Miller, Raine - The Undoing of a Libertine (Siren Publishing Classic) (2 page)

Chapter Two

I met a lady in the meads

Full beautiful, a faery’s child

Her hair was long, her foot was light

And her eyes were wild.

—John Keats,
La Belle Dame Sans Merci
(1820)

Georgina breathed in the fresh air, detecting the earthy scent of rain seeping from the clouds. Just being out of the house felt a relief. The stark gloom of Oakfield’s interior was oppressive enough, but being confined and having to recall her shame was more than she could bear today.

Her father never let her forget it. Trying to marry her off to the first man who made an offer was his way of making reparation to her. It didn’t feel like reparation though. It felt like punishment for something she had not asked for, but had been laid upon her like a curse. She felt cursed in truth. She believed it. Why else would such a thing have happened to her?

Horrifying as it was, there were times she could still feel his hands groping her, the smell of his breath panting at her, the pull of her dress ripping under his hands, the weight of him, the taste of paralyzing terror in her throat. The worst had been the words. The things he’d said when he—

Georgina hugged her arms and shuddered. At least being outside felt—clean. The creek ran full before her. Its fresh current bubbled smoothly over pebbles rolled flat by innumerable surges of water and much time. She realized she would have to wade across.

The heavy air seemed to swirl with the anticipation of impending rain as she sat down to remove her slippers and stockings. She wondered if she’d make it back before the drops actually started to fall. From the feel of things, she doubted it.

Damn. No luck for me.
Papa would be all the more displeased with her when she came home drenched and muddy, she knew. There was nothing for it though. She could see no other option. Moving quickly, she hitched up her skirts and forded across the bubbling stream. Reaching the other side without mishap, she climbed the bank and sat down again so as to don her stockings and boots once more.

* * * *

Stunned silent, Jeremy peered through the trees. He would have made his presence known had she not lifted her skirts and exposed her shapely legs at that very moment. He didn’t consider himself much of an intellectual but certainly possessed intelligence enough to know that if Georgina knew he was there, she wouldn’t be revealing her flesh to him, and he most certainly wanted to see her lovely display right now. In fact, he couldn’t have torn his eyes away from the picture of her if he’d tried. His cock would have leapt out and growled at him if he’d lowered his eyes.

He found her very pleasing. Long, dark-blonde hair paired with a well-filled figure any man would appreciate. The color of her eyes was indiscernible to him though. From his distance he simply could not make them out and it annoyed him. Jeremy found that suddenly he wanted very much to know the color of her eyes. Georgina had indeed grown up, and the years had been very good to her. She bore curves in all the right places. Curves he could make very good use of. Curves he could worship. Those were generous breasts for all her willowy height, tall for a woman, but built gracefully.

Jeremy held his breath as she lifted a pale limb and pulled on a stocking. He kept holding it when she secured the stocking with a pink garter, wrapped around the tapering flesh above her knee. He finally succumbed to the need for air, but breathed quietly so as not to miss the show when she repeated the exquisite act with the other leg.

God,
yes!
Georgina Russell had grown into quite a morsel. It would be a pleasant task to get an heir with her, indeed.
Hopefully he’d need to work at it, or on her, for a long, long time!

She appealed to him all right. His hardening prick told him so. He shifted his weight to relieve the uncomfortable tightening holding sway over his body.

Cool autumn rain began to plop down in slow, fat drops as he made his way silently back to his horse. He would move on and wait for her to emerge from the wood where she would sight him on the road.

The squall which had sprung up escalated as the minutes ticked by. Jeremy could tell the moment she spotted him though. She slowed noticeably as if unsure whether to continue in his direction.

Pulling his horse to a stop, he dismounted. “Miss Georgina Russell, I believe.” He inclined his head in greeting. “Do you remember me? I am—”

“I remember you, sir.” She cut him off, eying him stonily.

An attempt at lightheartedness compelled him to ask, “What’s my name then?”

“You are Mr. Greymont, my brother’s friend.” Her eyes fluttered down and away from him, but he got a good look. They were golden eyes, glowing amber, and liquid, like the smooth Scotch whiskey he favored, swirling in a cut glass.

