by Raine Miller
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.
Many dresses and gowns had been ordered, but a few items she had been able to take with her today. Among them, two silk nightdresses, more like chemises really, very French, very alluring, and sleeveless. One in green and one in yellow. That French modiste knew a thing or two about dressing a woman to incite her husband, Georgina realized. She thought Jeremy would like them and had made the selections with him in mind, the whole time remembering how he’d hated admitting his very experienced past to her this morning. Yes, he’d hated telling her, but the fact remained that he did tell her. He told the truth, painful as it was for them both. His honesty was one of the traits she admired in Jeremy. When a person was honest, she knew where she stood and could count on trusting them at their word. Jeremy said he only wanted her, and she believed him. He insisted that his old life was well in the past, behind him forever. And she believed that, too. Georgina had mulled his disclosures over enough times during the day, and she was ready to put it away for good.
She wrote a long letter to her brother and a short one to her father before getting into bed. A headache had plagued her for the last hour, and with Jeremy still gone, she figured sleep was the best thing she could do for herself. She hoped he was well, wherever he was, and that he would have some good news to report about the burned little boy.
Lying alone in the big bed, she lay awake for a time. When she did finally sleep, it was a restless slumber, awash in images, dreams, and terrors her subconscious mind had buried away for a long time…
* * * *
Jeremy went straight to his study and poured a double scotch. It was the only thing for him right now. The fire’s devastation had been pretty complete, right down to taking the life of the Rawles’s youngest son. The boy had gone into the burning cottage to retrieve his puppy and had been lost when a falling beam had struck him. Ironically, the dog had not even been inside.
He looked down at his empty glass and refilled it. The auburn liquid burned his throat, but he hardly felt it.
Sweet Jesus! The looks on their faces had just crushed him inside. How would they bear the loss? He’d seen how Mrs. Rawles had reached out to touch the blackened skin of her child and how her husband had held her back, his eyes utterly empty, as dead as little Tim Rawles’s young life. The father had loved his son. He grieved for his boy.
The two older children had just stood, so stoic in their pain and probable guilt for not keeping their brother safely back from the fire.
Time to top his glass again.
Yes, destruction had come for the Rawles family tonight and had triumphed brutally. What a horrifying waste, he thought, as he kept communion with the bottle until he’d emptied the damn thing.
There were some other reasons for the drinking as well. The way Gina had stared at him this morning. Her shock at the number of women he’d had. It was exceptionally painful because Gina was the only one who had ever thought of him as an honorable man. She was always going on about how he was such a gentleman and so considerate. He’d bet his ballocks she didn’t think so now.
And then that goddamned letter from Therese Blufette and the dredging of memories he wanted no part of. His father hadn’t loved him or his mother. Henri Greymont was a selfish bastard who had walked right out of their lives without a backward glance. His father had let them go.
Staggering up to bed, he felt positively wrecked. There was only one thing that could fill part of the gaping wound he had right now. Or only one person. His Gina could heal his heart. She made everything good and happy and right. If he could just hold her, and maybe kiss her, and touch her, and—
* * * *
“Where is my beautiful Gina? Gina? There you are. You are so soft and smell so sweet. I need you…”
Georgina was brought to wakefulness by insistent hands and warm breath smelling strongly of scotch. “Jeremy? Are you foxed?” she mumbled, trying to make sense of him.
“Mmm, yes. Foxed and desirous of a fuck!” He undid his kecks and pushed them down, his erection high and hard. “See? My prick always leads the way straight to you, my sweetheart!”
Georgina gasped at the coarse words and the sight of him naked with his cock looking to devour her. He never spoke to her like that. She had never seen him drunk before either.
Jeremy grasped a handful of her new gown and shoved it up, took a palm up her inner thigh, and spread her wide, obviously intent upon carrying out his spoken wish, drunk or not.
“Ahhh, you feel so good, Gina. So warm and lovely in the bed. When I am away from you, I can think of nothing but the next time I’ll be able to have you underneath me.” He whispered the rest. “It’s all I think about most of the time—your lovely cunny and my cock getting into it.”
