Dangerous Dukes 01 - Zachary Black - Duke of Debauchery

by Carole Mortimer

  He breathed deeply through his nose. ‘Perhaps that situation is not quite so bleak as you think it is.’

  She tilted her head curiously. ‘What do you mean?’

  He owed this woman nothing except his contempt and distrust, Zachary reminded himself impatiently. Certainly not absolution for her deeds of ten months ago.

  And yet…

  He was not a deliberately cruel man, no matter what others might say or think to the contrary. He considered their past association.

  Could Georgianna really be blamed for what had happened in their past? She was a young girl of only nineteen who’d feared, to the extent of running away from marriage to a man who had not even troubled himself in getting to know her before offering for her. He’d been a man who had not even spoken to her before making that offer. And once made, she’d had that offer accepted by her father without knowing a thing about it—or him.

  Much as it galled him, Zachary knew he must accept some of the blame for the way in which Georgianna had run away back then.

  But not for what had happened since that time, or the possible depth of her continued involvement with Rousseau.

  He hardened his heart against the idea of telling Georgianna of the way in which he and her father had, between them, managed to salvage her reputation at least, if not their own embarrassment.

  ‘A place can always be found in a gentleman’s life for a beautiful woman,’ he rasped insultingly.

  Her throat moved as she swallowed. ‘As his mistress, you mean?’

  Zachary bared his teeth in a humourless smile. ‘But of course.’

  ‘I believe I should rather become an old maid,’ she answered with quiet dignity.

  ‘Do not make your decision based on your experience with Rousseau, Georgianna,’ he advised coldly. ‘Being the mistress of a gentleman would not be like it was with him. You would have a house of your own. Servants. An elegant carriage. A generous allowance, for clothing and such.’

  Her chin rose. ‘You, of course, would know of such things.’

  In actual fact, Zachary had no personal knowledge of such an arrangement. He had never been enamoured enough of any of the women he had bedded in the past to have so much as ever considered making any his permanent mistress.

  What sort of mistress would Georgianna make? The depths to those violet-coloured eyes, the sensual pout of her lips, and the uncontrollable response of her breasts to his lightest touch, all spoke of a passionate nature. Of a woman who was more than capable of meeting his physical demands with an equal fire.

  And that she was untrustworthy?

  Perhaps that might even add to the excitement, the danger, of such an arrangement?

  He was a fool for even considering taking Georgianna Lancaster as a mistress, when there was no question that she had been mistress to Rousseau. Might still be so, for all Zachary knew of that situation.

  ‘Not recently, no,’ he answered bitingly. ‘Which means the position is currently available, if you are interested in applying?’ He raised goading brows.

  Georgianna drew herself up proudly. ‘So that you might insult me by refusing, no doubt?’

  ‘No doubt.’

  She gave a shake of her head. ‘I am not, nor will I ever be, interested in such a role, in your life or any other man’s.’

  Zachary gave a hard smile. ‘It is the only one still available to you.’

  ‘I said I am not interested,’ she repeated firmly.

  ‘Then I will see that the bedchamber adjoining this one is prepared for your use. Yes, I too appreciate the irony of having you now occupy the bedchamber intended for my duchess,’ he drawled as Georgianna’s eyes widened. ‘But it would seem that for the moment, at least, I am to have little choice in the matter.’

  ‘You have the choice of releasing me—you just refuse to take it,’ Georgianna pointed out sharply.

  ‘I do, yes.’ The duke gave a haughty inclination of his head. ‘But I do not intend to keep you prisoner all the time, Georgianna. When I return later this evening you will join me downstairs for dinner. And I wish you to wear the lilac gown I brought from your lodgings rather than the black.’

  ‘I will not be told by you what I shall do or what I shall wear.’

  ‘You will if you do not wish to find yourself face first over my knee, with your skirts thrown up to your waist, whilst I thrash your bare bottom a rosy red for daring to disobey!’ Hawksmere assured harshly.

