Читать книгу The Regency Season Collection: Part One - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 30
ОглавлениеGeorgianna washed, and dressed herself in the black gown, then arranged her hair neatly at her crown in record time after Zachary left her bedchamber. She was determined that when, and if, the duke should return, her appearance would at least be respectable.
The only thing she now considered ‘respectable’ about herself.
She had no idea what had happened with Hawksmere just now. One minute they had been talking, and the next...
Oh, dear lord, the next.
Just thinking about Zachary possessing her with his mouth was enough to make Georgianna quiver with embarrassment.
Or possibly remembered pleasure?
Unimagined, indescribable, out-of-this-world pleasure.
She had not known such intimacies, such pleasure, as that existed.
The attentions of Zachary’s mouth, tongue and fingers had been centred between her thighs, but the pleasure had been felt everywhere. Radiating out from between her and consuming her every sensation, as it coursed, burned through her torso and throat, and into all of her limbs to the very ends of her fingers and her toes. And not just once, but twice! That pleasure building again, carrying her along on a tide of sensation. By the time Hinds had knocked on the door of her bedchamber...
Hinds!
What must he think? What conclusion could the butler have come to, in respect of the time his employer had spent in Georgianna’s bedchamber this morning?
Considering the reason Zachary had informed his household staff for her being here at all, no doubt the butler had drawn the correct conclusion regarding their activities this morning.
Georgianna was genuinely shocked at her own behaviour. Mortified. She had no idea how she was going to face Zachary again when he had looked at her and touched her so intimately.
However, this personal mortification paled into insignificance in the face of Napoleon’s move from Elba.
If it was true, and if Napoleon should indeed return to the shores of France, then there was sure to be another war. England and her allies could not just sit back and allow the Corsican to retake the French crown for his own. And if, when, that happened, more Englishmen would die.
And to think, Georgianna might have prevented it if she had been more courageous. If she had not wasted so much time seeking safe and undetected passage for herself from France.
Zachary might be one of the ones to die.
Sooner rather than later if, as she suspected, he was leaving for France later today.
If Napoleon should make it back to France in the next few days, as he was bound to do, then the next few weeks, as he marched towards Paris, would be dangerous indeed. Having lived there for the past few months, Georgianna knew, perhaps better than most, that the people of France were not all enamoured of having their king returned to them. And that many, given the choice, would far rather that Napoleon return as their emperor.
The thought of Zachary deliberately placing himself in the midst of that turmoil was a frightening one.
Georgianna shied away from admitting why she found the idea of Zachary in danger so disturbing. Shied away from facing that truth. Even to herself.
She should hate Zachary Black. For having imprisoned her here. For disbelieving the things she had told him about André, as well as Napoleon’s plans to leave Elba. Most certainly for the liberties he had taken with her this morning.
And yet she found she could not bring herself to hate Zachary. Certainly not enough to wish him ill. To wish him dead.
Surely she had not come to care for him this past day or so? To feel something, some nameless, softening of emotion, for the very man she had run away from marrying in the first place?
What other explanation was there for her response to him such a short time ago?
It would be worse than ironic if that should be the case.
‘What are you thinking about so intently?’
Georgianna spun sharply to face the man standing in the doorway of the bedchamber. The same gentleman, who now occupied so much of her thoughts.
Her face was instantly ablaze with embarrassed colour, as she found her gaze drawn to those beautifully sculptured lips. Lips, that such a short time ago, had been kissing and suckling her intimately.
‘I was merely wondering exactly when you intended leaving for France, so that I might know when I will, most thankfully, be relieved of your company,’ she replied tartly, her gaze now meeting his boldly.
Zachary gave a slow and mocking smile at that now-familiar sharpness; ridiculous of him to have expected that their earlier intimacies might have in any way softened Georgianna’s feelings towards him.
The fact that she had once again dressed in the unbecoming black gown in his absence was evidence enough, surely, that she regretted those intimacies?
At the same time as Zachary acknowledged he now had no choice but to believe that the information Georgianna had given him about Napoleon’s movements was, in fact, the truth.
As had been her claim not to have seen Rousseau for many months?
The intelligence report that Zachary had read on Rousseau would seem to indicate that also was true.
