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“Yes. We married in June.”
Georgina froze. June… That month was probably not a time she would ever feel happy about even if she lived to be an old woman. June had been the end of innocence for her. The end of her old life.
“Are you well, Georgina? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Marianne seemed genuinely concerned and had no idea how apt her metaphor really was. “Let me get you some refreshment,” she urged.
She saw Jeremy’s head turn her way. Even though he and Darius were engaged in conversation across the room, he was attuned to her, able to pick up on her reflection into the treacherous past. Jeremy was ever watchful over her. And that was just another reason to love him so much.
Georgina turned her full attention to Marianne and smiled. “Oh, I am fine, really. Thank you for your kindness. I can’t tell you how pleasant it is to be in your company.” She shook off the melancholy forcefully. No way would she allow it to penetrate her happiness in the present.
“My husband also tells me that you like to sketch.” Georgina steered the topic. “I do also. I’d love to see what you’ve done, Marianne.”
“Yes, please. Let me show you to my studio. The view of the sea is lovely from up there. The stars will be shining over the ocean tonight.”
When they descended the stairs a half hour later, both husbands awaited their wives at the bottom.
“We wondered where you’d got to,” Darius remarked, stepping up to assist Marianne down the final steps, his solicitousness of her very apparent. That Darius Rourke treasured his beautiful wife was no secret, that and the fact he had no qualms about demonstrating it publicly either.
“I took Georgina up to my studio,” Marianne told him. “She liked the view very much. She said it reminded her of a painting of a seascape she’d always admired, at her home, growing up.”
“How marvelous for you two ladies to enjoy the same pastime. I hope you and Marianne can come together to sketch. I’d love for her to have some company, Mrs. Greymont,” Darius said.
“I shall look forward to just that, Mr. Rourke,” Georgina told him.
Jeremy looked up at her. She could see hunger in his eyes, like he was thinking about striping her naked before he devoured her.
He reached for her as she neared the last step, latching onto her arm and pulling her in tight to his side. It felt nice to be fitted up against him, his tall frame warm and firm, seeking her, wanting
her close to him. God, what a good feeling.
Chapter Twenty-Two
He is the portion of loveliness
Which once he made more lovely.
—Percy Bysshe Shelley, Adonais (1821)
He hit the door hard with his stick, leaving a dent in the wood. The uninspired butler who let him in looked liked he’d just swallowed a mouthful of turned wine.
“My lord,” Bowles greeted with a pinched expression, as if doing his job were an extreme effort. God how he’d love for Bowles to get run over by an ale wagon. The simpering man was privy to far too much, damning knowledge of activities which wouldn’t sit well with society if they ever got out. But murdering Bowles wasn’t quite appealing either, or in his repertoire of tricks, not yet at least, he thought.
“Bowles, bring my nephew down to me at once!”
“Mr. Strawnly left instructions not to be disturbed this evening, Lord Pellton,” Bowles replied haughtily. “He has a…guest.”
“I don’t give a maiden queen’s first fuck what he said, you cod-faced dard. Get my heir down here to greet me with the respect due or you can leave this house for the gutter, starting tonight!”
“Yes, sir,” Bowles chirped, already out of the room, a decided urgency to his step as he left to retrieve his master.
Pellton waited impatiently for his reluctant host to present himself. Pulling out the newspaper, he read the notice again, feeling himself grow hot with rage. How dare he take that which was meant for—
“Uncle. This is a pleasant surprise,” his nephew drawled at him from the drawing room doorway.
The boy was a bit touched in the head, but knew his place. Simon would have to do as an heir if he couldn’t manage a legitimate son. He’d followed orders thus far, even though it had all turned to a stewing vat of liquid shit. Damn Greymont to hell! “Have you seen the announcements?”
Simon stared blankly back.
“The Times, you fool! Have you seen it in the paper?”
