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

by Raine Miller

  “Don’t do this, Strawnly. It’s madness to try and abduct her. Let her walk away.” He spoke in a dead calm to the demented Strawnly, attempting to impart some reason through the fog of insanity the man was cloaked in. “If you want ransom, take me instead and let my wife free.”

  “Ah, but, Greymont, it’s not you I wish to fuck.”

  “Strawnly, that definitely won’t be happ—” In the next moment, the street urchin, Danny, came around the corner. He treaded silently, walking slowly up behind at Strawnly’s shoulder. Jeremy met Danny’s eyes, and Strawnly sensed the change.

  Strawnly turned back to find Danny, and the intrusion unsettled the balance of power just enough to give advantage. “Be gone, boy. This has naught to do with you!” Strawnly barked. He must have loosened his grip on Gina when he turned because she took the opening to struggle anew, twisting back from the knife.

  Opportunity must strike when the moment is right, and though Frisk was not a human, he seized his opportunity just as astutely as if he were one, choosing just the best instant to serve his mistress. He shot out in a furious ball of flying fur and sank his adolescent canines deep into the back of Strawnly’s calf.

  Strawnly cursed, buckling at the knee. To fight off Frisk, he had to let his hands go, and Gina dropped to the ground as she fell from his grip.

  Danny jumped into the fray, wrenching Gina out of the mess, and Jeremy lunged for Strawnly. He was not completely conscious of what he did. A burning sting kicked him in the ribs, but he ignored it. Strawnly’s neck felt real good underneath his hands as he squeezed. In a mindless rage, killing this monster was all Jeremy could care about. “This is for what you did to her,” he gritted out.

  Strawnly still had his knife though, and with the strength of the truly mad, he lifted it to strike at Jeremy’s head. Jeremy ducked to the side in the last second, saving his skull, but the blade of the knife went into his shoulder. White hot pain razed down through to his muscle. Cursing, he lost his grip on Strawnly’s neck.

  Jeremy sank to the ground and clutched his shoulder, watching as Strawnly scrambled back toward the hack, kicking his leg out in vicious jerks. Frisk came away, flew about five feet, and landed with a yelp at Jeremy’s knees.

  “Go!” Strawnly screamed at the driver, flashing the bloody knife. The driver didn’t need further motivation. The hack engaged the second the whip was cracked over the horse’s flank. Away it clattered, somewhere into the dark London streets, its depraved passenger escaping the retribution he was most definitely due.

  Strawnly’s madness revealed only more certain from the cackling laugh that punctured out of the hack, its evil rumble causing all who heard it to shudder. The vile noise violated the very air of an otherwise lovely, moonlit night.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  None are so desolate but something dear,

  Dearer than self, possesses or possessed

  A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.

  —Lord Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage (1812)

  The Hallborough coach was full to bursting, probably never having had quite such an assemblage before. Jeremy, Georgina, Jane, Therese, and the valiant Frisk were contained within, while Danny and Luc rode pillion with Ned. They were en route to collect one more, as Danny directed Ned to the place where Marguerite had been kept against her will for four days. Or at least this was the gist of what Georgina was able to make out. Georgina had spoken very little, couldn’t really indulge in conversation quite yet, the shock of what had just happened still ruling her.

  Jeremy was also quiet but held her tight to his right side, his grip fierce for a man who’d just been stabbed in the left shoulder. She could feel the deep breathing moving his chest and the thump of his heart, so very grateful his wound was not life-threatening. His head turned away from his injury and rested on top of her head.

  The coach pulled to a stop. Jeremy disengaged from her and stepped out. “Do not get out of this coach for any reason. Stay. In. Here.” His voice was harsh, angry in a way she’d never heard in him before. “Do you understand me?” he rasped, his eyes narrowed, his frown just as hard as his voice.

  “Yes,” she choked out, vowing she’d never disobey him again as long as she lived.

  “Let’s go get her,” he said to Luc and Danny, the three of them taking to the back entrance.

  Therese looked at Georgina sadly. “The world can be so cruel sometimes, but you should try to find the good wherever you can. Your husband loves you, Mrs. Greymont.”

