The Undoing of a Libertine (Somerset Historicals 2)

“Will you be my lover then?”

She laughed at him before answering. “A little late to ask me, I think, but yes, Jeremy, I am honored to be your lover.” Leaning forward, she kissed his beautiful lips and knew great contentment in having the right to do so.

“Thank Christ!” He breathed out a sigh as if he’d been holding his breath, waiting on her answer. “It’s settled then, sweetheart. We shall be the happiest of lovers together.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Love seeketh not itself to please,

Nor for itself hath any care;

But for another gives it ease,

And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.

—William Blake, Songs of Experience (1794)

What a difference a week could make in a lonely man’s life. He now had a wife, a lover, companionship, intimacy, hope, comfort…more loving than he’d ever known. A future to look forward to.

The autumn sun warmed the sand and the blanket upon which they reclined. The sound of the swirling surf singing in his ears, Georgina’s fingers trailing through his hair, her lap pillowing his head, Jeremy thought the moment couldn’t be more perfect.

He watched her as she looked out to sea. The elegant cheekbones that swept back to her hairline, the oval face, the rosy lips, the amber eyes, and the glinting hair all captivated him. And she was his to adore and protect.

In the past week, he had taken her around to every part of Hallborough Park and proudly introduced her to the staff and the tenants. He felt ten feet tall every time he announced her as “Mrs. Greymont,” and would bet that everyone who had known him before was no doubt sniggering behind his back at what a sap he was and the fact that he had a ridiculous grin stuck eternally on his face. He did not care. He was a man in love.

Jeremy had a wife. A most splendid wife. A wife who was caring and kind and generous, who welcomed him into her arms at night and into her body. A wife who smiled at him and kissed him and by all accounts appeared to love him back, as remarkable as that seemed. The empty void that had been his heart was filling up.

His grandparents had speedily sent their congratulations, thrilled at his news. They extended an invitation for a visit to their London home and hoped the newlyweds would com

e as soon as they wished for Town.

But he wouldn’t bring her yet. Town would have to wait. Jeremy was not willing to take the risk of Pellton and that monstrosity of a nephew of his crossing paths with Georgina. She seemed at peace with the memories of her assault, but he couldn’t take the chance that a meeting might trigger something. The bordello guard, Luc, had reported to him that Pellton and Strawnly were still in London, so for now he’d keep her safe at Hallborough. And he’d gotten no word from Paulson that Marguerite had called in for her passage to Calais either. Jeremy really hoped she would take him up on his offer. He had many hopes about a lot of things.

Why hadn’t he courted Georgina sooner? Just a few months earlier and he could have prevented—

“Why are you grimacing?”

“What?” He looked up to see her lovely eyes trained on him, her head tilted slightly. His eyes trailed to the scar on her left cheekbone.

“I saw you grimace. You looked so peaceful at first, and then your forehead got all wrinkly and you frowned. Rather dreadful really,” she teased. “Made me take a second glance!”

“It’s nothing.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips to kiss.

“Tell me, Jeremy,” she entreated, looking much more serious this time, her jaw clenching a little.

He hated to tell her, but thing was, he didn’t lie. He always told the truth because he abhorred what lies wrought. Lying led to disaster and ruin and betrayal. There was no good in it. And also he knew Georgina wouldn’t let it go. As much as he adored her, there was a stubbornness in his wife that commanded respect.

He worded his response carefully. “I was wishing I had gone to court you sooner—about six months sooner. If I had done so, you never would have been…hurt. Would that I might have kept you from such a thing.”

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—”