Miller, Raine - The Undoing of a Libertine (Siren Publishing Classic) (41 page)

“I thought I might die if I had to wait another minute to kiss you, sweet wife.”

“I know, adored husband,” she breathed, pushing right back with a thrust of her own.

Georgina could taste the spices from the wassail on his tongue, and for some reason it made her want to strip him naked. The vision of him in the altogether, stretched out for her, caused a smile to form on her face. She’d have a cup of wassail with her so she could dip her fingers in and splash drops of the fragrant wine down his chest and lower. She could just imagine the taste of the drops mixed with the salt of his skin as she lapped up each and every bead, until she reached his—

“What are you thinking about right now, my Gina?”

“About what a lovely party this has been?” she quipped.

Jeremy shook his head and traced the swell of a breast with his finger. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m thinking about Lord Rothvale’s proposition that you take a seat in Parliament?”

He dipped a finger into her bodice. “Highly unlikely, from the look you were giving me. Try again, my pretty minx.”

“Hmm.” She put a finger to her lips in thoughtfulness. “I am thinking about what a happy woman you have made me by loving me so much, and about how much I love you?” The giggle she’d tried so hard to suppress was desperately close to erupting.

He waggled a finger through the layers of undergarments until he found her areola and busied himself until he’d raised the center into a hard peak.

Her giggle escaped and then evolved into a moan of desire as she melted into his touch.

“You’re getting closer, sweetheart, but haven’t quite hit your mark. I think you need to give it one more try—”

His other hand whipped to her waist and tickled.

She managed one shriek before he muffled her with another plundering kiss.

“Tell me,” he panted in between kisses. “As your lord and master, I command you to tell me.”

Georgina laughed at him and stroked her hand up the front of his formal trousers, and then down inside for a feel of skin on hot skin, taut and ready.

“All right, I recant what I just said,” he mumbled into her ear. “As my lady’s enraptured servant, I
beg
you to tell me.”

“Since you are so humble, I will tell you, but remember that you have a houseful of guests just beyond that door and it’ll be hours and hours before we can act on it.”

Jeremy nodded, his blue eyes gleaming, anticipating what she would say.

“Well, it involves you stripped out of your fine new suit, and some strategically placed drops of wassail, and my mouth…” She whispered the rest right into his ear.

* * * *

The London Evening Standard

December 23, 1837

Lady Lampson, the woman who knows everything worth knowing in London, attended a Christmas party held by Sir Rodney and Lady Bleddington at their Grosvenor Square townhouse last night. Notables such as Lords Rothvale and Verlaine, Lady Dorchester, and Sir Nathaniel Cameron graced the gathering for a festive celebration of the season and shared acknowledgement for the recent nuptials of Sir Rodney’s grandson and heir, Jeremy Greymont to Miss Georgina Russell of Oakfield, Wiltshire.

Lady Lampson tells us the party wound down rather quickly after Mr. and Mrs. Greymont were spotted leaving the servants’ stairwell rather abruptly. It might have had something to do with the mistletoe catching fire after a candle was lifted to it.

Mr. Greymont remained focused in the urgency of the situation when he doused the flames with a bowl of the Christmas punch, saving the house and preventing any injuries. Not a soul was harmed.

The silk wallpaper, the carpet, and the mistletoe might take exception with the “no harm” assessment though. The mess was quite extensive. And sadly Mrs. Greymont’s beautiful silver gown got splashed, necessitating her withdrawal as hostess for the evening.

Mr. Greymont was last seen heading upstairs to check on his lovely wife and had in his hand a cup of wassail for refreshment. The happy couple was not seen again that evening by any person in attendance at the gala event, which along with the Greymont marriage, has been declared a resounding success.

Epilogue

Oh happy state! when souls each other draw,

When love is liberty, and nature, law:

And then is full, possessing, and possessed,

No craving void left aching in the breast.

—Alexander Pope, “Eloisa to Abelard” (1717)

December, 1840

London

The love of a good woman was satisfying in a way that nothing else could ever compare. And he’d needed her so badly. She was precisely what he’d required, and he’d found her just in time. It was hard for him to imagine how his life might have turned out if he’d never spied her that autumn day in the rain.

Jeremy stood back and took in the scene around him. He indulged in the feelings of utter contentment and love for his family. Those feelings had been enjoyed for the past three years, and he knew they would only grow stronger with the passage of time.

That was the thing when he was with the woman he loved, knew her better than he knew himself, and intended to keep right on loving her for the rest of his days.

Looking around the room, he saw it for what it was. Tastefully done in blue and green silks and filled with the people who mattered to him, gathered together in communion, and in respect, and in caring for one another.

There was his brilliant, two-year-old son, Roddy, sitting upon his Grandpapa John’s lap, pouring through a picture book of animals. Both men, young and not so young, looking as if they might succumb to a nap at any moment.

His younger brother, Revé, now a strapping lad of fifteen, and on holiday from the winter term, was taking the finer points of poker instruction from his brother-in-law, Tom, and his grandfather, Sir Rodney, who was still a spry old fox for a man of six and seventy years.

There were new additions and, sadly, departures as well. Jeremy’s grandmother, Leticia Bleddington, had died peacefully in her sleep after a garden party at Hallborough in the heat of August this past summer. The party had been just the sort of event she loved to fete, and they all took comfort in the fact that she had gone to her maker swiftly after a rewarding experience from which she took much joy.

Therese Blufette died soon after her disclosure, entrusting her beloved son into his older brother’s care. The brothers shared a bond that, be it blood or be it common ground, regardless, drew them together in a way that was a comfort to them both.

Tom Russell had taken a wife. A no-nonsense girl from Somerset that Jeremy had known his whole life. The new Mrs. Russell was scheduled to deliver the much anticipated Baby Russell, sometime in late spring, and was now hard at work knitting a tiny sweater for the young master or miss soon to join the family.

Jeremy had taken Lord Rothvale’s suggestion to run for the constituency at West Somerset and had won it by a respectful margin. Politics suited him in a way he never thought possible for himself, when he was younger and self-propelled by actions that did nothing to embolden his service for the common good.

A beautiful person had changed all of that though, was still changing him, for the better, in her support as a wife and a mother, a confidant, a lover, and his very best friend.

His Georgina.

Their eyes met across the room and held a moment. Jeremy mouthed, “I love you.”

Georgina returned with, “I know,” gave him one of her retiring half-smiles, and then looked down at the infant she held in her arms.

Their sweet baby girl had been born just three weeks earlier, and already he could see Gina reflected in her tiny facial features and diminutive personality. They named their daughter Anna Clare Marguerite in honor of both their mothers and one other person to whom Jeremy would ever be indebted.

Upon reflection, Jeremy accepted that even though it had been a struggle at times, and risks had to be leveraged in the willingness to alter the way he viewed the world, life had done him a good turn. He looked around the room once more before settling his eyes back upon his Gina and smiling.
Yes, a very good turn.

THE END

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