The Regency Season: Dangerous Dukes: Marcus Wilding: Duke of Pleasure / Zachary Black: Duke of Debauchery. Carole Mortimer
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if it is my wish to claim your body, for your having run from me, from our betrothal, ten months ago?’ he taunted softly.
She shook her head. ‘As long as you also listen to me in regards to Napoleon.’
‘One more mention of that man’s name and more pressing responsibilities be damned, I shall be forced to begin that punishment now!’ the duke warned darkly. ‘Now that I think about it, it might be best if I were to request that you remove your gown,’ he mused hardly. ‘You will be less likely to attempt an escape if you are half-naked.’
‘I will not take off my gown.’ Georgianna pulled out of his grasp to move quickly away from him, her hands held up defensively in front of her rapidly rising and falling chest.
Zachary studied her through narrowed lids as he noted the wild panic in those beautiful violet-coloured eyes. Much like a deer the moment it realised it was caught in the sights of the hunter’s gun.
All because he had asked her to remove her gown?
Surely a woman who had shared one man’s bed for the past ten months would not be quite so averse to the idea of another man seeing her naked?
Unless...
‘Did he hurt you?’ Zachary scowled darkly.
That violet gaze sharpened. ‘What?’
His mouth thinned. ‘Did Rousseau hurt you?’
‘Of course he hurt me! How could he not, when he used me to make good his escape?’
‘That is not the type of hurt I am referring to, Georgianna.’ Zachary took several steps towards her, coming to a halt as Georgianna shadowed those steps by moving back, until she was now pressed up against one of the velvet curtains hanging at the window. ‘I have no intentions of harming you, Georgianna.’
She gave a choked and bitter laugh. ‘You have just threatened to take away my gown.’
‘And that is all I have threatened.’
She gave a shudder. ‘It is enough!’
Zachary’s eyes narrowed. ‘Some men like to give pain to their bed partner during lovemaking, as a way of heightening their own arousal.’
She gasped. ‘Do you?’ Pale and slender fingers now tightly clasped at the throat of that unbecoming black gown as she stared at him with dark and shadowed eyes.
‘No, I most certainly do not,’ Zachary assured grimly. ‘But I am beginning to suspect that Rousseau did. Do you perhaps share his perversion?’
‘No!’
‘I am glad to hear it.’ Zachary’s eyes narrowed. ‘But has he left lasting marks upon your body you would not wish another man to see?’ he added harshly, surprised at how violent it made him feel to think of there being so much as a single bruise administered to that alabaster skin, let alone any lasting reminder of the man Rousseau.
Georgianna breathed shallowly, not sure she understood all that Zachary Black was saying to her. Not sure she wanted to understand.
Surely lovemaking was exactly that? An expression of the love a couple felt for one another? Or if not love, then at least a tenderness, a caring, for the other’s welfare?
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.