And yes, her aura of innocence also intrigued him, almost contradicted his libertine leanings. He had been used to experienced women in his life so far—like the countess. Immediately, Griff felt a tightening in his chest, recalling what he had been ordered to do if he were to save his future from total disaster.
Griff gazed more closely at Dulcie as she sipped her tea in the rosy glow of the firelight. Her unblemished skin was tinted a golden shade. She must spend days outside, not hiding from the sun’s tanning rays like most aristocratic ladies. He took note of the shape of her mouth, too. Full and wide, with a curious appeal that pleased him for some reason. Her lower lip was generous in comparison to the curved, upper one. Those lips looked ripe with promise. He was certain the girl never used anything to tint her lips that luscious, strawberry hue. She must have been born that way.
He noticed, too, that the girl had a coltish way of moving and walking when she first entered the parlor. Her legs must be long and strong in proportion to her other attributes. When it came time to ravish her, he wanted those legs wrapped around his hips in bed. She was young and curvaceous, not overblown. He would have no problem fucking the stepdaughter while showing her the pleasures and intricacies of submitting to him. Perhaps seducing Lady Dulcina wasn’t going to be the chore he originally thought. Not a chore at all.
Emptying his brandy snifter, Griff still wondered why and when the animosity between the women occurred. He might feel for the girl because of the way the countess treated her, but he had his own problems to worry about.
Chapter Seven
Dulcie was up early, as was her wont while living at Bonne Vista. Knowing that Simon needed to relieve himself, she washed her face, dressed quickly, attached his leash to his collar, and they tiptoed out of her room. The dog walked calmly by her side. Their footsteps were soundless as they approached the front door. A footman waited in the foyer even as daylight brightened the east-facing windows.
“Good morning.” She greeted the servant with a smile. “Are you Joshua? The man who walked Simon for me last evening?”
He nodded and reached for Simon’s leash.
“Thank you, no. I’m going to take him out, so you needn’t bother.”
“As you wish, milady. Best be careful, though. The grass is wet with dew and may be slippery.”
The grass was indeed wet, and she was glad she had donned her walking shoes instead of the shabby dress slippers she wore last evening. Simon snuffled and sniffed along the edge of the tiny lawn. He lifted a leg several times, and finally squatted behind a large bush. After he finished his business, they walked toward the mews behind the town house. Dulcie heard horses whinnying and hooves stomping in the stables. They’re anxious to be fed, she thought.
She kept walking until she came upon a tiny garden tucked behind the mansion. Flowering trees were starting to sprout shiny new leaves. The ground cover crept over the gravel paths while sturdy, perennial daffodils brightened the garden with yellow buds. Spring was here, and she wished to be at home, in Surrey. She was homesick already. But no, her stepmother demanded her presence in Town for the best part of the spring.
After Simon’s brief exercise, Dulcie turned back toward the house. A woman stuck her head out of a back entry and sloshed water from a bucket. “Oh my! Ye scared the wits outta me,” the maid blurted, clutching a wet hand against a generous bosom covered by a crisp, white apron over a gray gown. She eyed Simon and said, “And the black beast, m’lady, is he vicious?”
Dulcie giggled. “No. He’s very tame,” she replied with a wide grin.
“Ye won’t be bringin’ him in here, now will ye?” the servant asked timidly. “Yer ladyship don’t…”
“My stepmother knows I have a dog with me. I promised to keep him out of her sight, so you needn’t worry.” Dulcie leaned forward to peek through the doorway. “Do you mind if I bring him into the kitchen? He needs something to drink, and perhaps, I can beg something of a treat from Cook.”
Within a quarter hour, Dulcie was ensconced at the servants’ breakfast table in the kitchen, eating a second scone with fresh butter, and finishing a cup of hot chocolate. Simon lay next to her chomping on a marrowbone. Dulcie had taught him to beg as a pup. The maids all giggled when Simon gentlemanly offered a paw for a few kitchen scraps. He was soon awarded a bigger treat.
When Dulcie finished eating, she asked one of the maids to show her around the ground floor so she could get her bearings. The maid also pointed out the servants’ stairs leading up to the higher floors. When she and Simon hurried up them and stuck their noses out into the second storey hallway, they hesitated.
Spotting Dulcie and Simon, two fluffy cats were poised to scurry away. Striped fur on their backs was sticking up along their spines, their ears were alert, their yellow eyes wide in animalistic fear. One of the cats hissed loud in warning.
“Don’t move, Simon,” Dulcie ordered the dog. “Let them know you won’t hurt them.” Simon dropped to his haunches, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. One of the felines sprinted down the hallway, heading away from danger, but the other one, more courageous and perhaps, curious, held its ground and watched Simon with wary eyes.
Dulcie squatted and reached out a coaxing hand to the large tabby. “Come, puss, Simon won’t torment you. He’s a very friendly dog.”
Simon didn’t make a move to chase the frightened cat but lay down flat, instead, and started panting.
Dulcie whispered encouragement to the cat. It seemed curious and took a few steps toward them.
Simon wasn’t even looking at the feline. He rested his muzzle on his paws and blinked.
“Good boy,” Dulcie told him, as she patted his head.
The cat drew closer.
When Simon raised his head again, the two animals gently touched noses. Simon sat up abruptly, a bit more animated. The cat turned tail, but didn’t rush away, as if certain it wouldn’t be mauled. It made its way along the hallway in the same direction the other feline had taken.
Dulcie smiled and clucked to Simon. The two hurried to Dulcie’s bedchamber. She shut the door and pressed her back against it.
“You were a very good, puppy,” she whispered. “Those were the Countess’s house cats. However, we made it here safe and sound without her catching us out there with them, otherwise she could have screeched her lungs out if she thought you would hurt her babies.” She giggled down at Simon.
“Woof,” Simon replied. She hushed him with a raised finger against her lips. Having had his walk, filled his stomach, and feeling quite content, he plopped down in front of the fireplace, put his nose between his paws, eyes closed, and snoozed.
Marnie, the little maid who had attended Dulcie yesterday, knocked on the door to see if Dulcie needed assistance. “What time does my stepmother rise in the morning?” Dulcie asked as she opened the door as the girl came in to straighten the rumpled bed.
“Oh, Lady Trayhern—yer stepmother, I mean—she won’t be gettin’ up until ten of the clock unless she has somethin’ unusual to do. She takes her breakfast in her room, dresses afterwards. ‘Tis Trent, her abigail, who caters to her and does her hair before she comes out.” The girl hesitated. “I’m not a real lady’s maid like her, ye know,” Marnie explained half-heartedly.
Dulcie turned and asked, “Would you like to be my abigail?” She remembered how nicely the girl had coiffed her hair. “I know I’ll need lots of help.”
“Oh, I’d love to, Miss…er, Lady Dulcina. Truly I would.”
“I’ll ask permission of my stepmother when I see her. Meanwhile, I’d really like a soak in a warm bath. I want to investigate more of the house after that.”
* * * *
Dulcie was headed back to her room after her tour of the upper floors when she saw the tall, tanned Mr. Spencer approaching her up the stairs from the foyer below. He must have just returned from breakfast. He paused at the top of one of the staircases and waited for her to join him.
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.
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