The Undoing of a Libertine (Somerset Historicals 2)

He looked down at his empty glass and refilled it. The auburn liquid burned his throat, but he hardly felt it.

Sweet Jesus! The looks on their faces had just crushed him inside. How would they bear the loss? He’d seen how Mrs. Rawles had reached out to touch the blackened skin of her child and how her husband had held her back, his eyes utterly empty, as dead as little Tim Rawles’s young life. The father had loved his son. He grieved for his boy.

The two older children had just stood, so stoic in their pain and probable guilt for not keeping their brother safely back from the fire.

Time to top his glass again.

Yes, destruction had come for the Rawles family tonight and had triumphed brutally. What a horrifying waste, he thought, as he kept communion with the bottle until he’d emptied the damn thing.

There were some other reasons for the drinking as well. The way Gina had stared at him this morning. Her shock at the number of women he’d had. It was exceptionally painful because Gina was the only one who had ever thought of him as an honorable man. She was always going on about how he was such a gentleman and so considerate. He’d bet his ballocks she didn’t think so now.

And then that goddamned letter from Therese Blufette and the dredging of memories he wanted no part of. His father hadn’t loved him or his mother. Henri Greymont was a selfish bastard who had walked right out of their lives without a backward glance. His father had let them go.

Staggering up to bed, he felt positively wrecked. There was only one thing that could fill part of the gaping wound he had right now. Or only one person. His Gina could heal his heart. She made everything good and happy and right. If he could just hold her, and maybe kiss her, and touch her, and—

* * * *

“Where is my beautiful Gina? Gina? There you are. You are so soft and smell so sweet. I need you…”

Georgina was brought to wakefulness by insistent hands and warm breath smelling strongly of scotch. “Jeremy? Are you foxed?” she mumbled, trying to make sense of him.

“Mmm, yes. Foxed and desirous of a fuck!” He undid his kecks and pushed them down, his erection high and hard. “See? My prick always leads the way straight to you, my sweetheart!”

Georgina gasped at the coarse words and the sight of him naked with his cock looking to devour her. He never spoke to her like that. She had never seen him drunk before either.

Jeremy grasped a handful of her new gown and shoved it up, took a palm up her inner thigh, and spread her wide, obviously intent upon carrying out his spoken wish, drunk or not.

“Ahhh, you feel so good, Gina. So warm and lovely in the bed. When I am away from you, I can think of nothing but the next time I’ll be able to have you underneath me.” He whispered the rest. “It’s all I think about most of the time—your lovely cunny and my cock getting into it.”

His eyes widened like he was trying to focus. She was touched by the impression that something was wrong with him, but even so, he did not hesitate to complete his mission. He gripped under her hips firmly.

Georgina couldn’t believe what she was seeing and hearing and feeling. Especially when he flipped her over and gripped her bum, his hands sweeping over the cheeks.

“You have the most gorgeous arse…just sublime,” he murmured, while covering her, his urgent heat pressing hard between the folds at her core.

He had never taken her from this position before, mounting from behind. Unease filled her, but she told herself that everything was all right. It was just Jeremy, too much drink and feeling passionate. The feeling of unease only grew stronger. The words, sounds, and smells bored into her subconscious, bringing up the memory of something evil as each second passed.

Jeremy’s grip on her hips was hard, forceful even, positioning her to accept him whether she wanted it or not. She was trapped in his embrace, unable to shift away or pull herself down.

Georgina panicked. All in a moment, the scene returned, and it wasn’t Jeremy mounting her. It was him. She remembered that day—in all its gruesome clarity. What he had said and done to her, and how it felt when he violated her body. He had done it like this… Do you like my cock, wildcat? You like it, don’t you? We’ve got hours and hours. I’ve fucked that sweet cunt of yours, and now I’ll do the same to your pretty— You’re a special, special girl. You get it all, wildcat.

“No! No don’t—please!” She resisted his invasion, bucking below Jeremy to get him off. Her hands flailed back to push him away.

She was strong, but not as strong as Jeremy. He had no trouble sinking his cock deep. So deep, she felt the soft slap of testicles as he reached his limit. The thick muscle plowed easily into the furrow of her body, his big hands framing her hips steady as he thrust forward over and over, his pace nearly frantic.

Hitting back with her hands, she pawed and scratched at him, her panic overriding every other thought. “Noooo! Stop! Nooooooo!” She began to cry her pleas in earnest, no longer aware of who was doing what to whom.

* * * *

Jeremy was vaguely perceptive that she thrashed against him. The sound of her agonized weeping pierced through his inebriated fog just enough to register. The alcohol dulled her blows anyway—he barely felt them. He stilled his thrusting for a moment, his cock still buried in her delicious heat, and loomed over her, trying to make sense of the situation.

“What?”

She continued to weep and push her hands back.

“Gina?” He bent down to kiss her cheek, but she flinched her head away, so his lips landed on the back of her neck instead. Realization dawned.

I am scaring her.