by Raine Miller
She kept on stroking his hair and spoke softly. “There is no use in regretful thoughts, for we cannot undo the deed nor turn back time.” Her voice had an empty tone to it.
“I know. I just wish you were free of it, somehow.”
“Jeremy, if it helps you to know that I don’t remember the act–actual attack, then there is that.”
“You don’t?”
She shook her head. “I thought you knew. It caused some frustration with my family, especially Papa, because I could tell them so little—”
He knew he shouldn’t and wanted to cut out his tongue the instant the question left his lips, but out it came anyway. “What do you remember?”
Her hand stilled on his head just slightly, but he felt the pause clearly before she recovered and continued on with the soft fingering through his hair.
“Dear God, Gina, please forgive me for asking you—I don’t know what came over me. I apologize—”
She interrupted, her voice steady and smooth. “I remember he wore a red coat, and he was drunk. I could smell it on him. I remember his voice was cruel and he spoke nasty things that terrified me. I thought that he enjoyed my fear and that I fought him. But mostly all I remember is the fear. It’s just a black wall of fear right in front of me, and when I turn to avoid it, the wall moves to stand before me again.”
“I am so sorry, Gina.”
“The worst part is that my father is ashamed of me for what happened.”
“That is an offensive notion to me. You were the victim in all of it. Surely your father knows that. And if he does not, then perhaps I should tell him!” Jeremy’s chest hurt. Listening to his sweet Georgina speak with such dignity about someone so evil made him nearly snap in two, he was so tense. He wanted that fucking piece of shit, Strawnly, in front of him, and he with a sharp knife—a large one—so he could slice and peel off his skin, slowly, inch by agonizing inch. He’d start with the bastard’s defiling cock.
She shook her head before she spoke. “But you are helping me to forget, my dearest lover. Each day that passes with you loving me so sweetly, I feel it less.” She smiled down at him.
Her kind words killed the tension in him, just like that. “Well then, I shall have to be an even sweeter lover to you than I have been thus far,” he declared and popped up off her lap. “Starting right now!” He put his lips to hers—
—and nearly had an apoplexy! Loud barking thundered in his ears, the smell of wet dog met his nose, and the spray of sand hit him in the back.
“What the hell?” He jerked his head around to meet the very large, very shaggy, and very enthusiastic greeting of Brutus, the wolfhound.
“You have a friend I have not met, Jeremy!”
“Indeed,” he muttered. He helped her to her feet and did the introductions. “Gina, may I introduce my neighbor, Brutus. Brutus, my bride, Georgina.” He wagged his finger at the hound. “That’s Mrs. Greymont to you, and no jumping, or salivating, or any other ungentlemanly conduct out of you, young man!”
The great beast sat promptly and whined, cocking his head.
“Oh, Jeremy, he’s magnificent!” She reached out to stroke the giant dog. “Who does he belong to?”
“The Rourkes, my neighbors.” He scanned the beach. “Ah, here they come now. They must be out for a stroll like us.”
* * * *
Georgina looked to the couple walking toward them. Another wolfhound accompanied the pair, keeping sedately to their side. The woman was stunning with her dark hair and perfect skin. The man was also darkly handsome and tall, with noble features, sharply edged and serious.
“Brutus! Come!” the man commanded. “Sorry for the intrusion. He is an utter scallywag!” He called to Jeremy and Georgina as they crossed the distance on the hard sand.
“He is that, Rourke, but my wife seems to be taken with him regardless,” Jeremy countered.
The woman’s face alighted in a beaming smile and so did the man’s. “Greymont, did you just say, ‘your wife’? We’ve only just arrived back to the country and must’ve missed hearing the pronouncement. Congratulations are in order, my friend, if that is the case!”
“Indeed I did,” Jeremy returned, smiling at Georgina and again providing introductions for the second time in just as many minutes.
