Miller, Raine - The Undoing of a Libertine (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Raine Miller

  When Jeremy let himself out, he saw Pellton at the end of the hall, following behind a courtesan, entering a room, the nephew trailing behind. Jeremy got a good look at him and knew what he saw. Pellton’s nephew wore a coat, notable in color—notable in that it was a deep, dark red.

  Turning his head, Jeremy saw that the big guard also watched the two men. His stare looked, for lack of a better term, malevolent. Marguerite was correct in her claim that the establishment reviled Pellton and his nephew.

  Once their door shut behind them, the guard turned his piercing eyes onto Jeremy. He lifted an eyebrow as if to suggest, “that was fast.”

  Jeremy shrugged. “Sometimes it’s just not in the fates.”

  The guard gave a nod and a sympathetic grunt. Male to male, they were in perfect understanding.

  Jeremy decided he could trust this man. “Say, I was wondering, do you know the name of the younger of the party that just went in?” He jerked his head toward the room Pellton and his nephew had just entered.

  “And why would you want to know that?” the guard asked in a gravelly, accented voice.

  “He and I have some unfinished business,” Jeremy gritted out.

  “What is the nature of your business?” The guard narrowed his eyes.

  Jeremy looked levelly, his eyes stabbing the man. He felt rage in the very pit of his guts. Voicing his reasons required considerable effort, his emotions surging, threatening to overpower his acute, calculating judgment.

  “He took something. Stole it brutally away and hurt a person very dear to me.” Jeremy nodded at the guard. “I’m going to see that he pays for what he did.”

  A slow, malicious grin formed on the guard’s face. “A man must do as his conscience demands of him,” he said. He paused thoughtfully before putting out his hand. “I am Luc, and would be delighted to help you, sir.”

  Chapter Eleven

  It is the end that crowns us, not the fight.

  —Robert Herrick, “The End” (1648)

  Summoned to her father’s study, Georgina thought this couldn’t be a good sign, but regardless wasn’t able to muster up much anxiety in any case. The past weeks had worn heavy on her.

  Once Jeremy departed Oakfield after his disastrous proposal, Georgina felt the loss of him keenly. Tom had told him everything, so Jeremy knew the “why” of her disgrace. She also felt her will to resist her father’s machinations fading away. Papa was still determined to marry her off, and aching for a man she wouldn’t have was of no comfort. A wonderful man who’d made her feel like a true woman, desired and cherished. For a short time, at least.

  She’d held a tiny flicker of hope that Jeremy might still want her after being told the hideous truth, but no, he had not. He’d gone quickly and probably felt like he’d dodged a bullet.

  She could still remember the flash of disgust in his eyes when she’d shared her shame. Like dung had been thrown at him.

  No, the future Sir Jeremy Greymont, Baronet, of Hallborough Park and Somerset, would have no use for a soiled, ruined bride, and that’s exactly what she would be to him.

  For all her heartache, Georgina thought pragmatically and saw a bleak future. There wasn’t much spark left in her anymore to care though. With little to look forward to and nothing to lose, she hoped to leave Oakfield, unseen and quietly. Apart from Tom, nobody really wanted her, so she shouldn’t be missed once she left. As soon as she found the means and the way, she was getting out. Out of Oakfield, out of England, out of life as she had known it.

  She knocked on the door, reminded of the audiences to this very study, after it had been done to her.

  The humiliation and more so the fear that the monster might have impregnated her had simply paralyzed her father. Mr. Russell could think of little else and had continued to inquire obsessively if she experienced any signs, for or against a pregnancy. And she’d answered him, mortified and shamed anew each time he’d asked the question.

  Then finally, one small blessing, a lifeline in a sea of drowning horror, fell her way. Her courses arrived, and she could finally answer her father definitively and stop the dreaded questioning once and for all. What a relief. For the both of them.

  “Come.”

  She stepped in. “Papa, you wished to see me?”

