The Undoing of a Libertine

by Raine Miller

  Ahead of you,

  S.S.

  The urge to kill boiled inside his body. Jeremy was not a violent person by nature, but this letter had changed that facet of his character. With buried rage simmering, he forced a calm presentation on the front, knowing he had to find Gina and tell her he was leaving immediately for London. And another of his character traits was about to take a hard blow as well. He was going to have to lie like hell to her.

  * * * *

  “But why must I stay with the Rourkes?” Georgina pleaded. “Can I not go with you?”

  “No, sweetheart. This is urgent, dreadful business—lives are at stake. There is no time for anything social, I’m afraid. Not this trip.” He smiled a little and stroked her cheek.

  “I don’t care about parties. I just want to be with you.”

  “And I hate to leave you here, but I’d be in negotiations all day and we’d have no time together anyway,” he said firmly. “No—it’s best for you to stay. I’ve spoken with Darius, and he said Marianne is thrilled to have your company. You can sketch and go to the shops together, take Frisk along—”

  She shook her head at him.

  “Gina, you will indulge me in this.” He gripped her arms. “I—I cannot leave you alone here, unprotected.” His voice lowered to a hard whisper. “I just can’t. Not after what happened to you.”

  She froze. There it was again. Her shame thrown back in her face. Now Jeremy was doing it. Would she ever be free? Free of the hold it had on the both of them?

  Georgina gave in because it seemed so important to him, but she spoke stiffly. “All right, Jeremy. I’ll go stay with the Rourkes, as it obviously pleases you.”

  He kissed her cheek. “You are a good wife. Thank you, sweetheart, it eases my heart knowing you will be safe.”

  She stayed stiff when he touched her, but had to ask him, “When will you go?”

  “Today. As soon as I can be ready.”

  “Oh, well, I’d better leave you to it then. You must have much to do.”

  Georgina stepped back, and Jeremy didn’t stop her. She wished he would’ve. She wished he’d take her in his arms and kiss her wildly and tell her he couldn’t be parted from her and to go pack her things because she was coming with him. But that wasn’t happening, was it? From the look of him, she’d say he was eager to get on the road, and that felt like a stab to the heart. She would miss him, but it seemed he couldn’t wait to get away.

  “I’ll come find you when it’s time to bid farewell so we can have a few minutes alone before I go.” He smiled again, but she could see it didn’t reach to his eyes.

  “As you wish, Jeremy.” She bowed her head.

  Georgina let herself out of his study with her dignity intact. She hadn’t cried at least. And he was being kind and solicitous of her, considering the pressure he was under. It would only be for a few days, she reminded herself. So why then did she feel such a foreboding, like Jeremy was slipping away from her in parts?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ...Murder’s out of tune,

  And sweet revenge grows harsh.

  —William Shakespeare, Othello (1602)

  The trip to London gave Jeremy plenty of time to think. Leaving Gina on the steps of Hallborough had been agony. She had stayed on the landing, her willowy shape still discernable when he turned Samson and looked back as he left the grounds of Hallborough.

  Their parting had not been as he’d wished. She was hurt, he knew, at being left behind, but he couldn’t have her in Town, not where Strawnly or Pellton might see her. No telling what could happen. It was far too dangerous a risk, and she was too precious to him for risks of any kind to even be considered.

  This past week had been a bloody nightmare, a vile weed that just kept spreading. First the boy’s tragic death, then the drunken ravishment that resulted in making her cringe from him like he was some monster, and now this!

  Jeremy wasn’t too worried about Strawnly’s extortion attempt though. He had other plans for that shit-bastard, and money wouldn’t be needed where he was going.

  Riding Samson reminded him of the time he’d ridden with Gina. It was the day he’d come to Oakfield, the day he’d first seen her again. She had allowed him to lift her up and steady her on Samson’s back, offering herself to trust him.

  And that was a curious thing about her. For all that life had done her wrong, she wasn’t hardened by it. She was a generous person by nature. And she trusted him even when she shouldn’t.

