Carnal Pleasures (3 page)

The crush at the Welborn’s lavish do was the fanciest ball of the new Season. Griff and Rand arrived somewhat late. Rand had his valet spiff up Griff’s uniform and top boots beforehand. As the two promenaded around the crowded dance floor together, the eyes of interested young females standing on the sidelines with their chaperons followed them. Rand halted abruptly. “I dare say, Griff, I spy someone I want to meet. I don’t know who she is, but I mean to find out.”

Griff followed his gaze. It landed upon a sweet-faced debutante just out of the schoolroom. “The lovely blonde standing beside her hatchet-faced chaperon, you mean?”

Rand nodded.

“You’re extraordinarily brave tonight, Rand. But if she interests you, make sure you get a proper introduction. Then sign her dance card. She won’t turn you down. Not with your title and fat purse.” Griff gave his friend a forward nudge. “I’ll stay out of your way and catch up with you later.” He strolled on alone, thinking to try the card room. He still owned a small bit of coin with which to gamble.

Griff reached a less crowded section of the ballroom and stopped, leaning a nonchalant shoulder against an open archway. His casual stance was posed next to a potted palm as he cast his eyes over the glittering ballroom. Everyone in Town must be at the Welborn’s ball tonight, or so it seemed to his roving glance. He’d been away from the London scene for four years and had almost forgot how to flirt. It wouldn’t be wise to show interest in anyone special until he had chosen a target for tonight’s seduction. Griff smoothed a gloved hand over his golden curls. He knew he made a good appearance, even with a slight bump in his nose, thanks to his encounter with the three Spaniards. He had known females were attracted to him when he entered puberty. A flicker of a smile to coax interest, a sly wink, and willing wenches flocked to him in droves. But, of course, by that time he was on the Town and behaving like a randy libertine. He fashioned himself like his pretty-faced father who had plenty of charisma and ended up with a lot less blunt. Boswell Spencer pissed away all of Griff’s inheritance during years of high living with liquor, cards and dice, and loose women.

Was it a need for penance that took his father to end his life? Griff often wondered. Boswell Spencer had shot himself in an alley in one of the worst sections of London. Griff wasn’t about to take the same way out of his current predicament.

Griff got a whiff of exotic perfume even before someone placed a jeweled glove on his forearm. His head swiveled toward a very attractive, older woman standing beside him.

She appeared to be born a decade before him, but she was still handsome. She was petite, with a lush figure, and was scantily clad in a gown of whispery, almost sheer, pale blue voile. Her ample bosom swelled above the low neckline. It was clear to Griff that her garment was meant to cling, so it would draw male attention to her figure. The sparkling gems in the elaborate necklace draped around her neck, the large jewels dangling from her ears, and the two enormous rings and intricate bracelet she wore outside her glove were of instant interest to Griff’s sharp eyes.

The woman was alone when she sidled up to him. Cosmetics cleverly disguised her age, neither dissipation nor years of ingrained lines flawed her well-tended complexion. Her strawberries-and-cream skin still looked soft and inviting. Her lips were full and pouting, her large, blue eyes rimmed by kohl. The result was quite stunning.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she warbled, her melodious voice husky and pitched to a sultry intimacy, as if she were lying next to him after indulging in a round of satisfactory sexual play.

Immediately, both Griff’s ears and his latent cock perked up.

Her body language was obvious to him; the woman was on the prowl, and she had approached him deliberately. It wasn’t anything overt he did or caused. She simply singled him out for attention. Perhaps it was his uniform. Perhaps, it was his Adonis-like muscular virility beneath the clothes. He was more than curious, eager to learn more. Like a jolt in the ribs, why should a quick spurt of trepidation worry him? Could it be that she recognized him?

Griff had drunk too much brandy earlier and wasn’t nearly as clearheaded as he might have been. Liquor still burned through his veins. For four bloody years he had tried to win back the needed self-esteem he denied himself during his youthful debauchery. Because he didn’t defend himself at the blasted episode in Spain, he was again in disgrace, penniless, and at odds with his mother’s prissy family who put him out of their minds and forgot him.

“Madame? I don’t believe we have met. May I be of some help?”