Which, taken to its logical conclusion, must also mean that Georgianna had indeed parted from Rousseau only a week or so after arriving in France, and that she had then worked on a farm for several months, before going to back to Paris to work as a kitchen maid in Helene Rousseau’s tavern.
Zachary found himself scowling at the thought of this beautiful young woman wandering alone about the French countryside, let alone returning to Paris to work in such a lowly tavern as the Fleur de Lis, leaving herself prey to any and all of that inn’s patrons.
‘Never mind my own plans for now, what on earth did you think you were doing by remaining in France once Rousseau had finished with you, and so putting yourself in danger for so many months?’ He scowled his displeasure.
Oh, yes, André had certainly finished with her, she reflected bitterly. Indeed, as far as she was aware he still believed he had finished her off completely and that her stripped and bleached bones now lay scattered about a forest outside Paris.
She gave an uninterested shrug. ‘Why not stay, when I had nothing to return to in England?’
‘Your father was still alive then, and your brother...’
‘A father and a brother who had quite rightly disowned me,’ she responded tautly.
The duke scowled.
‘Why did the Duke of Wolfingham need to speak with you so urgently?’ she prompted shrewdly.
Zachary raised dark brows. ‘I do not recall Hinds indicating that Wolfingham’s visit was urgent in nature.’
‘I assumed, from the haste with which you left earlier... Silly me.’ Georgianna gave a discomforted grimace. ‘No doubt the urgency was for you to leave my bedchamber, rather than your need to rush to Wolfingham.’
‘And yet here I am, back again,’ he drawled.
‘Only because you had not finished our earlier conversation, I am sure.’ Georgianna turned away to walk over to one of the windows. ‘You cannot seriously intend to leave me a prisoner here whilst you go to France?’
‘I do not believe I have ever confirmed my intention of going to France.’
‘But we both know that you are.’ Georgianna glanced back at him as he did not deny it a second time. ‘And you would have admitted it was so earlier if we had not been...’ Her face flushed fiery red as she remembered the reason for their earlier distraction.
‘No, I would not, Georgianna, and for the simple reason I do not consider my immediate plans to be any of your concern,’ Zachary bit out harshly.
Georgianna recoiled at the disdain underlying his dismissal. It was as if he had physically struck her. As if, despite everything, Zachary still distrusted her.
She turned stiffly to face him. ‘Nevertheless, you cannot expect me to continue to remain here whilst you are away.’
‘And yet that is exactly what I expect.’ Hawksmere eyed her challengingly.
‘And if I should choose to make my presence here a difficult one?’
‘Then do so by all means. It will make no difference to the outcome.’ Zachary was no happier than Georgianna about the arrangement, and as such, his patience had worn beyond thin on the subject.
She raised haughty brows. ‘You may be lord and master of all you survey in your own world, Zachary, but I assure you, you are not my lord or master, in this world or any other.’
No, because if he were, Zachary would have put her over his knee by now and spanked her obstinate little bottom into obedience. As it was, he was so angry with her, not just for her stubbornness now, but because he now knew she had deliberately placed herself in danger these past months. So angry that he might still be driven to that action, if Georgianna didn’t cease arguing with him at every turn.
Not that he had really expected their earlier intimacy to have changed that stubbornness in any way. Georgianna had shown him only too clearly that this wilfulness was part and parcel of who she was. Or, at least, who she had become.
No doubt those weeks and months she had spent alone in France, fearing for her safety, for her life, were in part responsible for her present independence of nature.
The truth was, after the information Zachary had received this morning, he now believed the things Georgianna had told him about the time she had spent in France. And knowing that she had wilfully chosen to put herself in harm’s way by working at the tavern of Helene Rousseau was enough to turn the blood cold in Zachary’s veins. Anything might have happened to her; a young and beautiful woman, so obviously alone and without male protection.
As perhaps anything had?
His eyes narrowed. ‘Where did you live while working in the kitchen of Helene Rousseau’s tavern?’
Georgianna eyed Hawksmere warily as she heard the steely edge beneath the softness of his tone. ‘I do not see that is any of your concern.’
‘Answer the question, damn you.’ He strode forcefully across the room.
She blinked up at him as he now stood just inches in front of her. ‘I was given a room in the attic.’
‘You lived on the premises?’
She nodded. ‘So I was about to tell you, if you had let me finish.’