  Georgianna gasped at the crudeness of the threat. A threat she knew this man to be more than capable of carrying out. ‘You are a barbarian, sir.’

  He bared his teeth in a smile. ‘All men are barbarians at heart, my lady.’

  Georgianna repressed a shudder as the conversation brought back the painful memory of the violence she had suffered at André’s hands. A violence she would not have believed possible of the once gentle man she had thought she knew and loved. A violence which had left her both blind and fighting for her life.

  Again she wondered if Hawksmere would believe her, trust that she only spoke the truth, if she were to tell him of that terrible night when André had tried to kill her. When he thought he had killed her. It was only luck, and the arrival of a local farmer who had heard the shots being fired and feared for his livestock, that had ensured she had not died that night.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ Hawksmere demanded shrewdly.

  Would he believe her if she were to show him the scars her body carried from that night?

  They were undoubtedly the scars left by a bullet wound, but there was no guarantee, even if Georgianna were to bare her flesh, that Hawksmere would any more believe it was André Rousseau himself who had inflicted them than the duke believed the information she had brought to him regarding Bonaparte’s intended escape from Elba.

  Georgianna had little in her life now except the small amount of pride left to her. She feared she might lose that, too, if Hawksmere were to both ridicule and scorn, and to disbelieve the physical scars she bore as proof of André Rousseau’s complete disregard for her.

  Hatred was far too strong a word to use to describe the calculated way in which André had come to the conclusion that she had outlived her purpose. He had been completely unemotional that night in the woods before he shot her, having assured her it was not a personal action, rather it was that he had no more use for her.

  She could not bear to now have Zachary Black, the scornful Duke of Hawksmere, prod and poke at the even deeper wound that had been inflicted that night upon her heart and soul.

  She raised her chin. ‘I do not care for your threats.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No!’

  He shrugged wide shoulders. ‘Then do as I say and wear the lilac gown for dinner this evening.’

  ‘I am not hungry.’

  ‘You will eat, Georgianna,’ Hawksmere bit out determinedly. ‘As I also have to eat. And I have no intentions of looking across my dinner table at the unpleasant sight of a scarecrow in a black mourning gown.’

  She drew in a sharp breath. ‘You are exceedingly cruel.’

  ‘I am, yes,’ he acknowledged unapologetically. ‘Perhaps if you had eaten your breakfast, as I instructed you to do…’ He shrugged. ‘But you did not, so there it is.’

  ‘I told you then, I was not hungry.’

  ‘And I distinctly recall telling you that you are too thin,’ he countered forcefully. ‘You look as if a stray breath of wind might blow you away. It is a fact that most gentlemen prefer a little meat on their women.’

  ‘It is not my intention to be attractive to any gentleman.’

  ‘Then you have succeeded. Admirably so, in fact,’ Hawksmere added grimly.

  ‘And most especially to you,’ she concluded fiercely.

  ‘Most especially me?’ he repeated softly, dark brows raised speculatively.

  ‘Yes.’ Her cheeks were flushed.

  Hawksmere gave a slow smile. ‘Then I am sorry to inform you that I do not appear to find the los
s of your curves to have affected my own physical ardour in the slightest.’

  ‘And I am sorry to inform you that I am not in the least interested in a single one of your likes or dislikes,’ she replied heatedly.

  ‘I believe you made that more than obvious when you broke our betrothal to elope with another man.’

  Georgianna blinked at the harshness of his tone. As if he might actually have cared about her ten months ago?

  But of course he had cared, she reminded herself heavily. Oh, not about her, but he most certainly cared about the blow she had dealt him by running away with André. But it was Hawksmere’s pride which had been injured, not his heart. Because he had no heart to injure?

  He drew in an impatient breath. ‘I do not have the time to discuss this any further just now, Georgianna. I have a wedding to get to.’ He eyed her irritably. ‘If you were to stop being so damned difficult, then I might arrange for a bath to be brought up to you later this afternoon. You would like that, would you not?’

