Miller, Raine - The Undoing of a Libertine (Siren Publishing Classic) (32 page)

Mrs. Richards brought all of the correspondence and a cup of tea to her desk in the library. With Frisk at her feet, she sorted through everything. There was no letter from Jeremy, but one missive caught her eye. It stood out starkly from the rest. The hand was rough, readable but unrefined, with no address of origin. Something compelled her to open it. The essence of urgency screamed from the folded paper for some reason. It was short, but very telling.

They have Marguerite. Madame Therese begs you to
come, as do I.

Luc

Georgina let the note slip from her hand, her fingers losing their grip. She watched it flutter gently down to the desktop. The parchment, the black ink scrawl, contrasted harshly with the mahogany table.

Who was Marguerite? Madame Therese? Luc? Who were these people, and why had she never heard Jeremy speak of them? Unease settled in her belly. It came on her instantly, the second she read the words, like a flash of lightning. One minute she was assured. The next she thought her breakfast might come up. She brought her hand to her mouth and willed the bile back down, just standing there, clutching the side of the table and forcing her stomach to calm.

It didn’t take Georgina long to decide what to do next. She left the library with the letter and went directly to Jeremy’s study, Frisk close at her heels.

The search through his correspondence bore fruit about ten minutes later when she found a letter from someone named Therese Blufette. In it, she asked Jeremy pointedly to come to London, saying it must be in person and at her place of business, an establishment with the unusual name of
The Velvet Swan.
Comparing the two missives, she deduced that
Therese Blufette
from the letter in his study and
Madame Therese
in the note from Luc were one and the same person. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to figure this was most likely the reason Jeremy had left so abruptly for London.

Her Jeremy had gone to meet a woman, and this Luc person wanted him to come because of…Marguerite? And he hadn’t said anything to her. She froze, her mind struggling to accept that which surely was the truth. Jeremy had lied.

“Why did he lie to me, Frisk? Why would my Jeremy do that?” she murmured down to the dog. He sat patiently, blinking his attentive eyes back up to her.

She thought she knew. And it crushed her. Maybe he’d gone back to be with other women—women who could bear his touch and wouldn’t flinch away in panic like she had done. This Marguerite, whoever she was, worried her, too. Was she someone Jeremy cared about? A past dalliance? Might he want to go back with her again? The very idea crushed her heart to bits.

That last time, when she’d recalled her attacker, Jeremy had been horrified that she was frightened of him in that moment. Jeremy didn’t like her afraid or scared—ever. This had always been an issue between them. He hated for her to fear the sex, or worse, fear him. And Georgina was always having to remind him that he didn’t scare her.

Then the unthinkable happened. She remembered. Everything. And for a few moments she
was
scared, but losing Jeremy scared her more. Much, much more.

Georgina remembered the panic she’d felt when he’d said he was going to sleep in another bedroom. She had willingly begged him to stay with her, and would do it again in a heartbeat.

Jeremy was a considerate husband. He probably didn’t want to make demands on her anymore because he believed his attentions would cause her to remember her attacker.

But that wasn’t true, and never would be. She loved Jeremy and wanted to be with him, wanted him to love her with his body, in the manner he needed from her. No matter what.

“Come, Frisk! We must pack.” Feeling possessive and suddenly jealous, she knew the urge to fight. She was his wife, for God’s sake! And she would not let her husband go like this. If she must follow Jeremy to London and make him understand, then so be it.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Mine is the most plotting heart in the world.

—Samuel Richardson,
Clarissa
(1747)

“Marguerite’s somewhere, Greymont. They’re keeping her somewhere in this city, and God only knows what’s being done to her!”

“Easy, mate, we’re going to get her back, and you’ll have your chance to go at Strawnly, as soon as your woman is safe.” Jeremy’s attempt to soothe the frantic Luc was only marginally successful. The man was a mess over Marguerite’s abduction. The big guard’s affection for her went far beyond a working relationship, as Jeremy had discovered. The two of them had been planning to leave England together when Strawnly managed to get her.

Two days ago, when Jeremy had summoned Luc to his grandfather’s townhouse, Luc was surprised at how fast Jeremy had been able to get to London. Apparently Jeremy wasn’t the only person being extorted for money by Strawnly. Gina’s reputation as well as Marguerite’s safe return to Madame Therese both carried a price.

Strawnly was in trouble though. Serious trouble. His predilections for brutalizing young women had won out over his humanity long ago, that was, if he’d ever had any to begin with. Strawnly had raped before, and it wasn’t difficult to locate other fathers and brothers who wanted justice for their loved ones. That, and the fact that Strawnly was looking for a way out of England, provided the perfect opportunity to make things right.

“All we have to do is let him walk into the trap. Think, Luc! If we jump him now, he won’t get on that ship. You want him on that ship and Marguerite safe, back with you,” Jeremy reminded the anxious Luc. “Therese will be here any minute. As soon as she hands over the money, he’s going to take off for the docks and we’ll go get her. This won’t work if Strawnly doesn’t get on that ship!” With victory so close, Jeremy didn’t want to lose their advantage.

“I know. I just can’t bear to think of him hurting her—” Luc scrubbed his face and dropped his head. “I love her. I want to be with her.”

Jeremy clapped him on the shoulder. “And you will be with her. I’m going to see to it.”