  He missed his Gina already. Missed making love with her. Missed having her shoulder tucked under his chin while they slept. Missed her scent up in his nose.

  He pictured her beautiful body, of how her breasts puddled to the side when she was on her back. He thought of the small birthmark on her left hipbone and how he liked to trace over it with his tongue. He thought about how glorious it was to be covered deep inside her heat, of wanting the sensations to go on forever, but knowing he’d die if he didn’t spill, thus bringing that encounter to a sweet kind of death.

  They hadn’t made love together since that night she’d recalled the details of her attack, and the loss made him melancholy. And it worried him, too, now that she remembered everything. In a way, not knowing the specifics had been easier for her. He hated to think of Gina suffering anew as she dredged up exactly what had been done to her. He couldn’t even bear to think about the specifics what she’d suffered. He didn’t want those images sullying the beautiful thoughts of her he carried around in his head.

  And that last time he’d taken her, drunk and out of his mind? Hell, he’d wanted to gut himself when she shrank from him in fear. In that instant, in her view, she’d seen him as her rapist. He shuddered in the leather saddle and rubbed the middle of his chest.

  Jeremy was determined to make it up to her. As soon as this “problem” was resolved, they could begin enjoying perfectly lovely, mundane days filled with baby-making and whatever the hell else struck their fancies. They had a life to get started, and he vowed no single person or any other obstacle was going to get in the way.

  At their farewell, he’d promised they would make plans for a trip to Town at Christmastide, as soon as he returned from this “urgent business.” Thank heavens she hadn’t inquired too far into the details of that imaginative fabrication. He felt guilty for lying to her, but he deemed that the justification served the means when it came to protecting her.

  Looking over the dull autumn landscape, his eyes confirmed what his nose had detected earlier. London could be scented long before it could be seen, and even in the stench it looked lovely, the lights of the outskirts twinkled like glow flies hovering on the heath.

  Two hours more and Jeremy was seated in a hired hackney. He’d ensconced Samson at the first London stable they’d come upon with instructions, and plenty of coin, to insure his horse was rewarded for getting him to Town so swiftly. He hoped Samson was contentedly enjoying a bag of oats right about now, for the lovely beast truly deserved it.

  Jeremy rapped on the window to signal the driver. A few moments later the hack pulled up to the prearranged stop. From the opposite side of the road, Jeremy took in the surroundings of number forty-four, Peake Street. He perused and sized it up from all angles. He needed to know everything he could about his enemy before he struck. That’s why he’d come three days early. His knuckles rapped again to indicate it was time to move on.

  The next stop was as familiar to him as the previous had been unfamiliar. He knew every inch of it. His grandfather’s townhouse in Grosvenor Square was situated on a corner, very smart, bright white with black trim. A servant admitted him from the back entrance, stealthily quiet and under shadow in the dark alley. Other than the occupants inside, who awaited him and would keep his secret, he didn’t want anyone to know that Jeremy Greymont had arrived in Town. Not yet at least.

  * * * *

  The wet drizzle prevented a walk along the shore, so Georgina opted to return to Hallborough for the day. The discom
forts of pregnancy had Marianne resting anyway, and Georgina wanted to check on any correspondence that had arrived while she’d been gone. The note she left for Marianne promised her return by dinnertime.

  She smiled down at Frisk, leaning into her on the carriage seat. He was just as good and smart as Mariah Rawles had praised him to be, and she didn’t have a single regret about taking him. He would grow into a magnificent dog when he reached his full size, and no doubt be an excellent companion for her. She stroked the soft waves of warm umber fur and thought about Jeremy.

  The past three days at Stonewell with the Rourkes had been all right and she’d done her best to quell her growing unease, but self-doubt was definitely getting the upper hand. Jeremy had seemed so different the day he’d left for London. Granted, the time leading up to his departure had been awful with the death of the Rawles boy and then her memories returning of the attack. With his business in crisis—something about one of the ships fallen into piracy—she wondered if he’d had time even to write yet.