His eyes widened like he was trying to focus. She was touched by the impression that something was wrong with him, but even so, he did not hesitate to complete his mission. He gripped under her hips firmly.
Georgina couldn’t believe what she was seeing and hearing and feeling. Especially when he flipped her over and gripped her bum, his hands sweeping over the cheeks.
“You have the most gorgeous arse…just sublime,” he murmured, while covering her, his urgent heat pressing hard between the folds at her core.
He had never taken her from this position before, mounting from behind. Unease filled her, but she told herself that everything was all right. It was just Jeremy, too much drink and feeling passionate. The feeling of unease only grew stronger. The words, sounds, and smells bored into her subconscious, bringing up the memory of something evil as each second passed.
Jeremy’s grip on her hips was hard, forceful even, positioning her to accept him whether she wanted it or not. She was trapped in his embrace, unable to shift away or pull herself down.
Georgina panicked. All in a moment, the scene returned, and it wasn’t Jeremy mounting her. It was him. She remembered that day—in all its gruesome clarity. What he had said and done to her, and how it felt when he violated her body. He had done it like this… Do you like my cock, wildcat? You like it, don’t you? We’ve got hours and hours. I’ve fucked that sweet cunt of yours, and now I’ll do the same to your pretty— You’re a special, special girl. You get it all, wildcat.
“No! No don’t—please!” She resisted his invasion, bucking below Jeremy to get him off. Her hands flailed back to push him away.
She was strong, but not as strong as Jeremy. He had no trouble sinking his cock deep. So deep, she felt the soft slap of testicles as he reached his limit. The thick muscle plowed easily into the furrow of her body, his big hands framing her hips steady as he thrust forward over and over, his pace nearly frantic.
Hitting back with her hands, she pawed and scratched at him, her panic overriding every other thought. “Noooo! Stop! Nooooooo!” She began to cry her pleas in earnest, no longer aware of who was doing what to whom.
* * * *
Jeremy was vaguely perceptive that she thrashed against him. The sound of her agonized weeping pierced through his inebriated fog just enough to register. The alcohol dulled her blows anyway—he barely felt them. He stilled his thrusting for a moment, his cock still buried in her delicious heat, and loomed over her, trying to make sense of the situation.
“What?”
She continued to weep and push her hands back.
“Gina?” He bent down to kiss her cheek, but she flinched her head away, so his lips landed on the back of her neck instead. Realization dawned.
I am scaring her.
“You are afraid? No, no, no, no, nooooo!”
A chill iced through him. He moved out of her and rolled her onto her back once more, holding her face, forcing her to look him in the eyes.
He saw only terror in hers.
“No! No, my sweet Gina. You are not afraid of me. It’s Jeremy! Your lover who adores you.”<
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Sobriety claimed him immediately. He continued to hold her face, but the look of terror stayed there, biting back at him. When he finally released her, she cringed away, scooting to the far edge, up against the headboard. The look of shame and distress on her face before she covered up with her hands, killed him, just ripped right into him like a broadsword cleaving him apart.
“Jeremy?” she wailed.
“Oh, dear God. I’ve scared you. I’ve scared you to death. Oh, Gina, I’m so sorry. Sweetheart. Sorry. I’ve terrified you.” More weeping met his ears as he kept babbling the same thing over and over.
Jeremy reached out and touched her leg, feeling so very helpless. Gina flinched from the contact. She actually flinched at his touch, and he instantly knew the need to be sick.
Some of that scotch was going to come up! Now! He lurched from the bed and made it to the water closet just in time to heave his guts out. A second wave of retching and then a third passed before there was nothing left down there but roiling guts.
A gentle hand landed on his shoulder and then a cool, wet cloth was proffered. Dazed at first, he took the cloth anyway and pressed it to his face, heaved himself up from the floor, and told her, “I hate that I’ve frightened you. I don’t ever want to hurt you, but I know I will. I’ll hurt and scare you over and over again because I am a beast when I fu—”
She stood there beautiful in a yellow shift, looking like a goddess but unable to meet his eyes. She hugged her arms and stared at the floor, her chin propped on crossed arms.
