Dangerous Dukes 01 - Zachary Black - Duke of Debauchery

by Carole Mortimer

  Selfishly, perhaps, had she secretly wished that it might have been out of defence of her? She might, with time, have forgiven that. Because it might also have meant that Zachary had perhaps come to care for her as she cared for him.

  But the thought that Zachary could have ruthlessly ordered the other man be killed, because of a personal slight against himself, as much as because he was considered to be an enemy of England, was a side of Zachary, that cold and dispassionate side, from which she had run just eleven short months ago.

  And from which she must run away again now.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Zachary demanded as he watched Georgianna walk to the door of the salon without saying so much as another word to him, her hair a bewitching dark waterfall of curls down the slenderness of her defensively straight spine.

  He had half expected this might be Georgianna’s reaction to the news of Rousseau’s death. Expected it, but hoped that it would not be so.

  Because, he had also hoped, prayed, that she had no softer feelings left inside her for the other man after the abominable way he had treated her. For having attempted to kill her.

  Georgianna’s reaction now to the news of Rousseau’s death, and her obvious disgust with Zachary for what she believed to have been his part in it, now showed him how wrong he had been to harbour even the smallest hope in that regard.

  Stupidly, naïvely, because of the warmth of her responses to him earlier, Zachary had harboured another hope, a dream, that all of her softer feelings were now reserved for him.

  He had been wrong not to have told her of Rousseau’s death immediately—he accepted that now. But he had wanted to hold her in his arms once more at least before he did so, and once he held her in his arms, he’d had no thought for anything else!

  An omission for which Georgianna obviously now despised him, as much as she was so obviously distressed at Rousseau’s death. She was disgusted, too, with Zachary for what she perceived to be his part in that death.

  Because, despite his intentions, he really could not claim to be the one who had delivered the death blow to Rousseau.

  Oh, he and Wolfingham had faultlessly carried out their plan for Wolfingham to engage Rousseau and his cohorts when they eventually emerged from his sister’s tavern in the early hours of the morning. They had selected Wolfingham because he was unknown to Rousseau, as Zachary was not.

  His friend had been the one to weave drunkenly past the inn at the exact moment the group emerged, deliberately knocking into one of them without apology and instantly receiving an aggressively challenging response. At which point Wolfingham had delivered the first punch.

  In the mêlée and confusion that followed, Zachary was supposed to emerge from his own shadowed hiding place, to separate Rousseau from his cohorts, before taking him somewhere far quieter than the street, so that the other man might learn exactly the reason he was about to die.

  All had gone according to that plan until Rousseau had pulled a gun from within his coat, his obvious intention to dispatch Wolfingham. At which point Wolfingham had no choice but to defend himself. There had been a shot fired as Zachary landed several blows on the other fellows in his efforts to reach his friend’s side, but within seconds of the gun being fired, it seemed, the majority of the men had scattered, instantly becoming lost to various parts of the city and leaving behind the two men who lay still upon the ground, their life’s blood glistening on the cobbles beneath them.

  Rousseau and Wolfingham.

  Zachary’s own heart had ceased beating in his chest as he rushed to his friend’s side and had only started again once he had roused Wolfingham and had satisfied himself that his friend’s gunshot wound to the shoulder was nasty, but thankfully did not appear to be life-threatening.

  Rousseau had been less fortunate, blood pumping from the artery in his slit throat, his eyes already starting to take on that opaque appearance of one about to die. Nevertheless, he had managed to focus enough to recognise Zachary, a mocking smile curving his lips. ‘Hawksmere. I should have known. You are too late, I am afraid—your betrothed is dead,’ he managed to taunt gruffly.

  Zachary’s breath left him in a hiss. ‘Is she?’ he taunted back angrily. ‘I assure you that when I last saw Georgianna, just days ago, she still breathed, and walked, and talked. Mainly she talked of how much she hates you for your failed effort to kill her in a forest outside this very city.’

  Surprised blond brows rose above those rapidly glazing blue eyes. ‘She still lives?’ he croaked, the blood still pumping from his slit throat.