  How could she have cringed from him like that? She cursed herself, wishing she could take that one night back. Jeremy had been aghast. She’d seen the stricken look on his face. Her fear had bewildered him until she told him why.

  And that telling of the reason had been the very worst of all. Even though he had said he didn’t care about her past, she knew that he did care. It bothered him that another man had taken her, and she worried about what would happen now between them. Was he disgusted? Or was he wary because he figured she couldn’t bear his touch when he wanted her in that wildly passionate, desperate way of his?

  Georgina didn’t know exactly what Jeremy was feeling, but she did know they hadn’t made love since that night. He’d slept in the same bed with her, but he hadn’t reached for her under the covers like he usually did, telling her how much he needed her and how beautiful she felt to him, the declarations of a lover. And this had her greatly worried.

  Mrs. Richards brought all of the correspondence and a cup of tea to her desk in the library. With Frisk at her feet, she sorted through everything. There was no letter from Jeremy, but one missive caught her eye. It stood out starkly from the rest. The hand was rough, readable but unrefined, with no address of origin. Something compelled her to open it. The essence of urgency screamed from the folded paper for some reason. It was short, but very telling.

  They have Marguerite. Madame Therese begs you to come, as do I.

  Luc

  Georgina let the note slip from her hand, her fingers losing their grip. She watched it flutter gently down to the desktop. The parchment, the black ink scrawl, contrasted harshly with the mahogany table.

  Who was Marguerite? Madame Therese? Luc? Who were these people, and why had she never heard Jeremy speak of them? Unease settled in her belly. It came on her instantly, the second she read the words, like a flash of lightning. One minute she was assured. The next she thought her breakfast might come up. She brought her hand to her mouth and willed the bile back down, just standing there, clutching the side of the table and forcing her stomach to calm.

  It didn’t take Georgina long to decide what to do next. She left the library with the letter and went directly to Jeremy’s study, Frisk close at her heels.

  The search through his correspondence bore fruit about ten minutes later when she found a letter from someone named Therese Blufette. In it, she asked Jeremy pointedly to come to London, saying it must be in person and at her place of business, an establishment with the unusual name of The Velvet Swan. Comparing the two missives, she deduced that Therese Blufette from the letter in his study and Madame Therese in the note from Luc were one and the same person. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to figure this was most likely the reason Jeremy had left so abruptly for London.

  Her Jeremy had gone to meet a woman, and this Luc person wanted him to come because of…Marguerite? And he hadn’t said anything to her. She froze, her mind struggling to accept that which surely was the truth. Jeremy had lied.

  “Why did he lie to me, Frisk? Why would my Jeremy do that?” she murmured down to the dog. He sat patiently, blinking his attentive eyes back up to her.

  She thought she knew. And it crushed her. Maybe he’d gone back to be with other women—women who could bear his touch and wouldn’t flinch away in panic like she had done. This Marguerite, whoever she was, worried her, too. Was she someone Jeremy cared about? A past dalliance? Might he want to go back with her again? The very idea crushed her heart to bits.

  That last time, when she’d recalled her attacker, Jeremy had been horrified that she was frightened of him in that moment. Jeremy didn’t like her afraid or scared—ever. This had always been an issue between them. He hated for her to fear the sex, or worse, fear him. And Georgina was always having to remind him that he didn’t scare her.

  Then the unthinkable happened. She remembered. Everything. And for a few moments she was scared, but losing Jeremy scared her more. Much, much more.

  Georgina remembered the panic she’d felt when he’d said he was going to sleep in another bedroom. She had willingly begged him to stay with her, and would do it again in a heartbeat.

  Jeremy was a considerate husband. He probably didn’t want to make demands on her anymore because he believed his attentions would cause her to remember her attacker.

  But that wasn’t true, and never would be. She loved Jeremy and wanted to be with him, wanted him to love her with his body, in the manner he needed from her. No matter what.