He shook his head back and forth. “I’m not fit for you, Gina.”
“Jeremy,” she whispered, “no.”
He sighed heavily, feeling utterly lost. “I’m going to go.”
Silence.
He moved toward the door, not sure how his feet were managing to take him there, his heart aching at the thought of leaving her behind.
* * * *
Jeremy’s declaration to sleep apart from her was motivation enough. It careened Georgina back to the here and now. This was her husband, not some criminal rapist. Jeremy—her lover. And it was really the shock of remembering that paralyzed her, not what Jeremy had just done to her in their bed. Georgina had never recalled the details until now—
“No!” she cried. “I can’t be alone here, Jeremy!” She grabbed his arm to stay him. “I don’t want you to go. I’m sorry I panicked. For the first time, I—I remembered things about—about what happened that day,” she panted, hurrying to get the words out. Swallowing hard, she attempted a calm tone. “Please stay with me. I know that it’s you. Not—not him. And you did not hurt me.”
Jeremy seemed shocked by her request. He hung his head. “Yes, I did! I saw your face, how you looked at me. You were terrified of me.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’ll only frighten you again.”
“You won’t.” She shook her head emphatically.
“I will, Gina. I will frighten you again because I cannot help the way I am when I want to fu—when I want to make love to you. Which is whenever I’m near you.” He looked into her eyes helplessly. “You incite me. I always want you, but it was wrong of me to demand this from you, to expect you to put up with—”
“And I want you, Jeremy. It’s not you when we make love that frightens me. Something tonight sparked a memory. You took me by surprise, awakening me from sleep like that.” She tried to explain without losing her composure. “You came to me from…behind…and I smelled the drink on you, and you said you wanted to ‘fuck’ me, and for a moment it was reminiscent of—of him.” She heard Jeremy gasp, not knowing if it was from disgust or remorse, but forged ahead anyway. “He said that, and he was drunk, and he—he—he did it like that.”
It got deathly quiet in the room. Jeremy was frozen stiff before her, his face a mask of remorse as he took in her description of that time, on that day in June, with the monster who had ruined her. And as bad as that day was and the fear she known then, it felt worse right now telling him about it. What if Jeremy didn’t want her anymore, couldn’t be with her because of what he now knew? Fresh panic hit her—the panic of losing him.
“I did not remember everything until just now!” She dropped to the floor, putting her head at his feet. “I am so, so sorry, Jeremy, my husband. I panicked and knew not where I was or with whom. I lost my mind for a moment.”
He slumped down to meet her on the floor, pulled her head onto his lap, and stroked her hair. After a while, he spoke, “I scare you half to death, and yet you apologize to me? I should be begging your pardon for my beastly actions. I am so ashamed.” He gently held her face to look up at him. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“Yes! A thousand times, yes! If you don’t go and you stay with me.”
He did stay, but the mood was somber. Both of them nursed their own regrets in the dark, their misgivings like a blanket that did not give much warmth or comfort. Georgina felt the change between them. Jeremy had doubts about her now. She remembered everything that had been done to her…now. And the worst part of all? Jeremy knew it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
In thy green lap was Nature’s darling laid.
—Thomas Gray, The Progress of Poesy (1757)
The funeral for little Timothy Rawles was held on a dismal November day, the reality of loss and grief leaching into the wet soil along with the tears shed by many. They had seen to relocating the family to new lodgings and replacement of necessities, but there was no replacing a child, was there?
After the funeral party broke, Georgina lingered back by the gravesite. Jeremy was in conversation with some of the men when she noticed a child, standing behind a tree, head bowed, shoulders trembling as she wept. She approached the girl and saw that a shepherd pup was tied to the tree next to her.
“That’s a lovely dog you have.” Georgina spoke softly so as not to startle the child.