Jeremy remembered back to last night’s negotiation with Strawnly. It had been Luc who’d restrained Jeremy then…

* * * *

…At number forty-four, Peake Street a boy waited outside in the moonlight. The waif leaned against the building, eager to capitalize on any opportunity that might be extended.

“Lookin’ for Greymont. That you, mister?” the urchin asked Luc. Luc poked out his thumb at Jeremy and kept silent.

Jeremy took the missive and passed the boy a coin. He read the note and then looked at the boy again. “Do you know the man who wrote this?”

Clever green eyes snapped to attention. “Aye, sir.”

Jeremy held up a pound note. “The location where he’s keeping a working girl, French and blonde, hazel eyes, called Marguerite, and this will be yours. Find her by tomorrow, and I’ll make it double this.”

“You’ll have it, sir. I’m on the job right now. If anyone will do, Danny can. Where canna I find you?”

Jeremy told him and watched the boy lope off into the twisting streets, silent as the faint mist which clouded the night.

Strawnly’s instructions brought Luc and Jeremy to a seedy pub on the outskirts of London. The sour smells of fermenting ale and the accumulated grime of unwashed bodies assaulted the senses, but seemed fitting considering who had summoned them here.

They found a dark corner and waited. Jeremy passed on the drink, or more precisely, the mug it was served in. Typhoid fever came to mind, and he felt the sudden urge to find soap and water for washing.

The cur came slinking up and sat across from the table. Dark hair hung in dank strings from an average-looking face. He wasn’t ugly, but his bones made for sharp features. His eyes were what made him evil. So dark brown they almost looked devoid of color, but it wasn’t the lack of pigment. It was the absence of humanity that made Jeremy recoil. Strawnly was an animal—vicious—soulless—and it didn’t take knowledge of the irrefutable facts to recognize this. His inhumanity was as visible as filth on a white shirt. He just provided further proof of it the second he opened his mouth.

“So this is the bastard who took my plaything away from me,” he said, giving Jeremy a full stare, his eyes flicking over his fine clothes, sizing him up, no doubt.

Jeremy felt the blood in his temples pounding through his veins as the muscles in his face tightened, his own humanity in full question right now.

This degenerate lump of unrepentant flesh had dared to put his hands on Gina, stolen her innocence from her, hurt and beat and savaged her. Jeremy knew the desire to kill. Bloodlust, pure and simple, was what it was. To kill this
evil
sitting before him would bring no sting of conscience. A goddamn public service to England is what he’d be doing!

“Took? You pile of shit, I married her. She is my wife!”

Strawnly flicked his tongue out and swiped both corners of his mouth with it, looking just like a lizard, his dead eyes going back in between Jeremy and Luc before settling on the guard. “My new dolly doesn’t quite compare though. Her tits are smaller.” He looked to Jeremy again. “Now, your wife…mmmmm…her titties are simply magnific—”

Jeremy lunged so fast Strawnly jerked backward and hit his head on the wall behind him. Luc held Jeremy back as he spat out his response in a lethal rasp. “You’ll shut your fucking mouth before you see so much as a farthing. Don’t speak of her again, or I might lose my temper and kill you right here in public, consequences be damned.”

“So volatile, Greymont,” Strawnly grumbled and then shrugged him off. “About my instructions, have that cunt abbess bring it to the same place as before.” He wagged a finger at them. “She comes alone though, tomorrow night—the money
and
safe passage. There’s a ship out of this pissing rain and doldrums island at midnight tomorrow, and I’m going to be on it.”

“Good for you,” Jeremy said. “And Marguerite?”

Strawnly rolled his eyes. “God, why do you care so much? She’s just three holes for my cock. That’s all any female is good—”

Jeremy lunged again, his face so close to Strawnly he could smell his fetid breath and nearly gagged. “Where is she, you degenerate animal?”

“Easy now. We don’t want to cause a scene,” Strawnly drawled. “For some reason, that whore is important, and it works out all the better for me anyway. If you must have her back, it’ll cost you a little more. Another thousand would be sufficient, I think, and providing you keep to your end of our bargain, I’ll tell where she’s been keeping. After that, gentlemen, I’ll be gone from here, and you’ll never see me again.” Strawnly looked confident.

That part of it is definitely true, you soulless bastard
…

* * * *

Now Jeremy and Luc waited in the building across the street, hidden and undetected. Nightfall would come, and soon after that, Therese Blufette would arrive to deliver the money. Strawnly would take it and board his ship. Marguerite would be retrieved. And then? Well, nature would take its course, as was right and proper…

* * * *

Georgina had not been to London in more than two years, and never had she travelled alone. Well, not precisely alone. Apart from the driver, Ned, there was her maid, Jane, and then at the last minute she’d decided to bring Frisk as well. The group of four was hardly an impressive sight. A person unknown to them would be pressed to deduce who was in charge of their expedition.

Getting off from Hallborough had been a challenge, but she had done it. The staff there had not yet seen signs of her stubbornness before today. Mr. Mills and then Mrs. Richards were intent upon trying to dissuade her, but she’d simply ignored them. A quick explanation to the Rourkes was sent off, a coach ordered, her bags packed, and Ned told to drive them to London. And to her surprise, all of that was done.

The trip in to Town had proved easy enough, and dusk was beginning to transform the hues of the landscape as they pulled up to what was to be the first destination on the itinerary—number twenty-six, Oxley Street, Covent Garden.