Georgina found Darius and Marianne Rourke a charming pair. She liked their dogs, too. The rascally Brutus and the elegant Cleo were gorgeous, and huge, Irish wolfhounds. The Rourkes insisted on having them to dinner at Stonewell Court, seemingly thrilled to meet the woman who had ended Jeremy’s stint as a bachelor. And Georgina looked forward to knowing them as well. It would be a good thing to socialize as a married couple for the first time.
* * * *
“I would love to accompany you, Georgina. The best modiste is Madame Trulier, and she has excellent taste. She can fit you out with everything you need.” Marianne smiled kindly.
“A French modiste?” Georgina remarked. “Are her designs very scandalous?” She blushed at her new friend.
“Yes!” Marianne told her with a giggle. “But your husband will love them. Darius certainly enjoys her efforts!”
They laughed together, and Marianne put her hands protectively over her belly. Georgina realized she was pregnant. “Congratulations,” she offered, directing her eyes at Marianne’s small swell.
“Thank you. By April, the wait will be over. So you see, I have a valid reason for visiting Madame Trulier myself. Nothing much is fitting me anymore,” she said ruefully.
“Jeremy told me you were recently wed.”
“Yes. We married in June.”
Georgina froze. June… That month was probably not a time she would ever feel happy about even if she lived to be an old woman. June had been the end of innocence for her. The end of her old life.
“Are you well, Georgina? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Marianne seemed genuinely concerned and had no idea how apt her metaphor really was. “Let me get you some refreshment,” she urged.
She saw Jeremy’s head turn her way. Even though he and Darius were engaged in conversation across the room, he was attuned to her, able to pick up on her reflection into the treacherous past. Jeremy was ever watchful over her. And that was just another reason to love him so much.
Georgina turned her full attention to Marianne and smiled. “Oh, I am fine, really. Thank you for your kindness. I can’t tell you how pleasant it is to be in your company.” She shook off the melancholy forcefully. No way would she allow it to penetrate her happiness in the present.
“My husband also tells me that you like to sketch.” Georgina steered the topic. “I do also. I’d love to see what you’ve done, Marianne.”
“Yes, please. Let me show you to my studio. The view of the sea is lovely from up there. The stars will be shining over the ocean tonight.”
When they descended the stairs a half hour later, both husbands awaited their wives at the bottom.
“We wondered where you’d got to,” Darius remarked, stepping up to assist Marianne down the final steps, his solicitousness of her very apparent. That Darius Rourke treasured his beautiful wife was no secret, that and the fact he had no qualms about demonstrating it publicly either.
“I took Georgina up to my studio,” Marianne told him. “She liked the view very much. She said it reminded her of a painting of a seascape she’d always admired, at her home, growing up.”
“How marvelous for you two ladies to enjoy the same pastime. I hope you and Marianne can come together to sketch. I’d love for her to have some company, Mrs. Greymont,” Darius said.
“I shall look forward to just that, Mr. Rourke,” Georgina told him.
Jeremy looked up at her. She could see hunger in his eyes, like he was thinking about striping her naked before he devoured her.
He reached for her as she neared the last step, latching onto her arm and pulling her in tight to his side. It felt nice to be fitted up against him, his tall frame warm and firm, seeking her, wanting
her close to him. God, what a good feeling.
Chapter Twenty-Two
He is the portion of loveliness
Which once he made more lovely.
—Percy Bysshe Shelley, Adonais (1821)
He hit the door hard with his stick, leaving a dent in the wood. The uninspired butler who let him in looked liked he’d just swallowed a mouthful of turned wine.
“My lord,” Bowles greeted with a pinched expression, as if doing his job were an extreme effort. God how he’d love for Bowles to get run over by an ale wagon. The simpering man was privy to far too much, damning knowledge of activities which wouldn’t sit well with society if they ever got out. But murdering Bowles wasn’t quite appealing either, or in his repertoire of tricks, not yet at least, he thought.
“Bowles, bring my nephew down to me at once!”
“Mr. Strawnly left instructions not to be disturbed this evening, Lord Pellton,” Bowles replied haughtily. “He has a…guest.”