  Georgianna had no interest in dining with this cold and insulting man, no interest in eating, nor being in Hawksmere’s company any more than she had to be.

  But if agreeing to wear the lilac gown, and sitting down to dinner with him this evening, also ensured she was allowed the luxury of a bath, then perhaps it would not be so bad? She might even find the chance to escape this house some time during the evening.

  ‘You obviously know something of a woman’s weaknesses, your Grace.’

  He gave another of those humourless smiles. ‘You have the honour of being one of the women from whom I have learnt that particular lesson, Georgianna.’

  Her gaze dropped from meeting his at the obvious reference to her elopement with André. ‘Very well, I will wear the lilac gown and sit down to dinner with you,’ she conceded quietly. ‘But I warn you again, I have little appetite.’

  Her breath caught in her throat at the intensity of Hawksmere’s gaze as he now crossed the distance between them on stealthy feet, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest as she refused to give ground when he came to a halt in front of her.

  He smiled slightly at her defiance as he raised his hand and once again cupped the side of her face. He ran the soft pad of his thumb across the swell of her bottom lip. ‘Not to worry, Georgianna, I believe I can find appetite enough for the both of us this evening,’ he promised gruffly, his gaze continuing to hold hers for several long seconds, before he abruptly lowered his head to sweep the firmness of his lips across hers. ‘So soft,’ he murmured appreciatively, his breath warm as those lips now trailed caressingly across the paleness of her cheek to her earlobe, teeth gently biting.

  Georgianna was too stunned by the unexpected intimacy to be able to move, could barely breathe, as her heart pounded erratically in her chest.

  Hawksmere raised his head to look down at her for several long seconds, silver eyes glittering, before he straightened abruptly and turned on his heel to cross the room and depart, followed seconds later by the sound of the door locking behind him.

  Leaving Georgianna in a state of complete emotional turmoil.

  Chapter Five

  ‘You see how much pleasanter it is when you do as I ask, Georgianna?’ Zachary mocked several hours later as he pulled back a chair for her to sit down at the dinner table before taking his place in the chair beside her.

  He had left instructions that he and Georgianna would be dining together in the smaller, more intimate dining room. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, and two three-pronged candelabra illuminated the crystal glassware and silver cutlery. A bowl of pale pink roses had also been placed in the centre of the small round table.

  To her credit, Georgianna had been ready and waiting for Zachary when he’d unlocked the door and entered the bedchamber adjoining his own, her expression one of cool composure as she stood in the middle of the room.

  The darkness of her hair was smooth and shining and once again secured at her crown, with those tantalising bunches of curls at her temples and nape. The lilac gown had darkened her eyes to that deep violet. Her face was a pale ivory, her lips a full and rosy pout against that pallor.

  Zachary shifted uncomfortably now as he realised he was once again aroused by the sight and scent of her.

  No other woman had ever physically aroused him as easily as this one appeared to.

  Zachary’s gaze narrowed on her critically as she smiled her thanks up at Hinds as he poured wine into her glass. What was it about this woman in particular that she managed to hold him in a constant state of arousal?

  She was undoubtedly a beautiful young woman, her hair so dark and silky, and her delicately lovely face dominated by those violet-coloured eyes. And the lilac gown was certainly an improvement on that unbecoming black. But even so the style of the new gown still left a lot to be desired. It was not particularly fashionable, with its high neckline buttoned all the way up to her throat, revealing none of the tempting swell of her breasts as so many other women did nowadays, some of them to a degree of indecency.

  Zachary had seen, and bedded, many beautiful women in his lifetime and all had been more fashionable and some more beautiful than Georgianna. So why was it that she affected him in a physical way he appeared to have absolutely no control over?

  He should not have kissed her earlier, of course. Certainly should not have enjoyed the softness of her lips quite so much as he had, to the point that he had almost said to hell with attending Worthing’s wedding and carried Georgianna back to the bed instead. It was not a pleasant realisation for a man who had always put duty, and the well-being of his close friends, first.

  ‘I should have worn the lilac gown this evening in any case.’

