by Raine Miller
“We should do this more often,” Jeremy remarked, dashing in a dark brown silk, his hair still damp and matching in hue because of it.
“Track around the house and shock the servants?” Georgina quipped.
“You are such a wit, my sweetheart. I love the verbal wrestling”—he paused and gave a sly grin—“almost as much as the more physical variety. But no, I was referring to having dinner in our rooms and knowing that you are naked under that blue robe you fill out so prettily.” He nodded toward her breasts, a wicked smile curving his mouth.
She laughed at herself and felt a blush take over. “I should have realized since you seem so bent on feeding me.”
For the past minutes, Jeremy had insisted on cutting up her meat and placing bites in her mouth.
“Oh, no.” She shook her head at the offered morsel of lamb. “I am positively stuffed. I can’t take any more!”
“Just this one last bite?” His eyes grew hooded. “Please?”
“Why?”
He swallowed deep, his throat flexing just above the cut of his robe. God, he was delicious to look at. “I want—I love to watch—when you open your mouth…”
The heat thrown from him was searing, and she knew exactly why he wanted to watch her mouth opening. He was thinking about something else going into her mouth.
In all honesty, she had pondered it before this. When he’d pleasured her with his tongue, she had been shocked at first, but the gratification had been so exquisite her shock had evaporated quickly. He had mentioned before that there were other ways for them to be together, and she had to assume that if he could use his mouth on her, then she could do the same to him.
“All right, one last bite.” She humored him and parted her lips, lifting her chin a fraction. Accepting the piece, she chewed slowly, keeping her eyes on him the whole time. When it was down, she licked her lips and told him, “I know why—the reason you want to watch me.”
The breath left him in a hiss. “Why?”
She didn’t waver. She’d started them down this path, and she was going to finish it. “You’re thinking about if it was your cock in my mouth instead of that piece of meat.”
A whimper escaped him, and his face flooded in a deep red blush.
“I have shocked you. You blush.”
His eyes darkened but stayed on her.
“But I am right, aren’t I? That’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it, Jeremy?”
He gave a single nod and said “yes,” but no sound came out of him, as if he had truly lost his voice.
She knew he’d tell her the truth, for he did not lie. Feeling suddenly bold, she drew on that knowledge, imagining how he would feel under her tongue. “If you want me to, I will.”
His eyes bulged in response.
“Do you want my mouth on your cock?” He kept staring. “Jeremy?”
He looked about as tight as a bowstring and his voice had a bit of a waver, but his answer came to her emphatically clear. “Dear God, yessss.”
* * * *
Jeremy was in shock—a good kind of shock. His fantasy was about to come true. His body strained as she stood up from her seat and moved over to him, her mouth set with determination. She was really going to do it. And it even looked like she wanted to. He didn’t know how or why he could be so blessed, but this was one offering he wasn’t going to decline.
He turned his chair out from the table, taking in her unusual boldness and finding her more alluring than ever.
Gina stopped before him, in all her loveliness, and stared down. “You’ll have to tell me what you like.”
Her voice was beautiful, just like her. He loved the way she pronounced certain naughty words with perfect elocution. “Do you want my mouth on your cock?”
He gave one sharp shake of his head to clear it before he came under his robe. Now that would be a downright tragedy!
“I can do that,” he whispered back.
She knelt on the rug and brought her hands to his thighs. His whole body jerked at the contact and her eyes flashed to his in question.
“Go—go ahead. I—I want you to.” He could barely get the words out. If you stop now I will die.
Her hands moved up his robe and took hold of the belt. Christ, he was burning hot for her. He watched her face as she untied the sash, pushing open the two halves to reveal his jutting erection, straight up, rock hard, and waiting for heaven to enfold him.
“Now open up your robe so I can see you when you do it,” he said more decisively.
She got a little smile and slowly pulled the tie to her wrapper. The two halves of the robe stayed in place. The sound of the swish of the silk felt like it brushed along the whole length of him, but it was just erotic sound serving to increase the anticipation.
Gina looked up at him. No guile, just frank innocence waiting for him to tell her what to do.
“Show me. Show me your beautiful breasts.”
Her long fingers drifted to the lapels and drew the blue silk apart, like the parting of the sea—a miracle performed by an otherworldly deity. She was the deity, or looked like she could be, all creamy flowing flesh and pink nipples bared for his pleasure.
“Put your hand around it like you did before and take the tip in your mou—” He lost the rest on a hiss as she quickly followed his directions.
Her lips closed around the head and her tongue swirled at the base. Taking him in deep, she sucked, quickly finding a compatible rhythm between the stroking of her hand and the suction of her mouth. Her thumb found the vein that ran up underneath him and rubbed back and forth. She did all that, and he soared.
The erotic view of her working on him, taking his cock in and out, just about made him come in the first minute alone. Those luscious pink lips closing in with each suck, and the sounds, helped to crank him higher. He wasn’t going to last long—seeing her mouth full of him. The suck and pull ratcheted his body until he was ready to burst—
“I’m going to come!” He tried to withdraw, but she just drew him right back in. It was clear who was in charge, and he wasn’t going to argue, being past the point of no return anyway. But he desperately needed to see her—
“Your eyes…please… Look at me!” he begged.
