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Jeremy asked from behind his newspaper, “What are your plans today, sweetheart?”
“Marianne is taking me to the modiste. Madame Trulier, I believe is her name.”
He peeked over his newspaper at her, his eyes lighting sinfully. “Ah, well, I want lots of green and plenty of French underthings and dishabille gowns. I’d love to see you in some of those colored silk—” He stopped himself, cleared his throat, and ducked back behind the newspaper.
“You are very knowledgeable, Jeremy.” She had seen his awareness of his mistake and how he’d shut his mouth right down. A spark of irritation took hold, or maybe something a little stronger than that. She waited for him to say something, but he stayed quiet. “Anything else? Other requests?” she asked him, her voice carrying a sharp bite across the table.
The paper lowered, and a gentle but inquisitive mask appeared. “Ah, no. You have such lovely taste, sweetheart. I know you’ll make perfect selections.” He smiled and reached to cover her hand. “Surprise me.”
When his hand touched hers, she stiffened. She couldn’t help feeling insanely jealous. Of course, all those women in his past! He was friends with her brother Tom, for Christ’s sake, and she knew her brother took his pleasures in Town like probably most gentlemen did. What did she expect? That a man of his age had lived like a monk? Somehow she knew Jeremy had never lived like a monk and no doubt had sampled more than a few.
Her breath got heavy, and she felt the sting of tears at her eyes. She couldn’t hold it back, and the question fell out of her mouth anyway. “How many women?” She clapped a hand over to shut herself up the second the words were spoken.
He winced, and his eyes looked pained.
“It is a lot, isn’t it?”
“Gina, they don’t matter.” He squeezed her hand and swallowed.
She was compelled to know, like a demon sitting on her shoulder telling her to ask the next question even though she knew the answer would hurt terribly. “How many? More than ten?”
He nodded weakly.
“More than fifty?” God, the pain in her chest hurt!
Another single nod.
“More than a hundred?” She looked down at her chest, sure she’d see a gaping wound and lots of blood.
This time he closed his eyes and his head fell when he nodded. “I don’t really know. I’ve never counted.”
“You’ve been with more than a hundred women?” she wailed, knowing she sounded like a hysterical fool.
For a moment, all Georgina knew was a kind of jealous madness. She wanted to find those women and rip out their hair and scratch at their eyes. Jeremy was her man, and she had no intention of sharing him now or ever. Best to make that clear to him right now! Taking in a calming breath, she opened her mouth to say her piece, but he beat her to it.
“You have every right to be disgusted with me. I was never a saint, Gina. Not even close. I was—I was empty inside until you. I never felt anything when I was with others. It was merely a need for release.”
She nodded her head, gulping for air, trying to push down the jealousy and accept that she couldn’t hold him to his past, to a time before her.
He had more to say though. “It is well that you are upset with me. I want you to be so because it was bad behavior on my part and I deserve your repulsion. But you must hear me now. This is critical information. No matter how many women I’ve had before, there is only one woman I will ever be with now. I don’t miss a thing about that life I lived before, and I’ll never go back to it. I only want you. The most beautiful and perfect woman I have ever known. You. My first and only lover.”
“It is a good thing, Jeremy Greymont, because I will not share you! Not ever!” Close to breaking down, she drew deep breaths, willing herself back to the rational.
Jeremy got up from his seat and came to her, drawing her up against his chest. He took her face in his hands and spoke close. “And you’ll never have to. You’re all I want. You’re all I need. You are everything.”
The quiet lasted a long time, nothing but soft breathing between them. Finally she spoke. “I’ve learned something I didn’t know before,” she whispered, taking in his words and opening her heart to trust.
“What is that?”
“Loving can hurt, too.”
“True. So very true, my Gina.”
She looked up at her husband. “But it’s worth it. If we can be together in the end, then it’s worth it.”
* * * *
The letter arrived that very afternoon. Jeremy realized his error as soon as the sender’s address was revealed. Mdm. T. Blufette, 26 Oxley Court, Covent Garden, London.