“I don’t give a maiden queen’s first fuck what he said, you cod-faced dard. Get my heir down here to greet me with the respect due or you can leave this house for the gutter, starting tonight!”
“Yes, sir,” Bowles chirped, already out of the room, a decided urgency to his step as he left to retrieve his master.
Pellton waited impatiently for his reluctant host to present himself. Pulling out the newspaper, he read the notice again, feeling himself grow hot with rage. How dare he take that which was meant for—
“Uncle. This is a pleasant surprise,” his nephew drawled at him from the drawing room doorway.
The boy was a bit touched in the head, but knew his place. Simon would have to do as an heir if he couldn’t manage a legitimate son. He’d followed orders thus far, even though it had all turned to a stewing vat of liquid shit. Damn Greymont to hell! “Have you seen the announcements?”
Simon stared blankly back.
“The Times, you fool! Have you seen it in the paper?”
“No. It’s a lot of blithering rubbish of no interest to me,” Simon whined.
“God help us!” he yelled, shaking his head. “It’s of great interest to me, as it should be to you! That cocky bastard, Greymont, has married Georgina Russell! Already done. More than a week ago!” He stabbed a finger at the announcement on the news page.
Simon narrowed his eyes and came toward him. He snatched the paper and scanned the section. “That presumptuous prick!” he shouted, flinging the paper down. “She was to be for us!”
Pellton took some solace in the apparent disappointment Simon showed at the loss of such a prize. At least the boy had a partially functioning brain. Hell, he’d even gotten to fuck her sweet cunt. “Aye. The operative term is ‘was,’ but not anymore. She’s Mrs. Greymont now and off the marriage market. He’s no doubt stashed her in the country where he can keep an eye on her.”
“That is downright tragic, Uncle. She was delectable beyond words, and I was looking forward playing with her again. She is a rare combination, that one. Lots of fight left in her.”
“As you’ve reminded me more times than I care to hear,” Pellton retorted. “I am feeling very bereft at the moment, Simon. Let us go out and drown our losses in some shared quim. What do you say, son?”
“An excellent plan, Uncle, but…we needn’t leave this house for it.”
Pellton felt his cock tingle as the blood rushed in. “Who do you have upstairs?” he asked.
“I believe she claimed her name to be Ella, or Emma, something like that.” He shrugged. “I snatched her off the street early this morning. She’s not of our class of course, but unridden before today.”
Incredible. Simon had more guile than he ever thought possible. “You snatched a virgin off the London streets this morning?”
“Yes. A lush berry ready to be plucked. She begged me to let her go. Said her father would pay coin for her safe return. But I figure he couldn’t have much capital being a tradesman.”
“What trade? He might have more than you think?”
“Oh, a lowly tanner or some such dirty business. I don’t care for the tainted money. I told her the pink slit between her legs would suit me far better.”
“Mmmm. And she is amenable to ménage?”
“Amenable? Who would ask her opinion? I won’t. Will you ask her, Uncle?”
Pellton’s cock was fully hard now, and he no longer cared about anything but fucking away his anger at losing Georgina Russell to that rake, Greymont. He swept out his arm to Simon. “After you, Nephew. Please introduce me to Ella, or is it Emma? I can’t wait to meet her—um, I mean, fuck her.”
* * * *
The carriage ride home was a short one. Sitting opposite each other, Georgina could sense tension in Jeremy. The perfect gentleman, but also like a wolf about to pounce. His eyes looked positively feral, gleaming at her in the dark.
“Did you enjoy the evening?” Jeremy asked her.
“Very much. The Rourkes are lovely, and I look forward to more pleasant times together.”
They rocked slowly from the sway of the coach along the road.
“Jeremy, what were you thinking about when we came down the stairs from Marianne’s studio?”
“What?” She saw his legs flex, and he shifted in his seat.
“You looked at me profoundly, and I want to know what you were thinking just then.”
His eyes stabbed her. “I was thinking of how gorgeous you looked coming down to me, and how you would be tonight when I’m buried deep inside you.”
