The Undoing of a Libertine (Somerset Historicals 2)

“Not yet!” she snapped. “I want to wait here for a while.”

Ned went back up to the driver’s seat, and she glared out the window of the coach, keeping her eyes fixed on the glossy red door. Jane gave a weak smile, and Frisk crawled over to Georgina, putting his paw on her lap. Her hand went to his neck instinctively, her fingers drawing through the luxuriant fur over and over again as they waited.

A hired hackney pulled up to the front of the house, and then some ten minutes later, a woman in a dark cloak slowly descended the steps. She had a black velvet bag and a leather packet with her.

Georgina flew out of her coach and walked right up to the woman. “Are you Therese Blufette?”

The woman turned her head and lifted her eyes up to Georgina, who topped her by about six inches. “Mon Dieu!” she gasped, and then whispered something indistinct that sounded as if she said, “like Marguerite.”

“What’s that? And why are you sending letters to my husband and asking him to come to you?” Georgina demanded of the older woman. Yes, Therese Blufette was much older than Georgina had assumed. She was probably late in her fourth decade and, although had the bearing and form of a considerable French beauty, did not look at all well. Her complexion was sallow, her brown eyes dull, her movements deliberate and stiff as if suffering from an affliction. The only colorful part of her was the deep red chestnut of her hair.

“Mrs. Greymont?” she asked gently.

“Yes.” Georgina braced herself, afraid to hear what this woman might tell her.

“I am an acquaintance of your husband’s, nothing more. I know him to be an honorable man, honest and loyal. And I offer my congratulations on your marriage, Mrs. Greymont. I wish you all the best of life. I hope you will be very happy together.”

The sincerity with which she spoke was disarming. Therese Blufette did not give the impression of a woman out to seduce her husband. “But why do you send this letter and ask him to come to you?” Georgina waved the letter in her hand.

Madame Blufette eyed her intently, her voice full off

emotion. “I am trying to make things right—before it is too late.” She looked up at the sky and the position of the full moon, and then her awaiting hackney. “Mrs. Greymont, I have to be somewhere right now. It is imperative that I go immediately. Perhaps you can call tomorrow…” She trailed off and turned away.

Georgina watched the hack pull onto the street and snapped into action. She wanted answers now! Tomorrow was too long to wait. Shouting up to Ned, she knew she was not behaving as the lady she was brought up to be, but didn’t give a tinker’s damn right now. “Ned, follow that hack and don’t lose it, whatever you do!”

Chapter Thirty

To give and not to count the cost;

To fight and not to heed the wounds…

—St Ignatius Loyola, “Prayer for Generosity” (1548)

Anxious and tense, Jeremy watched through the window from across the street. Therese had just been admitted into the house only a minute before. He wanted this god-awful exchange over with and Strawnly on his way to the docks, just as he’d designed. Everything was in place, and he could taste victory in the back of his throat. Almost. He had to remain unseen for just a little while longer.

And then, like a curtain being drawn at a theater, the scene changed. To one of abject horror. His heart denied what his eyes were seeing. Something was wrong with his legs, too. He couldn’t move them fast enough to get to her. Wrenching out of the building, he burst onto the street, maddeningly mute, struggling to warn her before it was too late. Fate did not help him in this though. He was not quick enough. He got to the road just as his Gina, his precious Gina, was admitted into the same house Therese had just entered. The train of her blue cloak disappeared as the door shut behind her. Strawnly was behind that door. Noooooooooo!

* * * *

A rather dour and unkempt servant admitted Georgina after she gave her name and demanded to see Madame Blufette. He mugged an irreverent sneer, shrugged, and told her to follow him. His attitude gave her some hesitation. What was she really doing here in a strange house, chasing after a woman she did not know? But it was too late now, she thought. She was already in, and trepidation or no, she was determined to get some answers.

Just before she stepped into the parlor, Georgina heard their voices. The name “Marguerite” was thrown out. Madame Blufette was conversing with a man. A man who sounded angry. A man owning a voice she had heard before. Her neck tightened as the hair stood up, like she was being stabbed by a needle straight through to the bone, and she knew paralyzing fear. Dear God, what had she done by coming here?

Her error was a grave one, she knew, but it was far too late to correct it, for her presence was made known by the manservant right then. “Mrs. Greymont,” he announced.

The one. A man in a red coat, bearing evil eyes, snapped his neck in her direction and lost his speech, so shocked he was to see her in his house. She turned to run, but he caught her easily, his arms like a vise around her ribs, pulling her back into his body.

“What a surprise,” he panted, his mouth at her neck, and then one of his hands gripping fiercely around her throat. “Ohhhhh, I’ve missed you.” He shuddered, clearly undone at his good fortune in snaring her. She felt his erection pressing against her hip. He ground against her. “You smell just as I remember. Will you feel the same, too, I wonder…when I fuck you again?”

It was him! Just like before, only this time she had walked right in freely—a witless fly into his spider’s web.

Madame Therese protested to him from across the room. “Mr. Strawnly, let her go!”

“Shut up, cunt!” he snarled at Therese. “Don’t interrupt my reunion with my lover.”

“No! I’d rather die than be touched by you!” Georgina screamed, twisting in his grip. Her warrior instincts kicked in, and she fought him with every bit of her strength, but he held the advantage over her as he tightened his fingers around her throat and squeezed off her breath. No air to breathe. Her head felt like it was going to explode, and then the colors of the room started to dim to darkness. On the brink of unconsciousness, she stopped struggling, and he loosened his grip.

“That’s it,” he purred as she gulped in deep breaths. He slapped her face hard and then a second time. “Take some air, wildcat. I want you strong, for when we fuck.” His eyes widened in the euphoria of madness.