The Undoing of a Libertine (Somerset Historicals 2)

“Oh yes! In fact, I love for you to be so. You have my wholehearted approval to behave as wanton and brazen as you like, whenever you wish.” He whispered, “I hope it’s all the time.”

“That won’t be difficult,” she said ruefully. “All you have to do is pass me a look like the one you did in the hallway, and I’ll bolt.”

“I’ll remember you said that.”

“What is this room, Jeremy?” She snuggled into his side, facing him and looking out at the walls.

“Can’t you tell?”

“Was this yours?”

He nodded.

She sat up and took in the furniture and the juvenile décor. “Yes. I can see that it was a boy’s room.” She smiled, wrinkling her nose at him. “You slept right here on this bed?”

“I did.” He pulled her possessively back down to the mattress, his hands sweeping over breasts and hips, his knee splitting her thighs so he could settle in between. “But never enjoyed myself as much as I did today—or had such a delightful companion to share it with.”

Hell, he was hard for her again, his cock straining for her, pulsing on the flat between their stomachs.

“I’ll never think of this bed in the same way, I’m afraid,” he told her, emphasizing with a notable thrust downward.

“I should hope not!” She giggled and melted under him. He loved that she was so willing to take him in, to be with him like this—

The rattle at the door handle froze them both. Then a sharp rapping. “What’s going on in there? Open up and show yourselves!” The gruff voice of Mr. Clarke rang through the walls.

Underneath him, Gina gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes flaring.

Jeremy just grinned at her and called out,

“That won’t be happening, Clarke. All is well and need not concern you.”

Mr. Clarke choked a reply through the door. “Oh! Apologies, sir, I had no idea—”

“And, Clarke?” Jeremy interrupted.

“Yes, sir?” Clarke’s voice trembled.

“Tell Richards that Mrs. Greymont and I will have dinner served in our rooms this evening. And have them ready a bath. That is all.”

“It will be done, sir.” The butler’s footsteps could be clearly heard, moving out quickly, nearly running in his bid to flee the scene of certain mortification for him.

“That poor man. Jeremy, I hope he recovers from his fright and makes his way safely to Mrs. Richards. He sounded about to have an apoplexy.”

“Aw, old Clarke will be completely restored back to his stiff self the next time we see him. Besides, I’m just making sure we provide ample gossip for the servants. I consider it my duty as master. They’re probably bored as hell and will appreciate the diversion.”

“So wicked…” She clucked at him.

“Always.” He winked at her. “Now where was I?” He thrust again, this time finding his mark, entering her in one glorious, slick slide. “Oh, I remember. I wish for the wanton Gina to rematerialize. I know I’ve not had enough of her quite yet.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,

And she me caught in her arms long and small;

Therewithall sweetly did me kiss…

—Thomas Wyatt, “They Flee From Me” (1557)