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.

“Countess Eberley, I agreed to do what you want. What difference does it make if my blackened reputation is known as long as I keep you happy? That’s all you need to know about me.” He wasn’t going to let her badger him for further intimate details.

She stared back at him after hearing his reply. “Well, then,” she said, pausing. Her rosebud lips again snapped into a tight line. When she finally did crack a smile, she continued. “I expect callers for tea later this afternoon, Spencer. You need make only a brief, initial appearance. Don’t stay too long; don’t say too much. And whatever you do, don’t explain. I’ll introduce you as my long-lost nephew. It may start some tongues wagging, but we will be on the Town this evening, and I will see to it that you are presented to my closest acquaintances. They will spread the word, nothing but only that you are visiting with me.”

She looked him more closely in his uniform. “I will see to it you have credit to purchase proper attire for the Season’s festivities. Meanwhile, you are to wear your uniform. It will enhance your heroic appeal.”

“That won’t be difficult since…”

She interrupted him, pressing an index finger against her lips. “I accepted several invitations for this evening. One is to the Pillington’s rout. You will escort me. Do try to be as convincing as my nephew as possible. I do not out-and-out explain my young cicisbeos. Besides, I have something else in mind for you. Meanwhile, I shall enjoy promenading your gorgeous face and enticing body in front of my jealous friends. We’ll stay for an hour and then go on to the Dilworth’s ball. That will be enough exposure for you today.”

What else did she have in store for him? Griff wondered. Then he remembered the avid gleam in her eyes when she stroked his crotch. His sizeable cock had always satisfied any woman, even if she weren’t paying for his services. He swallowed hard and forced himself not to think about what would probably occur later.

Rising from the settee, he nodded his understanding. “Now, if I may, I’d like to see where I am to be billeted.”