The Savage Lord Griffin Read online

  “I feared he would when I told him Montgomery had taken up residence at Mersham Abbey. You should have seen the black look he gave me. It was Monty's rushing Lady Griffin out of the abbey that got his dander up. I would not want to be in Monty's boots when Griffin goes home. Daresay he pelted straight off to the abbey to turn the fellow off."

  A concerted sigh of relief was audible at the table. Myra and the duke exchanged a tremulous smile. Feeling that the confrontation had been staved off, the duke said, “Pity. I was hoping for a word with him before he left. Mean to say..."

  “I recommend you have your word via letter,” Mr. Barnaby suggested. “That lad's tongue can raise welts. I would not like to feel his fists."

  When dinner was over and Griffin had still not come, it was generally accepted that he had darted straight off to Mersham Abbey to murder his cousin Montgomery, and the party could proceed to the rout with an easy mind. The story of Griffin's return was on every lip. The ladies, in particular, were extremely eager to see this handsome savage with his spear and trunkful of diamonds, and were sorry he had not returned at the beginning of the Season. They were soon to have at least a part of their wish.

  At the Griffin mansion on Grosvenor Square, the only lingering trace of the jungle adorning Lord Griffin was his bronze coloring and a small gold hoop earring in one ear, which was exposed to view with his short hairdo. He thought this lent a certain diablerie to his appearance, but if Myra disliked it, he would remove it.

  Always up to the minute in his toilette, he had worn pantaloons before leaving England. His valet, who had gone to Brazil with his master but preceded Griffin to London by a week, had spoken to his confreres that afternoon regarding the important matters of tonsure and the cravat. Both were exquisitely arranged. Before his lordship was allowed to leave the house, his valet had overseen the clipping of his master's hair à la Brutus, and arranged his cravat in the Oriental fashion. The large diamond tiepin Griffin wore had been fashioned in Rio de Janeiro from the small stock of diamonds he had purchased at a ridiculously low price, and brought back with him.

  It was an hour after the Newbolds and their party left for the rout that Griffin felt he was fit to be seen by his beloved, and directed John Groom to deliver him thither. The butler, seeing that the stories of Griffin's return to nature had been grossly exaggerated, did not hesitate to give him the Newbolds’ evening itinerary. Neither did he feel it his place to inform his lordship that Miss Newbold had taken a new fiancé. He did drop one hint, however.

  “Er, the ladies are accompanied by the Duke of Dunsmore,” he said discreetly.

  “Dunny? They shan't come to any harm with him—so long as they are not attacked by a ravening mouse,” Griffin said, and left, smiling.

  Naturally he did not expect Myra to sit on her thumbs for five years. He expected her to go about society, and lauded her mama's good sense in arranging such a harmless escort as the duke. Perhaps young Alice had attached Dunsmore. She must be old enough to be making her bows now. He had a vague memory of a dark-eyed young hussy tumbling about the house when he had been courting Myra.

  It seemed strange to be back in London after such a long absence. Gas lamps had been installed since his departure, and he marveled at how they turned night into day. Lampposts stood at every corner, casting a misty glow on the passing carriages and pedestrians. Through the shadows, the series of lamps were visible along the street, like a cordon of moons come to earth. Amazing! But surely dangerous?

  It was not until his carriage approached Lady Calmet's door that it occurred to him he had no invitation. He knew the family well, however. His mama and Lady Calmet had made their curtsies together three decades before. In fact, his mama was godmother to the daughter of the house. Sara, was it? He certainly would have been invited, had Lady Calmet known he was back. His heart beat faster as he approached the door. The butler stared, not recognizing Griffin, but recognizing him for a gentleman.

  “Good evening. I am Lord Griffin. I don't have an invitation. I have been out of the country, but I am sure if you speak to Lady Calmet..."

  Despite the lack of long locks and spear, the butler had no intention of coming to cuffs with the savage Lord Griffin. He stood aside and allowed Griffin to enter. Lord Calmet was just escaping to his study, and spotted Griffin as he fled.