Those amber eyes lifted up. He reached down and cupped both sides of her face. Holding her steady, he thrust to the back of her throat and erupted.
The roar that came forth shook his whole body all the way to his heart, and he held on to her, and loved her, their eyes meeting in deep communion as he spilled in a hot rush.
“Love…you,” he mouthed, shuddering. He saw her eyes smile back at him and felt her swallow. He nearly wept.
She finally pulled back and sat on her knees. That signature half-smile of hers in place, her hand came up to wipe her mouth. He just stared at her in amazement. Couldn’t believe what she had just given him and with such generosity.
“I know.”
His heart just cracked right open—not from hurt, but from love. Pure, unadulterated, and precious. He rubbed the top of his chest and told her, “You own me, Gina, and I don’t want it any other way.” He pulled her up from kneeling and brought her to his lap, cradling her in his arms. “When I see you, I can’t look away. When we are apart, I feel you on my skin. I can taste you on my tongue. I smell your scent and I am so utterly and blissfully lost in you.”
Gina nestled in under his chin. “So, you liked it? I want to do it again, sometime.”
She was feeling shy once more. He could tell by her voice. That was the thing about Gina, what made her so captivating and alluring. She could be boldly sensual one minute, modestly restrained the next, and she was real like that. There was nothing false in her behavior.
“Well, I can be very accommodating, I assure you. Any time you wish to repeat that particular performance, you just let me know.” He held her a little tighter, unwilling to leave the moment but needing to be close with her. “Bed, now. I need to hold you.”
Settling into bed
with her, he was struck with how easy it had been to get used to having her for a sleeping companion. The idea of sleeping alone now, apart from his wife, was a horrifying prospect. He had subsisted on such a lonely life before Gina. He just hadn’t realized how empty and uninspiring it had been.
His three decades had been lived without a great deal of pride thus far, but he wanted to change that. He wanted purpose and honor to shape his life from now on.
As his senses took in the essence of Gina pulled in heavenly close and soft against him, he knew all of those good feelings and inspirations and ideas he had rolling around in his head now were only there because of her.
* * * *
If having dinner set out in their room had been an inspiration, then the idea of breakfast followed shortly and became the rule. They both enjoyed regular breakfasts in their suite most days, unless, of course, they had church or company.
Jeremy asked from behind his newspaper, “What are your plans today, sweetheart?”
“Marianne is taking me to the modiste. Madame Trulier, I believe is her name.”
He peeked over his newspaper at her, his eyes lighting sinfully. “Ah, well, I want lots of green and plenty of French underthings and dishabille gowns. I’d love to see you in some of those colored silk—” He stopped himself, cleared his throat, and ducked back behind the newspaper.
“You are very knowledgeable, Jeremy.” She had seen his awareness of his mistake and how he’d shut his mouth right down. A spark of irritation took hold, or maybe something a little stronger than that. She waited for him to say something, but he stayed quiet. “Anything else? Other requests?” she asked him, her voice carrying a sharp bite across the table.
The paper lowered, and a gentle but inquisitive mask appeared. “Ah, no. You have such lovely taste, sweetheart. I know you’ll make perfect selections.” He smiled and reached to cover her hand. “Surprise me.”
When his hand touched hers, she stiffened. She couldn’t help feeling insanely jealous. Of course, all those women in his past! He was friends with her brother Tom, for Christ’s sake, and she knew her brother took his pleasures in Town like probably most gentlemen did. What did she expect? That a man of his age had lived like a monk? Somehow she knew Jeremy had never lived like a monk and no doubt had sampled more than a few.
Her breath got heavy, and she felt the sting of tears at her eyes. She couldn’t hold it back, and the question fell out of her mouth anyway. “How many women?” She clapped a hand over to shut herself up the second the words were spoken.
He winced, and his eyes looked pained.
“It is a lot, isn’t it?”
“Gina, they don’t matter.” He squeezed her hand and swallowed.
She was compelled to know, like a demon sitting on her shoulder telling her to ask the next question even though she knew the answer would hurt terribly. “How many? More than ten?”
He nodded weakly.
“More than fifty?” God, the pain in her chest hurt!
Another single nod.
“More than a hundred?” She looked down at her chest, sure she’d see a gaping wound and lots of blood.
This time he closed his eyes and his head fell when he nodded. “I don’t really know. I’ve never counted.”
“You’ve been with more than a hundred women?” she wailed, knowing she sounded like a hysterical fool.
For a moment, all Georgina knew was a kind of jealous madness. She wanted to find those women and rip out their hair and scratch at their eyes. Jeremy was her man, and she had no intention of sharing him now or ever. Best to make that clear to him right now! Taking in a calming breath, she opened her mouth to say her piece, but he beat her to it.
“You have every right to be disgusted with me. I was never a saint, Gina. Not even close. I was—I was empty inside until you. I never felt anything when I was with others. It was merely a need for release.”