  “Come, Frisk! We must pack.” Feeling possessive and suddenly jealous, she knew the urge to fight. She was his wife, for God’s sake! And she would not let her husband go like this. If she must follow Jeremy to London and make him understand, then so be it.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Mine is the most plotting heart in the world.

  —Samuel Richardson, Clarissa (1747)

  “Marguerite’s somewhere, Greymont. They’re keeping her somewhere in this city, and God only knows what’s being done to her!”

  “Easy, mate, we’re going to get her back, and you’ll have your chance to go at Strawnly, as soon as your woman is safe.” Jeremy’s attempt to soothe the frantic Luc was only marginally successful. The man was a mess over Marguerite’s abduction. The big guard’s affection for her went far beyond a working relationship, as Jeremy had discovered. The two of them had been planning to leave England together when Strawnly managed to get her.

  Two days ago, when Jeremy had summoned Luc to his grandfather’s townhouse, Luc was surprised at how fast Jeremy had been able to get to London. Apparently Jeremy wasn’t the only person being extorted for money by Strawnly. Gina’s reputation as well as Marguerite’s safe return to Madame Therese both carried a price.

  Strawnly was in trouble though. Serious trouble. His predilections for brutalizing young women had won out over his humanity long ago, that was, if he’d ever had any to begin with. Strawnly had raped before, and it wasn’t difficult to locate other fathers and brothers who wanted justice for their loved ones. That, and the fact that Strawnly was looking for a way out of England, provided the perfect opportunity to make things right.

  “All we have to do is let him walk into the trap. Think, Luc! If we jump him now, he won’t get on that ship. You want him on that ship and Marguerite safe, back with you,” Jeremy reminded the anxious Luc. “Therese will be here any minute. As soon as she hands over the money, he’s going to take off for the docks and we’ll go get her. This won’t work if Strawnly doesn’t get on that ship!” With victory so close, Jeremy didn’t want to lose their advantage.

  “I know. I just can’t bear to think of him hurting her—” Luc scrubbed his face and dropped his head. “I love her. I want to be with her.”

  Jeremy clapped him on the shoulder. “And you will be with her. I’m going to see to it.”

  Jeremy remembered back to last night’s negotiation with Strawnly. It had been Luc who’d restrained Jeremy then…

  * * * *

>   …At number forty-four, Peake Street a boy waited outside in the moonlight. The waif leaned against the building, eager to capitalize on any opportunity that might be extended.

  “Lookin’ for Greymont. That you, mister?” the urchin asked Luc. Luc poked out his thumb at Jeremy and kept silent.

  Jeremy took the missive and passed the boy a coin. He read the note and then looked at the boy again. “Do you know the man who wrote this?”

  Clever green eyes snapped to attention. “Aye, sir.”

  Jeremy held up a pound note. “The location where he’s keeping a working girl, French and blonde, hazel eyes, called Marguerite, and this will be yours. Find her by tomorrow, and I’ll make it double this.”

  “You’ll have it, sir. I’m on the job right now. If anyone will do, Danny can. Where canna I find you?”

  Jeremy told him and watched the boy lope off into the twisting streets, silent as the faint mist which clouded the night.

  Strawnly’s instructions brought Luc and Jeremy to a seedy pub on the outskirts of London. The sour smells of fermenting ale and the accumulated grime of unwashed bodies assaulted the senses, but seemed fitting considering who had summoned them here.

  They found a dark corner and waited. Jeremy passed on the drink, or more precisely, the mug it was served in. Typhoid fever came to mind, and he felt the sudden urge to find soap and water for washing.

  The cur came slinking up and sat across from the table. Dark hair hung in dank strings from an average-looking face. He wasn’t ugly, but his bones made for sharp features. His eyes were what made him evil. So dark brown they almost looked devoid of color, but it wasn’t the lack of pigment. It was the absence of humanity that made Jeremy recoil. Strawnly was an animal—vicious—soulless—and it didn’t take knowledge of the irrefutable facts to recognize this. His inhumanity was as visible as filth on a white shirt. He just provided further proof of it the second he opened his mouth.