  “Good God, you're back, Griffin. Welcome,” Calmet said, and pelted his guest with questions as he led him to the ballroom. “You must come for dinner soon, and tell us all about your adventures. Sara will be in alt to see you. Announce Lord Griffin,” he said to the servant when they reached the landing that overlooked the ballroom.

  “Thank you, milord.” Griffin bowed and turned to the servant. “Wait!” he said, touching the man's elbow. “Let me just watch a moment.” He smiled softly at the fairy-tale scene below him. Plumed and painted ladies swirled around the floor to a strangely seductive melody. He could discern no pattern to the dance. The squares of the cotillion or minuet were missing, yet there were no rows of a country-dance. It seemed to be a random arrangement of couples, each swooping and circling to its own will, with gentlemen actually holding their partners in their arms in public! What delightful depravity had struck London?

  And soon he would be holding his lovely Myra. England had changed! “What is this new dance?” he asked.

  “It is the waltz, milord."

  “Charming,” Griffin said, searching the floor for Myra, and just as happy not to find her in another man's arms. “You may announce me now."

  “Lord Griffin,” the servant called in a loud voice. A hush fell over the ballroom. The waltzers stopped in mid-swirl. As the dancers halted, the music slowed to a discordant wail, then stopped entirely. Griffin had expected some little commotion at his return, but he had not expected this. He hardly knew what he should do. He smiled and bowed two or three times in different directions. When still no one moved a muscle, he found himself performing a tentative royal wave, as if he were the king. No further salutations occurred to him, and with a great sense of uncertainty, he began to walk down the stairs to the ballroom, looking this way and that for Myra.

  His descent seemed to give the waltzers permission to return to life. A great, excited buzz broke out as he strolled past them.

  “Handsome! Who said he wore his hair long?"

  “I do not see any spear!"

  “He can spear me any time he likes."

  “What is that in his ear? It looks like—but it cannot be!"

  “By Jove, I am glad I ain't Dunny Dunsmore,” a man's voice said.

  Lady Calmet, catapulted into motion when she recognized him, came rushing forward and grasped Griffin by both hands. “Dear boy! Such a pleasure! I did not half believe you were dead."

  “Dead?” he asked, staring. “So that is why everyone looked as if they had seen a ghost. I was beginning to fear I had forgotten to put on my trousers."

  “Oh, Griffin! You have not changed a bit,” his hostess laughed.

  “Indeed, I have not."

  “Sara will be so glad to see you."

  Griffin was a little surprised that both parents had mentioned Sara, but took it for mere politeness. “And I look forward to seeing her again, Lady Calmet. I was told at Newbolds’ that Myra is here. Do you think you could steer us to a quiet parlor?"

  Lady Calmet cast a strangely uneasy glance at him. “That might be best, Griffin. I shall have some wine sent in,” she said, and led him out the door, to the consternation of every lady in the room except Myra Newbold, who was extremely relieved to see the back of him.

  “Oh, Dunny!” Myra gasped. “He is here. Whatever shall we do?"

  “We could make a bolt for it,” he suggested.

  Before they bolted, Lady Calmet came hurrying forward. “Lord Griffin would like a word with you in private, Myra,” she said. “I'll take you to him."

  “Oh no! I could not! Truly, I do not feel..."

  Dunsmore drew a deep sigh of relief and said bracingly, “Must be done
sooner or later, m'dear. As well to have it over with, eh?"

  “You go with her, Dunsmore,” Lady Calmet suggested, as she did not wish to have that ninnyhammer of a Myra Newbold faint away in the middle of the floor.

  Alice watched from across the room, wishing with all her heart that Myra would turn tail and run, so that she might have the privilege of consoling Griffin. With all eyes upon her, however, Myra had enough backbone to allow Dunsmore and Lady Calmet to drag her to the private parlor. Her insides were shaking like a blancmange, and so were Dunsmore's. Lady Calmet thought they both looked as if they were going to meet the firing squad.

  She tapped on the door, and Griffin opened it immediately. “Thank you, Lady Calmet,” he said, but his eyes were devouring Myra. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her pale charms wore the added attraction of novelty, after his stay among natives. He took her hand and drew her inside. The duke tagged along.