“Well done, Miss Georgina. I am just on my way to your house now. I’ve been invited for the—”

“Shooting party,” she interrupted, her eyes returning back to him, but still so very solemn. That was twice now she had stopped him mid-speech. This girl before him was wary, on edge. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she seemed almost afraid of him. She was a wholly different person than he recalled, greatly changed. Georgina had grown up most fair for truth, but in her manner she had definitely altered.

“Please allow me to take you home on my horse. Samson here is so strong he won’t even notice he’s carrying the both of us.” Jeremy reached up a hand to give the great horse an affectionate pat on the neck. “He’s gentle as a lamb around ladies.”

“No, sir.” She shook her head gently, making the cool rain dripping off her nose look absurd.

“I must insist. This rain is piss—” He cleared his throat and tried again, cursing himself for speaking so coarsely. “Um, the rain shower, it’s quite fierce at the moment. You realize you shouldn’t subject yourself to the wet chill longer than need be. Think of your health.”

She looked hesitant, unsure, shifting her weight as she stood there sizing his offer. Probably sizing him up as well.

He knew the uncontrollable urge to convince her. “I intend to get out of this rain myself, Miss Georgina, and I cannot do that if you won’t come with me. I’ll not leave you here alone on the road in a downpour,” he told her determinedly. “Come with me.” Jeremy reached out his hand to her. “You know who I am. It’s all right.”

She stared at him, her eyes darting, as if making a decision to trust him or bolt back into the woods.
Just like a nervous filly
. She bit the corner of her bottom lip, probably having no idea how charming she looked in her indecision. Her lips were dark pink and full, puckered at the corner of her mouth where her teeth came together with flesh in between.
How do those lips taste, I wonder? Will I ever know? I want to know.

Jeremy smiled gently, bobbing his arm that extended the hand. “You are safe with me.”

Those were the magic words apparently.

She stepped forward.

Good girl.
As she put a wavering palm into his, he felt warmth in their handclasp through the leather of his glove. The elegant bones of her hand fit nicely into his, he thought.

“Let me help you up,” he warned before reaching for her waist. He felt her flinch slightly when his hands gripped and lifted her. Knowing her to be an accomplished rider, he assumed her confidence in finding her seat, but she didn’t show much surety in her manner. He observed trembling as she bent her knee around the pommel, fashioning it an impromptu sidesaddle.

“I won’t be too secure this way, I’m afraid,” she murmured.

“Not to worry. I’ll see that you stay on.” He mounted up. Seated behind her and off the saddle, he had to draw close to her back in order to fit the both of them. She tensed at the brush of his body. Jeremy took hold of the reins, his arms reaching around her and coming to rest against her sides, level with her breasts. He clicked at Samson, and the horse moved out, seemingly unconcerned at the extra passenger.

Inhaling, he caught the essence of eglantine wafting up from her neck. The gentle scent went straight to his brain, and from there, his prick.
Not now, you idiot. A cockstand pressing into her arse won’t win you any favors!

And oh, dear Lord! His mind went rampant with imaginings of her most certainly lovely
derrière
underneath all those skirts. And it presented mere inches from one whopping erection straining eagerly to get out.
Christ,
help me!

Keeping his wits clear enough to refrain from putting his lips onto her neck was easier said than done. Oh, how he wanted to. The image of her sitting on the bank, donning her stockings, danced still fresh in his mind. He remembered those gorgeous long legs of hers. He wanted to see them again. He wanted those legs wrapped around his hips when he buried his cock to the—

Think of something else—think of something else—anything but that!

“What finds you out today without your h–horse, Miss Georgina?” He really needed to rearrange himself. At the crotch.

“Why do you ask, Mr. Greymont?”

“Am I correct in remembering you to be an avid rider? I don’t recall you walking when you could ride instead.”

“Your memory is sound, sir.” She sighed before continuing. “Were it an option, I would indeed have ridden today.”

“Is your horse unfit?”

“No. Nothing so simple as that. My horse waits in the stables and wonders why she’s been not been taken out.”

She grew quiet then, and Jeremy knew enough not to push. He waited for her to explain.

“My riding has been restricted by my father. By seeking to deprive me of those things that I value, he hopes to bend me to agreement in a matter I cannot bear to think of, let alone consent to.”