He drew in a slow and deliberate breath. ‘You, Lady Georgianna Lancaster, daughter, and now sister of the Earl of Malvern, lived in the attic of a common French tavern?’
Georgianna had no idea why Hawksmere was so obviously angry on the subject. Living in the attic of the Fleur de Lis paled into insignificance when she considered the other dangers she had faced during those months in France. ‘Mademoiselle Rousseau allowed me to stay there as part of my payment.’
‘So that you might entertain men there?’
Georgianna gasped in shock. ‘ Of course not! How dare you imply—?’ She broke off as Hawksmere took a painful grasp of the tops of her arms, his face tight with anger as he towered over her.
‘I was employed as a kitchen maid, not a whore, Hawksmere.’
‘I very much doubt that the men who frequented the tavern were capable of making that distinction.’ he said scornfully.
She frowned. ‘You are obviously more familiar with the practises of such places than I.’
His hands tightened painfully as he shook her. ‘It is not a question of what I am familiar with.’
‘Is it not?’ Georgianna challenged scathingly. ‘I worked in the kitchen of the tavern, Hawksmere,’ she maintained firmly. ‘And that is all I did.’ She looked up at him defiantly.
Zachary looked down at her searchingly, seeing the challenge glittering in those violet-coloured eyes, the unmistakable pride in the tilt of her chin, indignation in the stiffness of her body. As proof of her innocence? In regard to the months she had spent working at the tavern, perhaps; the weeks she had spent as Rousseau’s mistress were a different matter entirely.
‘What more is it going to take for you to trust me, Zachary?’ She looked up at him with pained eyes. ‘You now have information that confirms Napoleon is to leave Elba, if he has not already done so. What more do you need from me to be convinced that I have told you nothing but the truth since we met again yesterday?’
His jaw tightened. ‘You have yet to tell me how you escaped from Rousseau once your association was over.’
Her gaze avoided meeting his. ‘Is that really necessary?’
‘It is if you truly wish for me to trust you.’
She moistened dry lips. ‘And if I tell you, will you then consider allowing me to leave this house at the same time you do?’
‘To go where?’
‘Anywhere I am not a prisoner.’
‘I will consider the idea, yes,’ he bit out tautly.
‘That is not good enough.’
‘It is all the concession I am willing to make at this point.’
Georgianna stared up at Hawksmere’s hard and unyielding expression, his eyes that glittering remorseless silver. As evidence that he would not relent without that last irrefutable proof from her as to her innocence.
She had hoped to spare herself this final humiliation, but saw now that it was not to be, that the time for such prevarication was now at an end.
‘Release my arms, if you please,’ she instructed softly.
Zachary looked down at her searchingly for several long seconds before his fingers slowly loosened, his hands dropping back to his sides as he took a step back.
Georgianna averted her gaze from meeting his own, her hands shaking as she raised them to the neckline of her black gown, fingers fumbling as she began to unfasten the tiny buttons.
‘Georgianna, I do not have the time now to finish what we started earlier,’ Hawksmere dismissed impatiently. ‘Nor will you succeed in distracting me by attempting to seduce me,’ he added scathingly.
‘You are arrogance personified.’ Georgianna’s fingers paused on the buttons of her gown as she gave him a pitying glance. ‘I have absolutely no intentions of distracting or attempting to seduce you.’
He raised dark brows. ‘Then why are you unfastening your gown?’
She sighed heavily. ‘Because it is the only way I know of to show you how I escaped from Rousseau.’
‘I do not see how the unfastening of your gown will help convince me of anything.’
‘Will you please cease your sarcasm for just a few moments, Hawksmere?’ Georgianna’s voice shook with emotion, her vision blurred by unshed tears as she looked up at him. ‘I cannot—’ She bit her bottom lip as she gave a shake of her head. ‘I believe if I have to suffer another one of your insults then I might begin to scream and never stop.’
Zachary could see that by the strained expression on Georgianna’s face. Her eyes were a dark purple and shimmering with tears, her cheeks pale and hollow, all the colour seeming to have drained even from the fullness of her lips. She was seriously distressed. Enough to scream? He believed so, yes.
‘In that case, please continue,’ he invited in a bored voice as he moved to slowly lower his length comfortably down on to the chair placed in front of the dressing table.
Her eyes narrowed as she glared across at him. ‘I only intend to unfasten a few buttons of my gown, Hawksmere, not provide a striptease show with you as the audience.’