  Griffin said to him, “Thank you, Dunsmore, but there is no need—"

  “Don't go, Dunny!” Myra begged in a low tone, clutching his arm.

  “Matter of fact, there is need,” Dunsmore said, and closed the door in Lady Calmet's face.

  “What is it?” Griffin said impatiently.

  The duke cleared his throat two or three times. “Thing is, Griffin, Myra and I—I mean to say, we thought you was dead."

  “As you can see, I am very much alive,” Griffin replied in an arrogant baritone buzz that sent the duke's heart into palpitations.

  “Yes, but we thought you was dead. For five years now."

  As Griffin looked from Dunsmore to Myra, his frown deepened. He saw no joy in his beloved's eyes, but rather a cringing fear. He noticed that Myra clung to the duke as to a lifeline, and soon his sharp eyes discerned the sparkle of a large diamond on her third finger. It was not his simple band of baguettes she had been wearing when he left.

  “I see,” he said in a voice that would strike fear into the heart of a Norse warrior. His wicked black eyes steamed a threat in the duke's direction.

  “You were gone five years, Griffin!” Myra said in a quavering voice.

  “I believe seven years is the usual interval before a man is assumed dead,” Griffin said.

  “But you never wrote."

  “The postal service was sadly irregular in the jungle,” he said satirically. Myra sagged onto a sofa, and Griffin turned a steely eye on her escort. “This presents a little problem, does it not, Dunsmore?"

  “We are to be married next month,” the duke said weakly. “That is, we were to be..."

  “On the twenty-first of June, Mama's wedding anniversary,” Myra added.

  “I see.” Griffin poured wine from the tray Lady Calmet had had delivered, and passed it to the others as his mind raced over this new state of affairs. His first instinct was to laugh; his second to box Dunsmore's ears and chuck him out the door by the nape of his neck. But when he saw Myra gazing lovingly at her duke, he had to reconsider. “That leaves me three weeks to change your mind,” he said.

  Dunsmore was goaded into speech by this threat. “I say, old chap!"

  “Come now, Dunsmore,” Griffin chided. “You stole Myra while I was away. My proposition is more fair. You and I will both be here, with equal opportunity to press our suit forward. I believe that is the civilized course to follow.” His flashing eyes suggested other less civilized alternatives. “Or would you, like myself, prefer a swifter solution?” he asked in a voice of silken menace.

  “No, no. There is no need for swiftness. We are both gentlemen, I hope."

  Griffin went to Myra, and cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. She looked up and met his searching gaze. When his lips lifted in a tender smile, she felt something strange happen inside her, something warm and tumultuous. She did not answer his smile, but she did not twitch away from his touch. Her emotions were in awful turmoil. She had always felt helpless at Griffin's touch, yet she loved Dunsmore to distraction.

  It galled Dunsmore to see another man's hand on his fiancée. He wanted to object, but there was something in Griffin's sloe-berry eyes that robbed the duke of courage. He thought of that long spear, and of his unpleasant experience in Manton's shooting gallery, and knew he dare not issue a challenge, nor even object to Griffin's touching Myra. “It is really up to Myra, is it not?” he said.

  They both looked at her. She felt betrayed by Dunsmore. He ought to have protected her. She took very little pleasure in the thought of being alone with Griffin, yet she was not totally averse to being the cynosure of all eyes. And with the two most desirable parties in all of Britain trailing at her skirts, she would surely be that. Her taste for admiration reveled in the prospect.

  “But I am engaged to Dunsmore, Griffin,” she said archly.

  “You are also engaged to me,” he pointed out. “Unless you are planning to give me my congé without allowing me to try to regain your love."

  The hurt look he cast on her robbed him of menace. He really was awfully handsome.

  Myra saw the spasm of alarm that seized Dunsmore, and knew that he was in agony. Served him right! He should have stood up to Griffin. “That seems fair,” she said to her more recent fiancé.

  Dunsmore, frightened into meaningless cliché, said, “Fair's fair."