“Of course you can, young man, otherwise I would not risked such indiscretion or spoken with you without a proper introduction.” She looked up at him through thick lashes while kneading his forearm with caressing fingers, then leaned closer to brush his jacket’s sleeve with her generous bosom.

She was standing close, and her exotic perfume rolled over him like a wave. Griff almost sneezed on her bare décolletage. He covered his lips quickly with his gloved hand and coughed. “Ahem! Excuse me, my lady, I’ve been troubled lately with a throat itch.”

“Ah, an itch, eh? Poor, poor boy! Back from the wars, are you? I’m sure there is something I can scratch for you.” Her ladylike smile had turned lewd. “Perhaps, later.”

Griff was taken aback by the obvious innuendo coming from an older, well-dressed, elaborately-coiffed, and bejeweled woman. Nevertheless, he kept his expression bland, didn’t even arch an eyebrow.

“I am the Countess of Eberley,” she announced abruptly with a firm whisper. “And I have a proposition for you.”

Now, he did lift an eyebrow. “Oh? And what could that be, pray tell?”

“If you’re willing, we can discuss it further.”

Willing? Hmm? Willing for what?

“You don’t even know who I am, ma’am…”

“Give me your arm, and let us stroll. I’ll tell you what I propose.” She hadn’t let go; she still grasped his jacket’s sleeve. “By the way, I know more about you than you think, Lt. Spencer. I knew your father.”

Dammit. I hoped the scandal was buried deep in the archives of London’s newspapers and forgotten when Father’s suicide was printed in the bloody rags. Did I resemble him so much that she picked me out of the crowd?
he wondered.

When the Countess Eberley explained what she wanted of Griff, at first he refused. When she told him how much she was willing to pay for his time and his help, he hesitated. When she mentioned a few additional bonuses, there was no way he could refuse.

He agreed to be her
cicisbeo
—her paid escort—and more
.

It was in that context that the countess had approached him. She smiled contentedly and slipped him her calling card showing her direction. She wanted him at that address within a day. She would spread the word to the
ton
that he was a forgotten nephew of hers, appearing suddenly on her doorstep from India after serving in the King’s army. Since he was family, it was deemed proper for him to stay in her home.

The countess told him she had scads of money and could easily make his life more than tolerable. All he had to do was fawn over her like a cow-eyed gallant, be a willing errand boy, and—this was going to be the hard part—hop into her bed whenever she ordered him to fuck her.

Chapter Three

Discussing the matter with Rand the next morning, Griff wondered if he had made up his mind too quickly. “She more or less accosted me at the ball, Rand. After I thought about it, I decided to accept her offer. She’s easy enough on the eyes, you know, even if she has lived almost a decade longer than me. But, what the devil! All pussies fuck alike in the dark, eh?”

“You’re sure you want to … well … prostitute your, er, ego like that? I told you I’d let you borrow from me until you latched onto a rich debutante.”

“I have little to sell, old chap, except this face and body. I’m not a dashing hero, although I still wear the uniform. My inheritance is in the damn hands of mortgage holders. My pockets are all but to let.” He laid a heavy hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Ah, it won’t be so bad. It’s less demeaning than begging pin money from you. If the countess pays me well enough to hop into her bed for the rest of the Season, I’ll find a way to slip out of her clutches.”

Griff picked up his battered portmanteau and gave his hat a rakish tilt on his blond head. He looked like a Greek Adonis, splendid in or out of uniform, even if he was a bit ragged around the edges.

“Who knows, Rand? She may decide to keep me. Then it will be my turn to make a decision. If I convince her to marry me, I’ll be master of everything.” His sensuous lips twisted in a wry grin. “So you see, then I can pay you back for your kindness.” The grin turned into more like a grimace.

“Well, I’m off, old chap.” Griff started through the doorway, leaving a warning over his shoulder as he said, “What ho! If you see me, it could be the wicked countess hanging on my arm at one fancy do or another. Cut me dead if you like, Rand. If I am denounced as her male whore, I’ll understand.”

* * * *

It was a short cab ride to Eberley House in Portman Square. It would have been enough time to change Griff’s mind and back out if he were so inclined.