  Nodding solemnly, in his way, Mr. Russell looked her over thoroughly, like he was trying to solve a conundrum. Shaking his head, he finally spoke. “I don’t know how you’ve managed it, girl, especially the way you treated him when he was a guest here, but it seems that luck favors you. He still wants you.”

  An icy chill slid up her spine. “What do you speak of, Papa?”

  “He is back and willing to overlook what transpired last time. His offer for your hand in marriage has been put forth yet again and on this occasion, you will accept him.”

  Oh dear Christ and the angels! Lord Pellton has returned.

  She backed up. “No. No, please, Papa. Don’t make me!”

  “Georgina, enough of these dramatics,” he said tiredly. “It’s time to grow up and face your duty. His offer is respectable. You will want for nothing, will have a place in society, and shall bear a title, for Christ sake! That’s more than your mother got. You will be called ‘Lady.’”

  “Oh, Papa!” She covered her mouth and turned from him. The walls were closing in on her. She felt small and powerless, completely at the mercy of others, with no voice of her own. She asked on a shuddering breath, “How can I do this?”

  “You can, and you will. You are a Russell and must do your duty to your family and then to your husband, as is a woman’s obligation.”

  She answered him with silent sobs, thinking she would start praying for a short earthly life. If she agreed to this, her life would be over anyway.

  Mr. Russell’s voice softened, and he drew up behind her. “I know you’ve suffered, my daughter, but I believe this is best. A life of your own, and once they come, your own children to care for. In this way you can forget your—your past indignity. That man needs a son, and you are of a fine and noble family. He honors you. There is no shame in being a wife and mother, Georgina.”

  She felt truly broken and tired, the will to resist crushed down to the point that she just didn’t much care anymore. Lord Pellton’s first wife had died in childbed and maybe she would, too. Whatever waited for her if she agreed must be her fate. What did it matter? Nothing mattered to her, not any longer. Feeling dead inside, she moved her head up and down woodenly.

  “Success at last!” Mr. Russell blurted. “You’ve made the right decision, Georgina. I’ll just go give the happy news and bring him in for a private audience with you.” He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

  “He—he is here, now?”

  “Yes. He arrived an hour ago, special license in hand. Says enough time has passed and will not wait any longer for you. The ceremony will be in the parlor, tomorrow morning, and then you’ll depart for your new home after the wedding breakfast. We can set back the date of your betrothal to the time when he was here before. Let it be known you were secretly engaged all these weeks. The maids should start on your packing right away. I’m sure you’ll have your own maid waiting for you when you arrive to your new home.”

  Mr. Russell sounded positively giddy as he chattered about what needed to be done. She hardly paid attention to him, but did notice when the room grew quiet.

  A sudden thought entered her mind. Right here, right now, was the last time. This moment was the last time she was a free person, operating under her own will. Because very soon, Lord Pellton would come in through that door and claim her. She would belong to him and would have to serve him. Her life would no longer be hers. It felt rather like a death, she thought.

  She focused on the painting above the fireplace. It showed a seascape set along a craggy coastline. The storm-tossed waves at sunset, the glowing orange sun about to dip below the horizon. She’d always liked it, the colors and the subject. The painting could be a metaphor for her short li
fe—this moment was her sunset, her end.

  The door opened. She heard boots.

  Standing frozen, she stared at the sunset in the painting, utterly unable to move.

  He walked purposefully toward her, his steps hitting the floor in hard beats, growing closer and closer. She could hear his intense breathing. When he came within striking distance, he stopped behind her. She scented…cloves?

  That couldn’t be right. There was only one person she knew who smelled of cloves! Her spine stiffened, afraid to think of him. Jeremy?

  “Can you not look upon me, Georgina? I want to look at you, for your face is the only thing I can see in my dreams all these weeks since we have been apart.”

  She turned to him, feeling suddenly light-headed and thinking that the painting wasn’t of a sunset after all. It was a sunrise. Yes, most definitely. A glorious sunrise.

  Chapter Twelve

  Drink to me only with thine eyes,

  And I will pledge with mine...