  ‘Oh, yes, despite your intentions for it to be otherwise, Georgianna most assuredly still lives,’ Zachary had replied grimly. ‘And loves.

  ‘And hates. She also told us a pretty tale about your own involvement with the Corsican’s recent departure from Elba.’

  The other man gave a gurgling laugh as some of the blood gathered in the back of his throat. ‘Georgianna ever saw herself as the heroine.’

  ‘She is a heroine, you bast—’

  ‘Vive Napoleon,’ Rousseau murmured with his last breath, those blue eyes wide as he stared lifelessly up into the darkness of the starlit sky above.

  Zachary had left him where he lay in his own blood as he hurried back to Wolfingham’s side, putting a supporting arm about his friend as they made good their own escape. The two of them hid at the dockside until it was time for them to board their ship and set sail back to England that same night.

  The satisfaction of being able to tell Rousseau, before he died, that Georgianna still lived became a hollow victory as Zachary now saw the way Georgianna looked across the room at him with emotionless eyes.

  ‘I am leaving, of course,’ she answered his earlier question flatly. ‘I presume informing me of André’s death was the reason you wished to speak with me today?’ She arched cool brows.

  There was such a coolness about her, a distance, that frustrated Zachary intensely. Had he been wrong, misread the situation completely, and Georgianna did indeed still have feelings for the man who had once been her lover?

  ‘You should know I have absolutely no regrets concerning Rousseau’s death,’ he assured through gritted teeth. Wolfingham had no cause for regrets in the matter, either, had merely been defending himself when Rousseau met his end. If Rousseau had not died, then Wolfingham assuredly would have, and that was totally unacceptable to Zachary. ‘A friend of mine was also grievously wounded that night.’

  Georgianna frowned slightly. ‘Wolfingham?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But he lives still?’

  ‘No thanks to your friend Rousseau.’

  ‘He was never my friend.’ Her eyes glittered, with the fierceness of her anger as well as unshed tears. ‘I must go.’

  ‘Georgianna!’

  She gave a fierce shake of her head. ‘We have nothing left to talk about, Hawksmere.’

  Addressing him as Hawksmere was indication enough of how Georgianna now felt towards him, the cold dismissal in her tone only adding to that obvious disdain.

  And pride, though a cold bedfellow, was preferable to Zachary having his further pleas for her understanding rejected out of hand. ‘I will see you again this evening, when I accompany you and Jeffrey to Lady Colchester’s musical soirée.’

  Georgianna gave a shake of her head. ‘I am not sure I feel well enough to attend.’

  ‘You most certainly will attend, Georgianna.’ Zachary grated harshly. ‘Not only will you attend, but you will also give every appearance of enjoyment in the enterprise. In appearing at my side, along with Jeffrey, as my two wards.’

  She raised her chin in challenge. ‘I am sure you know me well enough by now, Hawksmere, to know that I shall not be bullied into doing anything I do not wish to do, by you or anyone else.’

  His jaw tightened, eyes glittering dangerously. ‘Nevertheless, it was planned for this evening to be your first appearance back into society, following your period of mourning. As such, as your guardian, I must insis
t that you accompany Jeffrey and me.’

  She looked across at him searchingly, knowing by the coldness in Zachary’s eyes, the bleakness of his expression and the nerve pulsing in the tightness of his jaw, that he meant exactly what he said. Nor could she deny the importance of her appearance at Lady Colchester’s tonight, following what many in society believed to have been the ending of her engagement to Hawksmere and her term of mourning her father. ‘We shall see,’ she finally answered noncommittally.

  This young woman would surely be the death of him, Zachary acknowledged impatiently. Either that, or he might go quietly and completely insane.

  How could it be that just a few moments ago the two of them had been so enjoyably making love together, as close as any two people could be—certainly as close as Zachary had been to any woman—and now they were as distant as they had been ten months ago? More so, for then Zachary had not really known what it was to be close to Georgianna, had never so much as even spoken to her; now he knew exactly what, and who, he would be losing when she walked out of his life for a second time.