  “And I love him.” Georgina nodded, a sob escaping from deep in her chest. Frisk crawled into her lap, as if sensing her pain. She buried her face in his warm fur and shuddered to think where she might be right now if not for him.

  “Thank you, Frisk, for saving me,” she whispered. She turned to Jane and asked, “How did he—”

  “He was frantic to go to you, Mrs. Greymont. The whole time, he scratched at the door like a wild thing. I popped the latch, and out he went.”

  The sounds of the men returning, low and hushed, interrupted the conversation. “We’re going to need the room in here so I can hold her,” Luc said, his deep voice tremulous.

  “Jane, will you ride outside with Ned?” Jeremy asked her, his voice low and clipped.

  “Of course, Mr. Greymont.”

  Jane got out, and the massive Luc took her place on the seat, cradling in his arms a battered, but lovely, blonde woman wrapped in a blanket. Her neck and face were bruised and her lip bloodied. Her eyes were closed, but it was clear she was awake and utterly terrorized. Just like when Tom found me.

  “Mon Dieu,” Therese gasped, “what have they done to you, chéri?” She put her hand to Marguerite’s cheek, and the woman flinched back in a whimper, terrified of even that gentle touch.

  Georgina didn’t need an explanation. She had lived this very nightmare herself. She knew exactly where Marguerite’s mind was, the terror, the shame, the agony of remembering, and the unbearable intimacy of touch.

  “Don’t touch her,” she blurted. Jeremy and Therese turned to stare at her. Luc kept his eyes on Marguerite.

  “She cannot bear it just yet. It hurts, in her mind. Just talk to her. She’ll hear you. Tell her she’s safe and that you’re going to take care of her, and tell her—tell her it’s not her fault—” Georgina lowered her voice to a whisper. “That’s all she needs right now.”

  Jeremy squeezed her with his good arm and leaned against her. His anger from before seemed to have fallen away, and she was grateful. She thought his skin felt cold to her though. His weight was heavy, but she didn’t mind in the slightest. Having him safe beside her was all she wished for right now. Quiet enveloped the passengers, except for Luc, who murmured soft whisperings to Marguerite in French, his love for her apparent in any language.

  When the coach stopped again, Therese got up stiffly. Luc carried Marguerite out and then turned back to Jeremy. “I’ll make sure.” There was steely determination in his eyes.

  “You know where to find me,” Jeremy told him and then leaned heavily back against Georgina again, as if he could barely hold himself up. He stomped his foot on the floor of the coach, and Ned pulled out for the final jag to the townhouse in Grosvenor Square.

  Now that they were alone, she reached out to him. “Jeremy, I am so sorry for everything I’ve done. I shouldn’t have come, but that letter arrived and—”

  “Shhh,” he hushed her. “It’s my fault. I should have told you why I came here. I lied to you…wanted to protect you from him…from gossip…from being hurt again. Love you…so much…”

  Something was terribly wrong. He wasn’t talking right, and he was so very cold. When she put her hand on his chest, he winced. Her hand came away wet, the cool night air chilling it instantly. As she held her palm up, a shaft of light from a streetlamp lit up the coach. It was a deep, dark red. Blood!

  She pulled open his jacket frantically and saw his white shirt was soaked underneath his waistcoat.

  “Jere
my! Oh, no, no, no, God, you’re bleeding so badly!”

  Screaming out the window to Ned, she told him to get them to the closest hospital. The coach swayed in a deep turn, their speed increasing quickly. Frisk hunkered down in the corner.

  Jeremy moaned from the force of motion, and she used the momentum to push him flat on his back on the seat. Opening his waistcoat and then his shirt, she found the stab wound, right between his lower ribs on his left side. She bunched up the loose fabric of his shirt and pressed firmly onto the bleeding cut, while kneeling on the floor of the coach.