  —Ben Johnson, To Celia (1616)

  Georgina started to drop, and Jeremy reached out his arms instinctively. He got to her just before she hit the floor. Her head lolling back, limp and lifeless in his arms—he realized she’d fainted dead away.

  Carrying her over to the chaise, he laid her down carefully, supporting her neck. He poured water from the pitcher and wet his handkerchief to press against her cheeks and forehead. Her skin looked pale, and she felt thinner to him. She hadn’t weighed enough when he’d lifted her. Please don’t let her be ill, he prayed, feeling himself break into a sweat. He should have never accepted her refusal last time, should have been with her all these weeks.

  An errant thought popped into his mind that she looked just like Sleeping Beauty from the fairy tale. Caressing her face, he said, “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. Georgina, please wake up!” He shook her a little, still calling her name before he couldn’t wait another second. Cupping both sides of her face, he tilted her so he could reach her mouth and brought his own down close. Jeremy’s lips met Georgina’s lips. Velvety. Warm. So sweet.

  Time stopped dead, or maybe he’d just died and gone to heaven. He was kissing an angel, and he could smell roses. The touch of her breath brushed into him, the taste of her infused his blood with incredible need. Cradled in his hands, he kissed her over and over. And for a beautiful instant, all was well in the world. It truly felt like it because she opened her eyes just then and spoke to him.

  “Is it really you?” Her voice sounded deep and a little rough.

  “You fainted,” he said, stupidly. “I kissed you, and you woke up. Are you well?” he croaked, feeling like he might need to lie down himself.

  “I—I thought you were going to be—” She shook her head as if to clear it. “I never thought you’d come back here, or want me.”

  “I can’t do anything else, and I don’t care about—what has happened in the past, other than you being hurt by it. I do want you. I want you, Georgina. Marry me. Be with me.”

  Pulling back, he bore his eyes into her, willing her to agree. He watched her amber eyes turn sparkly with tears.

  He could resolve himself to begging if he had to. He’d made her cry. “Please?” Bringing his forehead down to rest against hers, his arms wrapped around her back, pulling her close. “Marry me.”

  “But why—” She struggled to sit up.

  He helped her up to sitting. “No buts! I don’t want to talk about—”

  She stopped him with her fingers pressing down on his lips. “Jeremy, you deserve someone better than I. Someone who can be a true wife and love you in a way I probably cannot.”

  He kissed those sweet fingertips before replying. “Better? Better than you? There is no one better! And you don’t have to love me. You just have to put up with me. I’m not very lovable anyway, I don’t think.” Now that’s an encouraging thing to say to the girl of your dreams. You are such a profound arse!

  He took her hand in his and pressed it against his cheek. “I s’pose I’m an idiot for saying such a thing to you. Asking a girl to marry you and then telling her you’re not lovable and won’t she please just say ‘yes’ anyway. It doesn’t really bolster my chances that you’ll accept me, does it? But I am a supreme idiot. I find that has been a common theme whenever I try to talk to you.”

  Georgina frowned at him, the space between her eyebrows crinkling. “You’re no idiot, Jeremy.” She shook her head slowly, still with great somberness. “And why do you say you are not lovable?”

  “Well, I am selfish and self-indulgent. I have not practiced much restraint in my life, and I am bound to slip up sooner or later. But I am willing to take that chance, and if I have you to help me, Georgina, I am sure I could be a better man than I have been.”

  “Your assessment of yourself is an interesting one. I have not seen you behave selfishly or act indulgent ever. As for your lovability, I’m sure you’re wrong there, too, Jeremy.” Her eyes drifted to the side.

  “I’d like very much to be wrong about that one,” he told her.

  “And so you have come back,” she said.

  Georgina moved her fingertips ever so slowly along his jaw, and it took all of his strength to keep still and not devour her with kisses. He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted her safely married to him and in bed where he could kiss her senseless and make love to her for hours and hours.

  “As if I have a choice, Georgina. You have wound me into knots. I am so entangled in thoughts of you I could not find my way out if ever I desired.”