  It took Zachary several moments to pull out of the bleakness of his thoughts and realise that Georgianna was now answering his own earlier comment. Defiantly. Challengingly.

  And there he had it.

  This was the way in which Georgianna differed to every other woman Zachary had ever met. Because no man, or woman, had ever dared to defy or challenge the will of the Duke of Hawksmere.

  That plump pigeon of ten months ago had undoubtedly feared him, as much as she had feared becoming his wife, but this Georgianna gave the impression that she feared nothing and no one. Except…

  ‘Have you always disliked being in complete dark?’

  Georgianna had not been expecting the question. Although perhaps she should have done; Hawksmere was a man who liked to disarm his adversaries rather than put them at their ease. As he had just done by unexpectedly mentioning her fear of darkness.

  As he had disarmed her a short time ago, when he had unlocked and entered her bedchamber through the door which adjoined that room to his own. Looking every inch the handsome and highly eligible Duke of Hawksmere, dressed in impeccably tailored black evening clothes and snowy-white linen, his fashionably overlong hair a damp and ebony sheen about that saturnine face. A face dominated by those piercing silver eyes.

  As sitting beside him now at the dinner table, the warmth of his thigh almost touching her own, was also disarming her.

  Only because he had unexpectedly kissed her earlier, she reassured herself impatiently. A totally unwelcome kiss.

  A kiss she had nevertheless been unable to forget in the hours that followed.

  Instead of the suppressed violence she might have expected, Hawksmere’s kiss had been gentle, searching, as if seeking a response from her rather than demanding one.

  And all these hours since Georgianna had questioned if in fact she had responded.

  It had been such a fleeting kiss, a mere brushing of Hawksmere’s lips against her own, and Georgianna had been so surprised by it that she had no memory of whether or not she had returned the pressure of those firm lips. She certainly hoped not, but still she could not be sure.

  She turned to him with cool eyes. ‘I have been wondering about that wound to your throat, and the possibility it was inflicted by another female who was equally as unwilling to b
ecome your duchess?’

  And there he had it again, Zachary acknowledged, as he began to smile and then to chuckle openly; not only did Georgianna challenge him, but she also had the ability to make him laugh, at himself as much as others. ‘There have been no others females, unwilling or otherwise, whom I have asked to become my duchess.’ He finally sobered enough to answer her.

  ‘You surprise me.’

  He gave a mocking inclination of his head. ‘My only unsatisfactory venture into contemplating the married state has made me wary of repeating the experience.’

  ‘Then your wound really was, as it is rumoured, inflicted by a French sabre?’ She was barely able to suppress a shiver.

  Zachary’s humour faded, his expression darkening as he ran his fingertips along the six-inch length of the scar. It had been with him for so long now that he rarely thought about it any more. Or the effect it might have upon others. Upon Georgianna. ‘You find it repulsive?’

  ‘I find the idea of the violence behind it repulsive, yes,’ she answered him carefully.

  ‘Indeed?’ he rasped.

  ‘I did not mean you any insult,’ Georgianna assured hastily. ‘I—I am sure we all have our scars to bear, some more openly than others.’ Her gaze moved to the fireplace as she picked up her glass and took a sip of her wine.

  ‘Do you?’ Zachary continued to study her profile through narrowed lids.

  She straightened her spine but continued to look towards the fireplace rather than at him. ‘Of course. How can I not after the events of this past year?’

  ‘Tell me where you have been these past nine months, Georgianna?’ he prompted softly.

  She gave a start—a guilty one?—as she now looked down at the food in front of her, as if seeing it for the first time. ‘Should we not eat our soup before it becomes cold?’

  ‘By all means.’ Zachary nodded. ‘But there is no reason why we cannot continue talking as we eat,’ he added once Georgianna had raised the spoon to her lips. A spoon that shook precariously as her hand began to tremble, until she placed it carefully back beside the soup bowl. ‘What are you hiding, Georgianna?’ Zachary demanded sharply as he saw that nervousness.