Miller, Raine - The Undoing of a Libertine (Siren Publishing Classic) (7 page)

“Not enjoying the evening, Miss Georgina?” He spoke quietly so as not to startle her. “I saw you leave.” He came closer. “You appeared distressed.” He sat down next to her on the bench.

She kept silent at first. They just sat next to each other, contemplating in the quietness of the exotic plants that surrounded them, and their clean, earthy smell.

It seemed like an age before she spoke. “Wouldn’t you be?” Sad, hazel eyes lifted to glitter at him.

Jeremy tilted his head in question.

“If you were on display like a prized bird to be bagged by the best shot? In this case, the ‘best shot’ is repulsive to me. I hate it!”

“What do you hate more, the part about being on display or the quality of the candidate trying to ‘bag’ you?”

“There is only one candidate, and Papa does not care for my feelings against his suit.”

“Have you agreed to anything?”

“No, and I don’t plan on it either, but I am afraid Papa will find a way to force me.” Her composure crumbled then, and the tears came. “I can’t bear it if he gives me to Lord Pell—”

Jeremy didn’t hesitate to pull her into his arms. He held her close and felt the quivering coming from her body, right through their clothes, straight to his heart. God, she felt good. And in that instant he knew.

She feels right.

Everything about Georgina felt right. Jeremy wanted to breathe her in. He wanted to kiss and touch her all over. He wanted her naked underneath him and their skin hot and pressed together. He wanted her crying out his name when he made love to her. Yes, he wanted all of those things, but even more than that, he wanted to protect and reassure her. It stung his heart to see her so distraught.

“He won’t,” he murmured into her ear.

* * * *

Georgina stiffened. The shock of being in his embrace was the cause, but she gave in to it almost immediately, indulging in how wonderful a feeling it was to be held by Jeremy Greymont, to be safe and comforted, at least for this one moment in time.

She stayed in his arms and let him hold her. He smelled divine, slightly sweet like cloves and shaving soap, and she liked the way he rested his chin atop her head. His hand brushed up and down her back. His warmth radiated into her chest, and for the first time in years, she felt truly cherished by another person.

It took some moments before she realized exactly what they were doing, and the impropriety of it. She pulled back from him and felt the loss of his embrace immediately, the warmth and strength of him dissipating into the night air to combine with the exotic breath of the plants.

“Do you feel a little better? Please say that you do. I can’t bear seeing you so sad.” He fished out his handkerchief and brought it to her face. “Allow me?”

His kind gesture brought on fresh new tears that rolled down her cheeks in silent streams.

Without saying another word, he carefully dabbed the wetness away, first one cheek and then the other. When he finished, he pressed the handkerchief into her hands and his lips to her forehead. “There,” he whispered.

Mr. Greymont’s lips were soft, the brush of his whiskers less so, as they touched her skin. He gave her such a gentle, lovely kiss. Georgina wanted to dissolve in the solace of the moment.
It is more than you deserve.

She shouldn’t allow him to even do it. ’Twould only make things harder to bear. Georgina tilted back and looked at him. Mr. Greymont’s eyes burned in return, a simmering hunger discernable even in the dim light of the solarium. They focused on her mouth.

An unsettling flare of heat hit her behind the ribs. She needed to go. His attentions were too much to take in right now. Mr. Greymont’s kindness was genuine, but she sensed he held back somehow. A whiff of danger permeated the moment. She had to get away. Now!

“Please forgive me, Mr. Greymont, for my outburst. I am much better though, thanks to you. I’ll not forget your kindness to me this night.” She stood up abruptly. “I must take my leave now.”

“Don’t go! Stay? Talk with me?” he blurted, grasping her hand.

“I must go, for I am suddenly very exhausted and not at all good company right now.” She looked down at his hand gripping hers. It felt hot.

“Yes, you are. Yours is the best company.”
But
even so,
he released her, looking a little guilty as he stood up and bowed. “As you wish, Miss Georgina, but please agree to meet me tomorrow—at your oak tree swing, two o’clock? I want to talk to you again. Will you come?”

His gentle entreaty was impossible to resist, and she trusted him. Regardless of the tension between them right now, she knew she’d be safe in his company. “Very well.” She nodded. “Good night, Mr. Greymont.”

She walked out, leaving him there in the solarium, flexing the hand he’d gripped so tightly. It tingled in the same way her forehead did, in the place where his lips had kissed.

It wasn’t until she was in her bed that she remembered his words when he’d held her in his arms. Mr. Greymont had said, “He won’t,” in reference to her father forcing her to marry Lord Pellton.
But how can he know?

Georgina pondered the mystery of Jeremy Greymont in her bed that night. Thinking about how easy it had been to be held close enough to scent him, to feel his hard muscles bracing her, to be stroked along her shoulders by his gentle hands.

Interestingly, his nearness didn’t frighten her at all. She felt just the opposite. Comfort, solace, and security were what he offered, along with something more enticing that she didn’t really understand, but drew her in all the same. In fact, she clung to that security without even knowledge that she was doing so.

Georgina still had his handkerchief, and it smelled of him—a faint hint of cloves and starch and his own crisp sharpness. The scent floated in her head until sleep claimed her. A last rambling thought swilled in her mind before fading away.
What does he wish to talk about?