  “Then it is my turn to try my hand at regaining my fiancée's favor,” Griffin said, and took Myra by the hand to help her up from the chair. They went arm in arm to the ballroom, where Myra Newbold had almost more attention than she wanted. Every eye, bright with unsatisfied curiosity, was on her. The gossip roiled around her, like gigantic waves in an ocean storm. There had never been such an interesting party since Lady Caroline Lamb took the carving knife to Lord Byron at Lady Heathcote's party. Or perhaps the knife had been aimed at her-sell Reports were various as to the intended victim.

  The waltzes were finished, and it was to a sedate cotillion that Lord Griffin led his fiancée, where they both performed with exquisite grace, but very little conversation. When the set was finished, Griffin led Myra to her mama. The young lady with her was quite obviously Alice, all grown up and looking quite fetching.

  “Mrs. Newbold, I have come back, like the bad penny I am,” Griffin said with a bow.

  “I noticed,” she said glumly.

  “And Miss Alice,” he continued. “May I have the pleasure of the next set?"

  “I would like it of all things, Griffin,” she smiled, and went off with him, as one in a dream.

  Chapter Three

  Before they had taken two steps, Lady Calmet rushed up to them, trailing her nubile daughter in her wake. The hostess doubted that Myra Newbold would exchange her ducal parti for Griffin, which left the dashing Griffin free for some other fortunate lady. Why not her own Sara?

  “No fair, Miss Alice,” the hostess said playfully. “You Newbolds are monopolizing Griffin. The rest of the world is also eager to hear his South American tales. Sara, dear, you remember Lord Griffin? If you ask him very nicely, perhaps he will stand up with you for the next set."

  “But he asked me!” Alice objected.

  As Griffin had entered without an invitation, he felt obliged to humor his hostess. He lowered his brow and said to Alice, “Later, brat.” Lady Calmet's blink of surprise alerted him that he had used the old pet name. “Alice was still a child when I left,” he explained. “She used to be called brat at home. I see she is scowling at me for remembering it. It just slipped out, Sal. Sorry."

  “No one called me that except you,” she muttered, and cast a look of loathing on Lady Sara.

  “They grow up so quickly.” Lady Calmet smiled. “I can scarcely believe my little Sara is such a fine young lady. I wager you scarcely recognize her, though you two were friends once.” She prodded her daughter forward for approval.

  Griffin remembered her very well, and could not observe much difference from the perfectly mature lady he had left five years before. She had been a striking beauty then, and she still was. The first sheen of youth had
been replaced with a gloss of town bronze that was equally attractive to him. She was a statuesque brunet with black hair, green eyes, and a warm smile. “Don't be ridiculous, Mama,” Lady Sara laughed. “I hope I have not deteriorated to the point where Griffin does not recognize me."

  Her mother's eyes snapped. “Foolish girl!” she chided.

  “It does not take a mathematician to realize I was out before Griffin left, Mama,” Sara said, exchanging a smile with Griffin. “He knows how long I have hung on the vine. It is wonderful to see you again, Griffin."

  “Maturity becomes you, Sara. You are as lovely as ever,” he replied, and lifted her fingers to his lips.

  “I see you have kept your silver tongue,” Sara smiled. “And added a touch of gold to your ear."

  “The better to hear you."

  “Is there some particular significance to it?” she asked.

  “A mameluco woman did it for me. It was a sort of token that I was friendly, to allow me to pass through certain hostile terrain. I shan't bore you with the story."

  “But it sounds fascinating! What is this mameluco you mention?"

  “The mameluscos are the result of intermarriage, usually a Portuguese father and an Indian mother."

  While Griffin explained this to Sara, Lady Calmet took Alice's arm and hustled her off to another gentleman. Alice tried to console herself that she would have the next set with Griffin, but it was nothing of the sort. The ladies were on him like hounds on a fox. He was invited to call on everyone who managed a word with him. They were all suddenly fascinated by Brazil, and wished to discuss it with him over dinner, or a drive, or preferably tête-à-tête at home.

  It was perfectly clear to Alice that Griffin had become the Season's lion. When she complained of Lady Calmet's stunt to Myra, it was also clear to Myra. She felt a gloating swell of satisfaction to hold Griffin's future in the palm of her dainty white hand. She could have him for the snapping of her fingers. How all these ladies would hate it! But then one of them would inevitably nab Dunny if she gave him his congé.