Returned to England from his disgrace on the Continent, Griff had made up his mind to seek out and court a rich wife, young or old, it didn’t make a difference. Of course, it would have been nice if he could wrap a naive, young chit with a good-sized dowry around his pinky. It had surprised the devil out of him when the hot-eyed countess made her salacious suggestion.

Overnight he had considered several ideas. One of the problems he couldn’t quite solve was the countess herself. Would she lower herself to marry an untitled
cicisbeo
? He didn’t think so, but he would work on the problem. If he played his cards well, he might be out of the suds—no longer plagued with monetary worries.

The countess was waiting for him when he arrived that morning. He was ushered into a large, elaborate drawing room on the second storey of the town house. No hesitation or embarrassment crossed the woman’s expression when she gave orders to a footman to put Griff’s battered portmanteau in the bedchamber next to hers. Something shriveled inside him, shrinking the masculine core of his psyche although he was fully aware of what his sexual duties were to be during a foreseeable future.

When the countess spoke, Griff hesitated inside the doorway.

“Close the door behind you,” she said, a crisp, autocratic demand tightening her lips. The tone she used with him today was quite different from her coquettishness of last evening.

Did she think I was bought and paid for already?

Nevertheless, Griff did what she asked.

Quite slowly, with complete assurance that he wouldn’t protest, the countess approached Griff, reached out a hand, slid her jeweled fingers beneath a lapel of his military tunic, and caressed the hard muscles of his chest and torso through layers of heavy fabric. She roved his physique as if he were a new, expensive toy. She continued, lowering her hands to the jacket’s edge, before tucking her fingertips under the snug waistband of his breeches.

“Hmm,” she murmured, sounding pleased. Looking up, she met his gaze.

Goddamn her.

Reading her eyes, Griff already knew what she was thinking. He jerked, however, when she suddenly cupped his ballocks between his legs and squeezed them, not so gently. He sucked in a surprised breath but stood unmoving, rigid, not spreading his legs farther to give her better access to his privates.

There was a sudden rush of blood to his penis, however, that he couldn’t deny. Smiling wickedly, she stroked her palm along his lengthing cock. “Good. I like a man who knows what is expected of him.”

She let go and left him abruptly, seating herself on a cushioned settee. “Come here and sit beside me. I have questions that need answers.”

She leaned back, quite businesslike, and began to interrogate him.

“Since you decided to agree—which was quite wise of you—I learned you were quite destitute when you arrived in London. I also heard there was a scandal of sorts having something to do with your return to civilian life. Do you wish to tell me about it?”

Griff would tell her only what she needed to know. “I purchased my colors four years ago. The war has gone on too long for my taste. I wanted out and was given the opportunity to do so.”

“Why are you in London now?”

“I was contemplating a suitable liaison when you approached me. Is that sufficient information for your interrogation?’

“Not quite. No.” She stopped, her blue eyes sharper and more piercing than he thought they would be. This was no softhearted woman looking to cuddle a lover. There was a hard edge to her aristocratic demeanor. For some reason, he was uneasy, as if he had inadvertently assigned his manhood into her keeping.

“Never mind that,” she continued. “I know about your father’s scandal. I … er … read it in the
Times
. Did you ever find out why he took his own life?”

“No. I wasn’t in touch with my father during several years while I was in the army. Not until, you see, I read of his demise when I was on the Continent. We were not on speaking terms at the time of his death. That much I can tell you.”

“Your father dribbled away your inheritance to nothing with his lifestyle, Spencer. Or, shall we say, his many libertine indulgences. It was rumored you were of the same destructive disposition as was your late sire. Is that true?”

Griff had tried to rescue his father’s plunge into the bottle without success after his mother passed on. Unable to do anything about it, it seemed easier to join him rather undo the wicked reputation his father’s demons had spread about London connecting both son and father.

“Yes, I expect so. I was as much of a rake and caddish libertine as my father until I joined the army. I hadn’t the guts to do away with myself the way he did, however.” His answer sounded grim. “I was of the opinion Bonaparte would take care of it for me.”

Griff shrugged noncommittally. “When fighting the French didn’t do the trick, I mustered out.” His brow wrinkled, but he met the countess’s gaze without flinching.