“My mum says he must go as she cannot bear to see him anymore.” She sniffed.
“Is he the reason your brother went into the fire?” Georgina asked, her heart breaking for this poor, grieving child.
The girl nodded. “But it wasn’t his fault. He’s a good pup, and the fire scared him, too. I brought him here to say good-bye…for Tim—” She broke down then, her small body crumpling forward with sobs.
Georgina knelt and took the child into her arms, the small, thin little body quivering as she wept. “It is a lovely gesture to bring him here. I am sure Tim is very happy about you doing that.”
“Is Tim an angel now? In heaven?” the girl murmured into Georgina’s shoulder.
“He is, and has not a care or a worry, nor will he ever have again.” She smoothed over the girls chestnut curls. “What’s your name, child?”
“Mariah,” she snuffled.
Georgina took out her handkerchief and wiped Mariah’s cheeks. “I am Mrs. Greymont, and I am happy to meet such a brave and loving sister as you were to your brother. I’m sure he’s very proud, looking down on you from heaven.”
“Thank you, madam.” Mariah looked at her in wonderment. Then she bent to throw her arms around the pup, who had sat quietly patient the whole time they’d been talking. “Good-bye,” she whispered into the soft brown fur.
“What will you do with him?” Georgina asked.
“I have to leave him here. Someone might want him. He’s very good and smart. Tim and me, we taught him to sit and stay, and he doesn’t bark hardly at all, and he never does his business indoors.” She bowed her head and stroked her pet. “I’ll miss him.”
“What do you call him?”
“Frisk. Tim named him that because he frisks about.”
Georgina bent to pet the adorable dog, who nuzzled right over, stuck his nose in her hand, and looked up at her with round sable-colored eyes. She made her decision. “I could take him for you.”
“You would?” Mariah smiled with a child’s optimism.
“Yes, I would. Frisk can live with me, and you are welcome to come and visit him whenever
you wish. He can still be your dog, too. I’m sure Frisk would miss you as well, Mariah.”
“Oh, thank you, madam. You are a good lady. I’ll try to come.” Mariah curtsied and made her way back to her parents.
Georgina untied the rope from the tree and bent down to stroke Frisk again when Jeremy’s voice came to her from behind. “So, you’ve got yourself a dog, Mrs. Greymont.”
She spun around in surprise. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough. I heard enough to puzzle it out.” He smiled wistfully. “And the girl was right. You are a good lady.”
“Oh, Jeremy,” she whispered, putting her arm through his. “Let us go home now.” Suddenly feeling very overwhelmed by all the sorrow of the occasion, she was grateful to have her husband for support and strength. She held on to him tightly as they left the little graveyard, which had just increased its innocent souls by one on this cold and cheerless day.
* * * *
Jeremy figured there must be something to the saying “misfortune never comes singly” because here was yet another horror staring him in the face. The letter in his hand was chilling and spurred him into action. He had no choice. The time of indecision was over, and vengeance would no longer be denied. Retribution was coming for Simon Strawnly. Jeremy was going after the bastard.
Greymont,
You don’t know me, but I know your wife. Know her in every sense of the word. I was annoyed to hear you snatched her away for your own pleasures. She takes a cock real well, doesn’t she? I’ll never forget how sweet she felt when I shagged her till she bled. Or maybe that was her virgin blood. All the crying and fighting just made everything that much sweeter. Does she fight you?
You took my plaything, and I’m not pleased. Uncle would have married her if you hadn’t come along, and by the way, he’s still heated you put a gun to him. Now that whore from the bordello, the blonde one that looks like her, will have to do. She’s not as good though—not much fight in her. She mentioned you…that whore, Marguerite. Said you asked about us. Said you gave her money to leave England. Now why would you do that, Greymont? Could it be you wish to protect your bride’s reputation? I’m thinking that must be it. Lucky for you there is a way to accomplish this goal. It will require capital though. Shouldn’t be a trouble for you. Come three days hence: 44 Peake Street, Knightsbridge, and await direction.