  The woman he had come to admire above all others.

  Georgianna.

  Georgia.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘I do believe you are alarming our poor hostess with the darkness of your scowls, Zachary,’ an amused voice drawled beside him as Zachary stood near one of the windows in Lady Colchester’s music room during a break in the entertainments.

  His eyes widened as he turned to look at Wolfingham. ‘Should you be out and about when you are still recovering from a bullet wound to your shoulder?’

  ‘It would look decidedly odd if I were absent from society for any length of time. Besides which, needs must, I am afraid.’ Wolfingham gave a grimace.

  ‘Oh?’

  His friend nodded abruptly. ‘I do not suppose you have seen anything of my little brother this evening?’

  Zachary’s brows rose. ‘Should I have done?’ As far as he was aware, young Lord Anthony Hunter had been fortunate enough not to have put in even a nominal appearance at Lady Colchester’s musical soirée. Not unless he had arrived and left before Zachary and his party arrived.

  ‘Obviously not,’ Wolfingham uttered disgustedly.

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘If there is, then it is for me to deal with,’ his friend dismissed briskly. ‘What were you scowling at so intently just now?’ Wolfingham glanced across the room in the direction Zachary had been scowling earlier. ‘Who is the honeypot attracting all the bees?’

  Zachary did not at all appreciate hearing Georgianna described as a honeypot. Even if that was exactly what she had been from the moment they arrived at Lady Colchester’s home several hours ago.

  Georgianna was resplendent in a gown of purple silk, a strip of lace styled discreetly across the tops of her breasts, and so concealing that damning scar, with a matching purple feather adorning the darkness of her curls.

  They had barely had time to greet their hostess before the first of the handsome young bucks began to flock about them. Most of them acquaintances of her brother, Jeffrey, eager to be re-introduced to his beautiful sister. But there had been some older gentlemen, too. Single gentlemen, of Zachary’s own age and older, attracted no doubt by the air of untouchable remoteness with which Georgianna appeared to have steeled herself in order to endure appearing at this evening’s entertainment.

  A remoteness, which had thawed throughout the evening until, as now, she appeared to be enjoying the attentions of so many handsome gentlemen. The wariness had slowly faded from her gaze, a becoming blush now adorning her cheeks, and those two familiar dimples having appeared in those same cheeks when she smiled, at what were no doubt flattering and flirtatious comments being made to and about her.

  And for the whole of this time Zachary had wished for nothing more than to dismiss the attentions of every single one of those handsome and fawning gentlemen, before whisking Georgianna away somewhere they could be private together.

  So, yes, Wolfingham’s description of his having been scowling minutes ago—enough so as to have warned off the approach of all and any who were not closely acquainted with him, who were very few—was no doubt an accurate one.

  ‘My ward, Lady Georgianna Lancaster,’ he now supplied.

  Wolfingham continued to look at Georgianna consideringly. ‘This is the same young woman to whom you were so briefly betrothed last year?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The other man’s brows rose. ‘She appears to be much changed from a year ago.’

  Zachary’s mouth tightened at the reasons for those changes, in both Georgianna’s appearance and demeanour. ‘She is, yes.’

  Wolfingham turned to look at him through narrowed lids. ‘I was not just referring to the more obvious changes in her appearance.’

  A nerve pulsed in Zachary’s jaw, knowing that his friend was able to detect the air of remoteness, and the sophistication, which had been so lacking in Georgianna just a year ago. ‘No.’

  ‘Zachary.’

  ‘I would prefer not to discuss my ward any further,’ he warned harshly. ‘Even with you.’

  Wolfingham continued to study him for several long seconds before nodding slowly. ‘If you will just answer one more question?’

  Zachary scowled his irritation. ‘Which is?’

  ‘Does she know that Rousseau is dead?’

  ‘Yes, she knows.’ Zachary did not attempt to pretend to misunderstand Wolfingham, knew that his friend had guessed, correctly, that Georgianna Lancaster was the woman whom Rousseau had treated so despicably. The reason the other man had to die.