Chapter Seven

The reputation which the world bestows

is like the wind, that shifts now here now there

its name changed with the quarter whence it blows.

—Dante Alighieri,
Divine Comedy
(1308)

The swing had been a favorite of her mother’s. One of the earliest memories Georgina had was of being held in her mother’s lap upon this very swing.

This place was in fact, very special. Her family used to have picnics right here on this spot. Tom would climb the tree, and Papa would read poetry to Mamma. Mamma would braid wildflowers into Georgina’s hair and once wove a fairy crown to place upon her head. On that day, everyone had pledged their fealty at her coronation. All hail the Fairy Queen of Oakfield! Georgina couldn’t recall any other intimate family picnics after that one. It must have been the last.

She grasped the rope of the swing and gave it a push. She watched the plank seat twist and rotate until it stilled and had to be flicked again.

They were lovely memories, but from a long time ago. Another time. Another life. Everything was so different now.
So very different.
And a stroll down the bucolic memory lane of her childhood didn’t serve much use in the realm of the harsh reality that was her life now, did it?

Georgina arrived at the oak tree early today. She found it a good place to think. And she intended to be composed this time, too, unlike every other time she was in Mr. Greymont’s company.

He was an intriguing man, and there was a quality to him that soothed her. He was easy to be with. Last night, when he’d comforted her, she’d felt like she could stay in his arms forever. The notion surprised her, but when she thought back on it, she realized that his physical presence was never unwelcome.

She reacted to Mr. Greymont in a way she had never done for anyone else. But then, the way he’d looked at her in the solarium, after he’d kissed her and wiped away her tears, she’d seen a hunger in him, clear as day, and that had rattled her.

She had admired him for years—as the charming friend of her older brother. He had been friendly and complimentary to her as a young girl, taking notice of her accomplishments in a polite, but proper manner.

That was then. Now he looked at her a little differently. His propriety was never in question, but he didn’t look at her like she was a young girl anymore. He looked at her as a man did at a woman. Somehow, the thought of him looking at her like that did not anger her as it should. In fact, everything about Jeremy Greymont, and her reaction to him, felt different—

“There you are!” Clawlike hands and hot breath assaulted her from behind. “I’ve been searching for you again.” He turned her.

“Lord Pellton! Unhand me, sir!” She struggled to free herself from his groping and pawing.

“You tempt me mercilessly, my little rosebud,” he slurred in her ear. His grip held strength despite his years, and he easily pushed her up against the trunk of the tree.

Georgina felt the rough bark dig in to her back and then panic upon realizing he’d trapped her. Pellton had her pinned between his bulk and the great tree. Her struggles to get away from him only served to press her body deeper into his—the very last thing she wanted.
Oh, dear God!
In horror, she watched as he lowered his head to bury his face into the
décolletage
of her gown, his movements frantic as he began his assault.

“I have tired of waiting on your resistance, my dear,” he said, slathering his mouth over her skin. “There’s no point to it you know. You
will
belong to me and need to learn your role. A little taste of what will soon be mine won’t hurt. It shall help to speed things along.” He huffed the words at her chest.

“No! Sir, please let me go. Stop! This is unseemly! Noooo!” She thrashed her head back and forth in an effort to dislodge him.

“Fighting me will only make you taste sweeter,” he crooned evilly, one hand covering a breast and squeezing. “You are a wildcat, my pretty.”

His words, the smell of him, the weight of his body pressing against her, sparked absolute terror in her brain. She remembered words that had been told to her before.
I am going to fuck you now, my wildcat. Keep fighting. That’s it. Fight me while I fuck you…

Georgina no longer knew who or what attacked her. She just knew she must fight to get away. Fight or die.

She fought, kicking and scratching and clawing and hitting with all of her strength, thinking the whole time that it couldn’t possibly be happening to her again.

“Get away from her, you bastard!” Jeremy Greymont’s words met their mark with deadly intent. The sound of him alone got Pellton’s attention, but the shotgun bearing down on her tormentor added the extra incentive to follow the command.

Pellton froze against her as she panted against the tree, her face turned as far away as possible, his breath making her want to vomit.

“But she is my betrothed, Greymont.” He slowly turned to face Jeremy, his eyes wide. “I am entitled to her. And how dare you threaten me with a gun!”

“I dare.” Jeremy held his gun steady. “Miss Georgina, have you agreed to marriage with this ape?”

“I have not!”

“Are his attentions welcome to you?”

“By God, no!” She bolted away from the tree to stand behind Jeremy.

“Then be on your way, Pellton. You cannot be assaulting maidens. It is loutish for a gentleman, let alone one who calls himself ‘Lord.’ But then, you’ve never been bothered by the constraints of propriety.”

Pellton flushed red, an ugly scratch welting along his cheek and jaw. “Maiden, you say? Hardly a maiden!”

Oh, please…nooooo!
Georgina found herself dropped to the ground, wishing the earth would open and swallow her whole right in this minute, terrified to hear the exchange between the men. Lord Pellton must have heard gossip about her from somebody. Her mind scrambled as she fought for understanding of why he would say such about her.
He knows! Somehow, he knows.