  “Don’t you die, Jeremy. You stay with me, now. I need you to fight to live!” She begged him, tears streaming down her face. The thought of losing him was too frightening to contemplate. “I love you…and I can’t live without you, Jeremy! Please don’t die!” She wept, her hands trying to keep the blood from vacating his body by force of will. “Please, please, please, my Jeremy, my lover, stay with me!”

  His eyes flickered open. He spoke softly, his lips barely moving. She leaned forward to hear him above the din of wheels flying over the cobblestone streets. His eyes looked at her with love in them.

  “Gina… You…were…the best thing to ever happen…in my life. I hope you have our child inside you…right now. …Don’t want you to be…alone… You’ll be such a good mother…so strong…and brave. Love…you…both…always…”

  And then he closed his eyes. Those beautiful, deep blue eyes of his curtained off, and he spoke no more.

  Georgina kept the pressure on his wound and prayed. Prayed like she had never prayed before in the entirety of her life. If there was anything she could offer, any wall of fire or earthly hell she could have walked through in order to save him, she would have done it, and done it with her whole heart.

  * * * *

  Death was not so bad, he thought. It is peaceful, and calm here, like a sanctuary. An angel spoke to him. She smelled of fragrant eglantine. He liked the scent. He could not see the angel, but he could smell her and hear her. She had a lovely voice and spoke the sweetest words.

  She told him he couldn’t stay with her though.

  “You must go back… There are those who need you. You have much yet to do. And she who loves you will help. This is not your destiny…today. Love well, my son.”

  * * * *

  His hand felt peculiar, all tingly and numb. Something was pressing on it. Jeremy cracked open an eye. Dark blonde hair hovered over the general direction of his deadened hand. He flexed it and she shifted, removing the pressure. He sensed the blood go rushing into empty veins.

  Blood… There had been a lot of blood. He remembered blood and Gina frantic and begging. He remembered other details, too. Like Gina in the arms of a madman. The fight. Recovering Marguerite, the state of her a vivid rendering of what Gina had once suffered—

  Don’t think of it!

  Some things were better left buried, he thought. He had Gina safe now, and he was alive. Given a second chance it seemed. Jeremy vowed not to waste it.

  That dream had seemed so real. “Love well, my son.” Those were her parting words. “My son…” Could it be? He tried to remember all of her words.

  His hand, now restored to normal sensitivity, reached out and touched the silky hair. Jeremy buried his fingers in the golden softness and combed through a loose portion, reveling in the simple gift and cherishing the moment.

  He felt her stiffen and continued with his finger-combing. “Jeremy?” Gina breathed his name. The most beautiful sound in the world. He knew she was awake, but she kept her head down. Then she stopped breathing.

  “You’re stuck with me a bit longer, sweetheart. Death, it seems, is not willing to have me just yet.”

  Gina whipped her head around so fast, his hand fell away. “Thank the heavenly angels,” she blurted, gripping his palm and showering it with kisses.

  “You have no idea,” he murmured. He smiled at her and noted she looked bone-weary, dark circles under her eyes, a bruise on her left cheek, a small pressure cut at her throat, and very pale, but still the most beautiful vision he’d ever seen or imagined to see.

  “I prayed so hard. I was so afraid of losing you—” She lost her words as the sobbing took hold. “Couldn’t—live—without you—” She hiccupped.

  He cupped her face with his one hand. “Nor I without you, my sweetheart.” He brushed his thumb over her unmarred cheekbone. “Your face is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen, but you look like hell, love.”

  Her lip trembled for a moment. “You’ve come back to me,” she whispered.

  “How about you lie down with me? On my good side.” He winced as he shifted over on the bed to make room for her.

  “Jeremy, you’re in hospital!”

  “Am I? I hadn’t noticed,” he teased, his eyes grabbing hers. “All I can see is you. You’re all that matters to—”

  “Well, well, this is a good sign! Awake and even coherent from all indications.” A doctor had appeared, voice booming over him before taking his wrist to check the pulse.

  Jeremy blinked. “Cameron, is that you?”

  The doctor grinned. “It is. What’s it been, Greymont, ten years?”

