Miller, Raine - The Undoing of a Libertine (Siren Publishing Classic) (15 page)

Jeremy looked sharply at his valet. “And the man under the clothes? Do you think he will do credit to the lady, Myers?”

Myers lifted wary eyes to meet his master’s. “Without a doubt, sir.”

“Do you speak truth to me?” Jeremy shocked himself by asking such questions. Opinions of paid servants did not factor into the equation. He should not care what others thought of him.

“Always, sir. You do right by those under your care, and I have no doubts you’ll do the same for your lady,” Myers said in his unperturbed way, reaching forward to straighten the hem of the jacket that sat perfectly level already.

The man must be in disbelief at his master’s foray into the seas of matrimony. Jeremy was as well. He couldn’t imagine doing anything else though. He was marrying Georgina, and that was that. In the next hour, he would gain a wife and become a husband.

“I’m glad you’re confident,” he returned wryly. “Say, have you seen my bride this morning?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How did she look to you?”

Myers actually cracked what appeared to be a smile. The man hardly ever showed emotion. He’d been with Jeremy since he’d finished university. A former medic in the British Army, his more mature steadiness ever in effect, he rose to any occasion with a minimum of fuss, but was clearly enjoying the show today.

“She looked elegant and very beautiful on her father’s arm. You are to be congratulated, sir.”

“No, I meant how did she
seem
? I know very well of her beauty,” Jeremy barked back, frustrated.

“Seem, sir?” Myers arched an errant brow, obviously savoring the moment.

“Her countenance, you devil!” Jeremy exploded, feeling like a schoolboy on Saint Valentine’s Day. “Damn it all to hell, never mind!”

“Miss Russell appeared to me as the epitome of grace—”

“I said, never mind.” Jeremy cut him off with a wave of his hand. “And just in case you’ve forgot, wear a thick coat, Myers, for you’re riding in the open up with Ned. The interior of my coach will be for Mrs. Greymont and me alone,” he said imperiously.

“Yes, sir.” Myers bowed his head.

“Well, let’s go get me wed then. You’ll stand for me, as witness?” Jeremy gentled his tone in asking the question.

Myers’s face brightened for just a second before returning to his typical mask. “It will be my honor, Mr. Greymont.”

In the end, Myers was correct. Georgina presented herself a resplendent bride, solemn but steady, and so very beautiful. Her eyes found his the second he entered the room. She gave him a gentle smile, soothing his anxiety away in an instant. He winked at her.

The Reverend Goode read the words that bound them together until death as he married them in the formal parlor at Oakfield. Mrs. Goode played the music on the piano. The vows Jeremy spoke felt like the first “true” oath he had ever pledged in the whole of his life. He suspected it was Georgina who made that difference.

In her mother’s wedding dress of creamy, blush, silk brocade, she looked a vision, nearly bringing Mr. Russell to tears, so great was her likeness to his dearly departed wife, he had declared.

Attempting to make amends to his daughter, John Russell praised Georgina’s beauty and gifted her with her mother’s pearls. His gestures were too little, too late for Georgina though. Jeremy could see that the father had lost the daughter when he was worried more for their good name than her torment.

Georgina’s dowry was generous, although Jeremy cared little about the price they settled, his aim only to insure that his wife would never again be at the mercy of someone who did not cherish her as they should. He could admit there was some pleasure in bleeding her father for additional funds. If he was good at one thing, it was negotiation in business, and in this instance his persistence proved fruitful.

Before their departure, Jeremy took the additional opportunity to speak to Mr. Russell alone, informing him of what he’d learned in London about Pellton’s evil intent and his belief that he was connected by blood and knowledge with Georgina’s attacker. He did not spare him any of the gruesome details and was not a little satisfied to see how John Russell blanched in horror to know he would have given his daughter to such an animal and for what purpose.

So, with much relief, Jeremy got his new wife off in the coach. She shared in the relief as well. She didn’t say so, but he could tell.

Georgina seemed more than ready to leave her old home and set out for her new one, in Somerset, at Hallborough, with him.

* * * *

He knew about Georgina the whole time. He endorsed it. Would have abused her. My child. Anne’s own daughter!

John Russell felt his blood run cold as he recalled something his wife had once said.
“I’ve never cared for the way Edgar Pellton looks at me, John. There’s something unnatural in that head of his. His poor wife, how can she bear him?”

John had soothed his wife with kisses and said it was because she was so beautiful that Pellton couldn’t help but be stunned by her. What man wouldn’t want her? She was the fairest prize of the county, and Pellton was no doubt a bit jealous of John’s great fortune in winning her.

John Russell remembered something else, too. Pellton
had
coveted his Anne. He’d wanted to marry her. Once in their university days, when deep in their cups, Pellton had let slip that he intended to call Anne Wellesley his wife one day. When Pellton left on his tour of Europe for a year and a half, John stayed in England. He courted and fell in love with the lovely Anne Wellesley during the time that Pellton was away.

Luck favored John then. He won the hand of the most wonderful woman in the world. His beloved Anne. Pellton had joked good-naturedly over the years that his friend had stolen the girl of his dreams right from under his nose.

Anne Russell was a superior woman—one that did not suffer fools lightly. She knew what stuff Pellton was made of then and no doubt would have known now.