Dear Christ, she nearly choked. His direct talk had an immediate, visceral effect. She clamped her thighs together to try to relieve the wet heat that suddenly pounded between them. A moan slipped out from between her lips of its own free will, and despite the chill of the night air, sweat broke out between her breasts and on her neck.
Yes. She had guessed right. A vision of Jeremy looming over, thrusting into her wildly, eyes all abandoned, flashed in her head. The rawness of it made her completely and utterly wanton for him. He incited a part of her she never knew existed but, now that she did know, shocked her to her core. The air suddenly seemed sucked out of the coach, and she gulped a breath, and then another.
Somehow she formed the words to speak. “What—what do you want?”
He didn’t pause even a second. “I want you to—”
But then the coach pulled to an abrupt stop, cutting off his reply. A rap on the door sounded, and then it opened. Jeremy got up and exited first, giving his hand to assist her out.
In they walked to the house, where their coats were given to the butler. Up the stairs to the second floor, west wing, he escorted her. They moved fast. The end of the hall suite was their destination. He opened the door for them. She entered. He closed the door with a firm push and faced her, and finished the question she had asked him in the coach.
“—come into my bedroom tonight. Wear nothing apart from your dressing gown. I’ll be waiting.”
He bowed, turned on his boot heel, and left her standing alone in her bedroom. Georgina heard the door to the master’s chamber open and then shut, and then she heard no more.
The need to sit down was paramount, before her legs gave out and she ended up in a heap on the rug. He had her so worked up she was shaking. She didn’t sit long though. Moving to the sideboard, she poured a hearty portion of wine, of which no time was wasted in knocking back. As soon as the spirits were sucked down, she rang for Jane.
* * * *
Georgina felt her every sense heightened as she crept toward the door to the master’s chamber. The cold brass of the handle stung as she turned it. She pushed forward.
The room was dimly lit, lamps on low beside the massive bed, a good fire going in the hearth. The room smelled of him—spicy cloves and his unique manly scent. Delicious.
“Slide the bolt behind you.” His voice reached across the room.
She pushed the metal firmly and slid it home with a grating click. The snap and pop of the fire was
the only sound, if she didn’t count her escalating need for air.
“Walk out to where I can see you and you can see me and stop.”
She did as he asked and had no trouble stopping because the sight of him would have done that for her anyway.
He lay naked on the bed. Acres of golden skin over smooth, ropy muscles stretched out languidly, his upper body propped up by pillows. The stark, packed muscles low on his chest drew her eyes lower down his body to his— Oh, sweet Jesus! His cock. She watched it twitch above his hips as he saw her eyes so focused on it. Stiff already, his shaft grew tauter, moving, filling, rising up to lift a fraction off his belly. God! He looked like a beautiful, ancient, pagan idol. More animal than human—
“Open your robe and let it drop.”
Her nipples were already tight before the cool air hit them. The sound of her robe hitting the floor made a soft swish. She couldn’t hold back the shiver.
“Come to me, and walk slowly,” he told her.
Careful steps brought her closer to her male animal. A beast who looked at her with ravenous hunger, like he was concentrating very hard on keeping still, waiting, yearning, anticipating the instant when he would pounce and take her underneath him, cover her with his greater weight, press her down and open her legs, mount her, and pierce her, thrusting deep and—
“Crawl up here and sit on me.”
“Oh.” She started to shake. Her whole body becoming affected by the vibrations as they took hold.
“Mmmmm, all is well,” he soothed. “Take my hand and come up here to me. I will help you.”
She took the hand he offered, and somehow she moved, propelling forward and up, her long legs folding over his hips, her wet core coming to a rest directly atop the steel ridge of his velvet-skinned shaft. A shudder of exquisite pleasure shot down her belly, like a tiny version of the orgasms he’d given her.
He gave her a moment to settle. A slow smile spread on his mouth, and they stared at one another’s faces until he broke the silence. “You are so beautiful to me, right now, like this.”