  “Good God, Cameron, you’re a doctor! You’ve made quite a transformation since university. Never would have thought it possible. I remember you had an aversion to the sight of blood, for Christ’s sake!”

  “Yes, well I grew out of it.” He arched a brow. “Your pulse has steadied. That’s encouraging. How are you feeling?”

  Jeremy grunted. “Like I’ve been sat on by an ox.”

  “Not a surprise,” Cameron countered.

  “And thirsty. Can you spare a drop of something—anything?”

  “Also not a surprise. You’re dehydrated from blood loss. Watered wine, broths, and tea will have to do. No spirits for you yet.”

  “As you say, Doctor.” Jeremy grinned and turned back to Gina, grateful just to take in her presence, safe and whole next to him.

  “You should know I’ve shared quite a few stories about your dissolute youth with your wife here.” Cameron winked at Gina. “And for all your faults, she seems to be blind to them. She is devoted to you regardless. You are a lucky man to have her, Greymont.”

  “I know. Have always known it.”

  “No, I mean lucky it was her with you,” Cameron insisted. “Greymont, you are only alive because of her. She kept your wound from bleeding out and got you here while you still had a pulse. No woman I know could have done all that and remained so focused.”

  “But I am not surprised.” Jeremy kept his eyes on Gina and answered the doctor. “And you are right. My wife is like no other woman. She is brave and strong and brilliant—and I truly couldn’t live without her.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A feeling heart is a blessing that no one,

  who has it, would be without…

  —Samuel Richardson, History of Sir Charles Grandison (1754)

  Three days abed and Jeremy still relished the simple pleasures of life, only now he did have his wife in the bed next to him. His discharge from hospital had come with some strict directives though. For both of them. His old school friend, and now physician, Nathaniel Cameron, had ordered Jeremy unfit to travel for at least a month, so they wouldn’t be returning to Hallborough before the New Year, at least.

  The good doctor had also been very firm about Gina, declaring her worn out to the point of collapse and in much need of restorative rest. It was still too early to confirm a pregnancy, he’d said, but quite likely for she’d not had her courses since they’d married.

  For himself, Jeremy was positive his seed had taken root. He couldn’t say how he knew, but he believed it true and for the first time in his life felt as if he had accomplished something worthwhile. Honorable. And he liked feeling that way.

  Watching her sleep was something he could do for hours. And as he was confined to bed with Gina stretched out next to him, he could indulge himself. He propped on his good
side and tucked his hand under his cheek and just focused on her features.

  The dark of her lashes lay on her cheeks, her hair spilled over the pillow. She wore a scant green gown of silk that gave him a cockstand at first sight, even though he was in no shape to act on it. It was sleeveless in the way of a shift and clung to her body like paint. The flow of her breasts under the silk called to him. The impulse to bury his face between the swells before feasting on them got him painfully blue-veined.

  Her soft snore punctured the silence of the dawn. Breathing in, he could smell roses blended with her feminine scent, and a small satisfied moan escaped from his throat at the thought of getting his nose right up against her skin.

  It was very early in the morning, the quiet time right before the bustling activity of the day began. His woman was safe next to him and he was alive, and Jeremy couldn’t resist reaching out to touch…

  * * * *

  Georgina woke to warmth radiating into her body and hands on her skin. Jeremy’s lips, firm but gentle, kissed her shoulder. She felt the rasp of his whiskers as he swept them across her neck to the valley between her breasts.

  She’d missed this—her Jeremy reaching for her, needing her. His mouth burrowed on below the neckline of her gown, closed over a nipple, and sucked the areola far up into a hot, wet, seeking mouth. Divine.

  She moaned and arched at the shot of pure pleasure that ratcheted all the way down between her legs. He grunted when she thrust up against him, and she realized why.

  “Sorry! Oh, dear God, Jeremy, did I hurt you just now?”

  “I don’t mind. You’re very worth it,” he mumbled, still suckling, seemingly undeterred by the pain she’d inflicted.

  “But I hurt you!”

  “Not quite in top form yet, m’dear, but I’ll get there, I promise you.” His words muffled by the fact his lips were busy with her breasts.