she finds another suitable husband for you to marry. Do you want that to happen?”
“Of course not! But…”
“Well, then, may I suggest how we might foil her plans?”
Griff leaned back in the chair, keeping his eyes fixed on Dulcie’s face, his elbows resting on the chair arms and his two index fingers shaping a church steeple against his pursed lips.