John felt ill enough to lose the sumptuous wedding breakfast they’d all just enjoyed. How could he have been so stupid? So blind? Betrayal was such an ugly thing. Especially when it came at the hands of a trusted friend. Realizing he had erred in every way he could have done with Georgina, John knew the most profound shame for his actions as he stood there watching his little girl leave her home, and him, for good.

Anne, I’m sorry. Please forgive me the folly of shame when it should have been justice for our daughter.

John Russell clutched at his chest and peered down the drive. His son-in-law’s coach was very small in his sights as it carried their daughter away with him. Thank God for Greymont! And John meant that down to his marrow. He would not forget to offer special thanks for that young man when he prayed tonight.

It was funny how one’s opinion of a person could alter on a turn. John had never been too impressed with Greymont in the past. The boy came off rather coarse and arrogant in John’s opinion. A tad too libertine for his liking, but he had to admit, his new son-in-law did seem very devoted to Georgina and unconcerned with her past despite full disclosure of what had happened to her. Tom had vouched for Greymont’s worthiness when he had enticed him to visit in September. His son maintained there was no one more honest or loyal, and Tom’s word was good enough for John.

The father drew comfort in the belief that Jeremy Greymont would treat his daughter well and keep her safe. He’d give Georgina everything she deserved, affection, children, and security. Anne would have approved.

Today Georgina looked so like Anne in that dress. But her farewell to him had been stiff and awkward. She’d offered him an empty embrace, lacking any warmth of feeling, and she had not been able to look at him. John had seen her turn back for one last glance at the house though, probably vowing never to return. His little girl had nothing but contempt for her father now. And rightly so. He deserved every bit of it and more.

John endured a new wave of nausea and shut his eyes tight. Pellton wanted with Georgina what he’d not been able to have with Anne. She was the spitting image of her mother! Anne was spot-on then, and her opinion held just as true this day as on the day she’d made it.
“There’s something unnatural in that head of his.”

Friend no more. Lord Edgar Pellton had just gained an enemy. An enemy with vengeance surging through his veins. John Russell made a vow, right there on the steps of Oakfield. He would make this right, for Georgina and for Anne, who wouldn’t expect anything less from him where their children were concerned.

Straightening his coat, John Russell gave a small nod directed at the sky and went inside his home. He had much to do. First he would write to his son and call him home. Tom could help in this and would want to avenge his sister. He should also arrange a meeting with his solicitors to assure his affairs were in proper order just in case.

And then?

Well, he’d do the only thing he could do. He’d serve a heaping dish of cold revenge to the one who’d bloody well earned it.

Chapter Fifteen

Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task.

—Henry James, “The Middle Years”
(1893)

The rolling landscape slowly changed from fields stippled with forest to windswept coastline the closer they moved toward the sea.

The Bristol Channel spanned just thirteen miles of open water from the Somerset coast to Wales—a bordered natural bay extending from the mouth of the great Severn River. The area bustled with laden ships setting into coastal ports, some legitimate, and others much less so, fishing cutters and passage out of England.

Jeremy pointed out places of interest as they came to them. Georgina listened quietly and asked the occasional question. As the miles mounted, he’d drawn ever closer to her in the seat, until he’d managed to get her tucked under his arm and leaning upon his chest.

Georgina resting next to his beating heart, relying upon him for strength, puffed him with pride. He memorized the weight of her, and the shape, adoring how she fit to him. The steady sway of the coach affected the motion of their bodies rocking together gently.

There were lots of other ways to rock a body, and the visions swimming in his head weren’t at all “gentle.” No, he was awash in carnal yearning for his new bride. He wanted her so badly, underneath him, taking him in, a willing vessel for his hard, driving flesh. He wanted to claim her body as his, to protect and care for her. He wanted to meld with her and incinerate all that horrible shit that’d been done to her. But what if he just scared her more and reminded her of her pain?

This was so difficult, the path he had set for them, and there was no guidebook to help him along. He was the masculine version of a whore, who liked it rough, with a bride whose only experience at sex was a savage rape.

Could there be any more disparity between them?

He also felt a little guilty about claiming a husband’s rights tonight with their marriage so rushed. But not that guilty. He wanted her more than he could ever recall wanting a woman, and now with the vows read, he found it difficult to think about anything else. Years of sensual indulgence weren’t that easy to put aside.

Yes. He would have her tonight, and hard though it may be, he was determined to be more tender and sensitive than he’d ever done.
God help me.

“Would you speak of Hallborough, so I can know it just a little?” Georgina looked up at him, so trusting and perfectly serene in his arms.

Unable to resist what lifted toward him, he kissed her rosy lips and then traced them with his thumb. “I love kissing you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For kissing you?”

She shook her head. “For wanting me.”

His answer to that was to bestow more kisses, and it was a long time before he could pull himself away to speak. “That’s never been a problem for me.” He traced her lips slowly, circling the same path over and over. “I noticed you years ago really, when you were just a young thing. Waiting for you without even realizing it. Thank
you
for agreeing to take me on,
Mrs.
Greymont.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “I like the sound of that—the ‘Mrs. Greymont’ part. Someday you’ll be Lady Greymont.”