She nodded her head, gulping for air, trying to push down the jealousy and accept that she couldn’t hold him to his past, to a time before her.
He had more to say though. “It is well that you are upset with me. I want you to be so because it was bad behavior on my part and I deserve your repulsion. But you must hear me now. This is critical information. No matter how many women I’ve had before, there is only one woman I will ever be with now. I don’t miss a thing about that life I lived before, and I’ll never go back to it. I only want you. The most beautiful and perfect woman I have ever known. You. My first and only lover.”
“It is a good thing, Jeremy Greymont, because I will not share you! Not ever!” Close to breaking down, she drew deep breaths, willing herself back to the rational.
Jeremy got up from his seat and came to her, drawing her up against his chest. He took her face in his hands and spoke close. “And you’ll never have to. You’re all I want. You’re all I need. You are everything.”
The quiet lasted a long time, nothing but soft breathing between them. Finally she spoke. “I’ve learned something I didn’t know before,” she whispered, taking in his words and opening her heart to trust.
“What is that?”
“Loving can hurt, too.”
“True. So very true, my Gina.”
She looked up at her husband. “But it’s worth it. If we can be together in the end, then it’s worth it.”
* * * *
The letter arrived that very afternoon. Jeremy realized his error as soon as the sender’s address was revealed. Mdm. T. Blufette, 26 Oxley Court, Covent Garden, London.
He did not welcome the missive. This was not good news. He didn’t want any connection with his old life. And coming on the heels of his disclosure this morning at breakfast! God help him if Gina knew the abbess of a popular bordello wanted an audience with him. His wife had a bit of a jealous streak, he’d discovered, and wouldn’t take to it well. Jeremy had his failings but wasn’t stupid enough to risk his marital harmony on a brothel madam.
And what could Therese Blufette possibly want from him? He’d forgotten his promise to meet with her the night he’d talked to Marguerite and Luc. After discovering the true identity of Gina’s rapist, his one and only thought had been to get to her as soon as possible and secure her safety. He had put Madame Therese Blufette out of his mind without a second thought. He read the letter.
Dear Mr. Greymont,
It is with deep regret that I write this. I so hoped we could have talked that night you were in London, but we did not, and alas I am afraid, sir, that I can no longer be patient. Time is of the essence now.
All I can say in this letter is that the matter at hand is in regards to your family. Our meeting must be in person. The Velvet Swan will do.
Please come to me in London at your earliest convenience.
Therese Blufette
Jeremy was dumbfounded. Not what he was expecting in a letter, although very intriguing. What “family” did she mean? He didn’t have much family. His mother had been an only child like him.
It must be family from his father’s side. There was some family he’d never known, and of French citizenry. Madame Blufette was French.
He knew his father had died around ten years ago, somewhere in his native France. Jeremy didn’t even know exactly when and where, for they had never seen each other again after the day he’d left when Jeremy was just a young boy. A notification of death had come through a solicitor, and there was no property to inherit that Jeremy was aware of. The miserable matter of Henri Greymont had finally been laid to rest, literally.
And Jeremy did not care to know or have anything of Henri Greymont’s either. The man had walked out of his life more than two decades ago, and Jeremy felt nothing. As far as he was concerned, his “father” was Sir Rodney, the man who had raised him from a boy and been his guide into adulthood, his grandfather.
The only part of his real father that he had to show he’d ever existed was his name—Greymont, French in origin but styled with proper English pronunciation, that being
a hard T rather than silent.
Making his decision, he wrote a brief but terse decline to Therese Blufette. He explained he was recently wed and could not leave his new bride unattended and that he really had no interest in anything to do with family he’d never known and was unlikely to ever know. He wished her well and expressed his hope that she would honor his request to remain uninvolved.
Setting the letter on the tray for posting, he was interrupted by shouting and commotion coming from the front of the house. He went to the window and saw Mills giving terse direction to the stable hands, a look of immediacy on his face, his hands waving wildly. Jeremy knew something was very wrong, Mills was cool and reserved all the time.
Racing out to the front steps, he was greeted with words that were never welcome. “Bad fire, sir! Rawles’s cottage. Their boy’s been burned. I fear the worst.”
His gut twisted as he sprang into action, directing all available hands and equipment to the scene of the disaster. He called for his horse and headed out with Mills, grateful that Gina was occupied with Marianne Rourke on a shopping excursion.
He smelled the acrid smoke before he sighted it, bracing himself for the dreadful prospect of the loss of a young life. This would no doubt be a very long day.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
—W.B. Yeats, “Leda and the Swan” (1928)
Georgina arrived home to a solemn and nearly empty house. Mrs. Richards provided details on the fire and discussed what arrangements would be needed for the Rawles family. Burns were deadly more often than not, and everyone was well aware of the likely outcome. They could only pray for the boy.
All on her own and in gloomy spirits, Georgina ate a light dinner then retired to her chambers. She had a bath and unpacked the things she had brought home from Madame Trulier’s.