  ‘You like her?’ Wolfingham guessed astutely.

  Zachary’s jaw clenched at the understatement. ‘I do.’

  ‘Enough to consider renewing your betrothal?’

  His jaw clenched. ‘There is absolutely no chance of that ever happening.’

  ‘None?’

  The nerve in his jaw pulsed even more rapidly. ‘None whatsoever.’

  ‘Time is passing, Zachary, and the condition in your father’s will that states you must marry and produce an heir before your thirty-fifth birthday remains just as pressing,’ Wolfingham reminded softly.

  ‘And Georgianna is the last woman who would ever accept a—another—marriage proposal from me.’ Zachary grimaced. ‘Indeed, I believe Georgianna despises me more now than she did a year ago.’

  Wolfingham sighed heavily. ‘Life can be complicated at times, can it not?’

  ‘Very,’ Zachary grated.

  His friend nodded. ‘If you will excuse me, I believe I must continue to search for my own complication.’

  Zachary frowned. ‘Is Anthony in trouble?’

  ‘Only with me,’ Wolfingham assured darkly.

  ‘If you should need any assistance in the matter…’

  Wolfingham nodded distractedly. ‘For the moment just be grateful you do not have a sibling for whom you are guardian.’

  Zachary had very much regretted not having siblings when he was very young, but since meeting his four close friends at school he had not felt that same need, those four gentlemen more than filling that gap in his life. As they had all been there for him when he’d lost his parents when he was a child.

  As they all remained there for each other as adults. ‘Anthony is not in any danger?’ He studied Wolfingham closely.

  His friend’s mouth thinned. ‘Again, only from me. No doubt you have a similar headache, since becoming guardian to the two Lancaster siblings?’

  Zachary glanced across at Georgianna once again, eyes glittering as he saw her batting her fan playfully in order to ward off the attentions of one of her more ardent suitors. ‘If you will excuse me.’ He didn’t wait for his friend to reply before marching purposefully across the length of Lady Colchester’s music room.

  ‘I believe you are crowding the lady, Adams!’ He glared down the length of his nose at the younger man.

  Georgianna raised her open fan to hide her su
rprise as Hawksmere took up a protective stance at her side, his expression grimly forbidding as he glared at the gentlemen surrounding her.

  Not that she did not appreciate Zachary having joined her; the gentlemen were becoming more and more persistent in their attentions, several of them currently vying for the honour of dancing the first set with her at the Countess of Evesham’s ball tomorrow evening. A ball Georgianna was not sure she wished to attend any more than she had wished to attend this soirée.

  This evening had been every bit the ordeal Georgianna had thought it might be.

  Being with Hawksmere again had proved to be every bit of the ordeal she had imagined it might be!

  It seemed incredible to her that she and Hawksmere had allowed themselves more than once to become embroiled in a situation of deep intimacy. An intensity of intimacy that made her blush with embarrassment every time she so much as thought about it.

  And, to her shame, she had been unable to stop herself from thinking about it ever since she and Hawksmere had parted earlier today. Of how he had felt beneath the touch of her hands and lips. How he had tasted.

  It had not helped that Zachary had looked, and continued to look, every inch the arrogantly handsome Duke of Hawksmere when he arrived at Malvern House earlier this evening. His muscled physique was shown to advantage in his black evening clothes and snowy white linen, the darkness of his hair arranged in tousled disarray as it curled over his ears and nape and about the sculptured perfection of his face.

  Georgianna’s heart had skipped several beats when she’d first gazed at him earlier this evening, a reaction she’d been quick to hide as she’d turned to thank her brother as he held out his arm to her in readiness for their departure.

  She had deliberately seated herself beside Jeffrey in Hawksmere’s carriage, very aware of, and avoiding meeting, the steadiness of Hawksmere’s gaze as he sat directly across from her. She had kept her face averted as she looked out the window beside her, pretending an interest in the busy London evening streets.