Carole Mortimer - The Regency Season - Dangerous Dukes - Marcus Wilding - Duke of Pleasure / Zachary Black - Duke of Debauchery

What the duke was describing, the deliberate inflicting of pain, did not sound as if it could be any of those things.

And yet Georgianna did indeed bear scars, and ones inflicted upon her by André Rousseau. Not the visible scars to which Hawksmere seemed to refer, of course, but they were damning none the less. A testament to the scorn, the total uninterest in which André had held the impressionable young girl who had forsaken all for her love of him.

‘I can see that he did.’ Hawksmere obviously took her silence to be her answer, his expression grimmer than ever. ‘And you still love such a man?’ he added disgustedly.

‘No.’ Georgianna choked in protest; how could she possibly love a man who had treated her as André had?

To her everlasting shame, Georgianna was no longer sure she had ever really loved André, or whether she had not just been in love with love itself.

A year ago she had been so young and idealistic, had believed in love and romance. And the handsome and penniless Frenchman employed by her father had seemed so much more romantic, so much easier to love than the intimidating and distant Duke of Hawksmere. To the extent that Georgianna had woven all of her dreams about the golden-haired and romantic Frenchman in order to run away from marrying the dangerous duke.

Reality had proven to be so much less than those silly, romantic dreams.

Not that she believed Hawksmere to be any less dangerous now than she had previously. The opposite, after the things he had said and done to her today.

But she certainly had no romantic dreams left in regard to André Rousseau, either, or indeed any other man.

Hawksmere’s top lip curled up in distaste, silver eyes a pale glitter between narrowed lids. ‘Again, this is something we will have to discuss further upon my return. No doubt we shall have the opportunity to discuss many things during the hours we spend here in my bedchamber together,’ he added pleasantly.

‘How long do you intend to keep me here?’ Georgianna stared at him disbelievingly.

‘As long as it takes to get to the truth,’ Zachary assured uninterestedly.

She gave a desperate shake of her head. ‘Have you not listened to a word I have said? Do you not understand the urgency of the things I have told you?’

He eyed her mockingly. ‘I have listened to the little you decided to share with me, yes.’

‘What will it take to convince you of my sincerity?’

‘More than you have already told me, obviously,’ Zachary drawled drily, brows raised questioningly. A frown creased Georgianna’s forehead as she obviously fought an inner battle as to how much more she intended revealing to him.

Finally she gave a defeated sigh. ‘Napoleon is to leave Elba before the end of this month.’

‘And you come to me with this story now?’ He raised sceptical brows. ‘With the end of the month just days away?’

‘I did not—’ Georgianna gave an impatient shake of her head as she accepted that to Hawksmere this was still just a ‘story’. ‘I only learnt of the plan nine days ago and I could not immediately get passage from France. I...’ Her gaze lowered. ‘André has men placed at all of the ports, watching and waiting for anyone who might wish to betray Napoleon.’

‘And yet here you are,’ Hawksmere drawled disbelievingly.

She nodded. ‘But I had to bide my time and make good my escape when the chance came for me to join a large family travelling together. I was all the time fearful that someone might recognise me. Am I boring you, your Grace?’ she prompted sharply as the duke gave a yawn.

‘As it happens, yes, you are.’ He nodded unapologetically.

‘But...’

‘I really am uninterested in listening to any more buts or arguments just now, Georgianna,’ he rasped harshly.

Georgianna looked up searchingly into his hard and implacable face. Noting the cold glitter of his silver eyes. The tautness of the skin across sculptured cheekbones. The sneering curl of his top lip.

The determined set of his arrogant and unyielding jaw.

She knew in that moment that all of her efforts of appeal for Zachary Black’s help had been a waste of her time.

That this man despised her so utterly he would never believe a single word she said to him.

Chapter Four

Zachary was irritable and tired by the time he returned home several hours later, his morning having proved to be a frustrating one.

Not least because the man he had wished to speak with, the man to whom he had reported this past four years, was unavailable, and likely to be so for the next few days, as his deputy had informed Zachary. It happened, of course, but it was frustrating, nevertheless.

He had duly passed along the relevant information to the deputy, of course, but even so he still felt a sense of dissatisfaction.

It was true that there had been dozens of rumours of plots and plans to liberate the Corsican from Elba these past months and each and every one of them had necessarily to be investigated.

What if Georgianna were telling the truth and Napoleon really did mean to leave Elba before the month’s end and return to the shores of France? Possibly as emperor? That would not suit Louis or England.

Zachary had also requested to look at the file they had accumulated on André Rousseau these past months, hoping it might shed some light upon Georgianna Lancaster’s own movement. There had been no sightings of her in Rousseau’s company for some months. No sightings of her at all, it seemed, since a week or so after she and Rousseau had arrived in Paris together.

A curiosity in itself.

Where had Georgianna been all this time? And what had she been doing? For that matter, if she had not been with Rousseau, then where had she come by the information regarding Napoleon?

For the moment Zachary’s instructions were clear; he was to continue to keep Georgianna Lancaster imprisoned in his home and continue questioning her until such time as he was notified otherwise.

For all that Zachary had earlier today taunted Georgianna with the possibility of her continued incarceration, he was not best pleased at receiving orders to do exactly that.

And one of the main reasons for that was Georgianna herself.

The previous year she had been an inexperienced and idealistic young girl, that plump and desirable pigeon that Zachary had decided to marry, bed and subsequently mould into being his undemanding duchess.

Just a few minutes in her company earlier this morning and Zachary knew that Georgianna’s ten months in France had wrought more changes in her than just the physical ones.

That bright-eyed young girl, eager for life, was no more. And in her place was a coolly dignified, capable and stubborn woman. One who had lived in Paris, by all accounts, completely alone for some months, before arranging her own passage back to England. Who had then managed to follow him without his knowledge, until such time as she was able to speak with him privately. Moreover, Georgianna had shown him that very morning she was not a woman who intended to ever be cowed, by him, or anyone else.

If anything, that air of dignity, her independence and intelligence, appealed to and aroused Zachary even more than that naïve young woman he had intended to make his wife.

And whatever else Georgianna might claim to be now, she had eloped with André Rousseau ten months ago. She had been the Frenchman’s lover for a number of weeks, if not months, before and following that elopement.

For Zachary to feel desire and admiration for such a woman, a woman he had every reason to distrust, was not only rash on his part, but it could also be dangerous.

Zachary drew in a deep breath as he came to a halt outside the door to his bedchamber, noting there was no sound coming from within. He had questioned his butler on his arrival, and been informed that all had been silent above stairs all morning. Georgianna had obviously taken Zachary’s advice to heart and refrained from screaming, or banging on the door, demanding to be set free.