  “Then why did you leave before?” She dropped her hand and her voice changed. She lifted her chin a bit, her eyes sparking. “You left right after Tom told you what happened to me. You didn’t want me then.”

  Jeremy knew shame for his actions before. Georgina was no shrinking violet. Her memory worked just fine. She had not forgotten how he’d run out the night she’d told him.

  “I am so profoundly sorry for leaving you then. I made the worst decision—I was a fool, I know. But you’re wrong. I did want you. Have always wanted you. My wanting you was never in question.” He swallowed deeply. “I was afraid—” Jeremy stopped himself and shook his head once. “No. I’ll not say another word until you agree to have me,” he said, feeling his jaw harden.

  “Afraid of what, Jeremy?”

  “You might not have me if you know the reason. You’ve been traumatized and much harm has been done you.” He reached forward and touched a fingertip to the scar beside her eye. “He did this to you.” He worded it as a statement, needing no confirmation. He knew the scar came from her attack.

  Georgina’s eyes flickered away again, but she nodded her head, yes. Her throat pulsed as she swallowed. And he realized something else about her. She felt shame at what had been done to her. It’s not your fault, sweet Georgina. It killed Jeremy to know she suffered still, and he wanted nothing more than to erase it from her mind.

  “And every time you see the mark, you will remember what was done.” Her voice trembled. “I cannot bear that, Jeremy.”

  “No, Georgina.” He pressed his lips to the scar. “I will not. When I see it I will be reminded of your bravery, and be so grateful that you survived such a thing. No shame in that, sweet Georgina. None of what happened to you was your fault.”

  “Jeremy, it is my visible scar, but I fear there are more, worse ones in here—” She clutched at her heart. “And here as well.” She touched her forehead.

  “Then let me be the one to help you put them away. Let me comfort and protect you. I want to so badly. And none of what happened in your past alters my affection for you. Know that, Georgina. My affections for you are unchanging in spite of that knowledge. I only wish to keep you from hurt.”

  “Then why did you leave before, Jeremy?” she fired back.

  Georgina wasn’t going to take him without an explanation. He realized she was demanding to hear the “why” behind his hasty departure of a month ago. And he was going to have to tell her. Damn me.

>   “You will promise to marry me first. I can be stubborn, too!” Jeremy declared, supposing he might as well go in up to his neck. He set his jaw and leaned forward quickly, figuring if he had to impel her, he would use every wile he could muster to further his cause. He took her sweet lips again and not very gently this time. This time he gave her a kiss of claiming.

  Rapture, pure and simple, was all he felt. That hot jolt at his groin fired right up the second he touched her mouth. His lips moved over her softer ones, and he nudged with just the tip of his tongue, trying to get inside her, if even in only a very small way.

  Her lips parted to let him in, and when his tongue met her lips he didn’t know how he’d ever be able to stop. The firm exploration of her lips dragged on, for he was unable to pull back. She melted right into him, taking his tongue in, letting him know her.

  Georgina was made for kissing, for loving. If he could just get her to accept him, he could make it right with her. He knew he could.

  Jeremy had gone over and over his position in his mind the whole way here. Yes, there were hurdles to cross, but he didn’t see any other option for them. He wanted Georgina. He had to have her now. Protecting her from Pellton and his nephew wasn’t even in question anymore. Georgina was going to marry him and be safeguarded from those depraved monsters. They’d never get within shouting distance of his wife ever again. Jeremy could make that much happen at least.

  He kept telling himself he could be patient with her. He could be so gentle and careful Georgina would be eased into bearing all that dutiful, heir-producing shagging. Lots and lots of shagging. An area in which he excelled. He could be a gentle lover for her. He could be that man.

  Jeremy kept his mouth close to her lips. “Georgina Russell, you will not deny this sentiment between us. I know you feel it, too. I know, because you would not let me kiss you like this if you didn’t feel something. I don’t want to live regretting you for the rest of my life. You are the woman I want. Honor me. Be my wife and belong to me. Let me care for you. It is all that I want—to take care of you. I want you for the mother of my children—our children that will be cherished and beautiful.”