‘That is a pity,’ he drawled as he crossed one elegant leg over the other.
Georgianna closed her eyes briefly in an attempt to dig deep inside herself for the courage needed for her to continue along this course.
Not an easy feat when Hawksmere continued to treat her with such disdain. Nor was there any guarantee, having literally bared her scarred soul to him, that he would dispense once and for all with the distrust with which he continued to treat her.
But she had to at least try.
Her fingers trembled even more than before as she recommenced unfastening the buttons down the bodice of her gown, causing her to fumble several times before the last button was finally unfastened.
She hesitated, holding the two sides of her gown together, as she forced herself to look across at Hawksmere. ‘Please attempt to hold your derision and scorn at bay, if only for a few minutes, if you please, Hawksmere.’ Her voice shook with emotion.
Zachary frowned as he looked across at her searchingly, having no idea what it was that Georgianna was hiding from him. He was nevertheless aware that, whatever it was, it affected her deeply. ‘Show me,’ he encouraged gruffly, shoulders tensed.
Georgianna kept her eyes closed, her lips clamped firmly together, as she slowly parted the two sides of her gown before her fingers pulled down the soft material of her camisole, fully exposing her breasts to him.
It was impossible for Zachary to hold back his sharply indrawn breath as he saw the discoloured and livid scar between the swell of Georgianna’s breasts for the first time.
Even from across the room he could see that the redness of the puckered and scarred skin now exposed to him was recent and several inches around. It was the same type of wound and scarring he had unfortunately seen many times during his years of battle against Napoleon’s armies.
His gaze moved sharply back up to the pallor of Georgianna’s face. Her eyes were once again open as she looked back at him with a flat and unemotional expression. He moistened lips that had gone suddenly dry.
‘Is that...?’
‘The result of a bullet wound?’ Georgianna finished dully. ‘Yes, it is.’
Zachary stood up, too restless, too disturbed by what he was seeing to remain seated for a moment longer. He crossed the room in long strides before gently pushing her fingers out of the way so that he might better see the livid red scar. ‘How is it you did not die from such a wound?’
She gave an emotionally choked laugh. ‘As it was so obviously intended that I should?’
‘Yes.’
‘How typical of you, Hawksmere, to cut straight to the point.’ She looked up at him coldly. ‘It was pure chance that I did not die, that the force of the bullet was deflected slightly by the locket I wore about my neck at the time.’
Zachary gave a dazed shake of his head, unable to stop looking at the terrible scarring that had been inflicted on Georgianna’s otherwise beautiful and flawless skin. He was unable to stop himself from imagining a bullet entering Georgianna’s smoothly perfect flesh, and the agony she must have suffered as it ripped through that delicate tissue, no doubt taking her down. Miraculously the locket prevented it from actually killing her.
He looked up, eyes narrowed. ‘Who did this to you?’
Her smile turned humourless. ‘Ah, and now comes the intelligence beneath the scorn and derision.’
‘Georgianna.’
‘Have you seen enough that I might refasten my gown now?’ she challenged tensely.
His jaw clenched tightly as he demanded again, ‘Who did this to you?’
Her eyes hardened to glittering violet jewels. ‘Who do you imagine did it to me?’ She refastened her gown without waiting for his permission. ‘Who was it that you yourself said could not allow me to live once I had left him?’
‘Rousseau,’ he breathed softly.
‘Exactly. Rousseau,’ she confirmed flatly. ‘Have you seen enough yet to believe me, Hawksmere?’ she challenged tautly. ‘Or would another scar help to finally convince you that everything I have told you is the truth?’ She lifted a hand to move back the cluster of curls gathered on her left temple, revealing a long scar where a second bullet appeared to have grazed and broken her skin without actually penetrating it. ‘This one was to be the coup de grâce, I believe. Unfortunately for André it was dark that night and I must have turned my head away at the last moment, because the second bullet only succeeded in rendering me unconscious rather than killing me outright.’
A single bullet to the heart and another to the head.
‘An assassin’s method,’ Zachary acknowledged gruffly.
‘Because André killed me,’ Georgianna confirmed emotionally. ‘Or, at least, he believed that he had when he left me for dead in that deserted forest just outside Paris,’ she continued flatly. ‘Which is where Monsieur Bernard, having heard the two shots and fearing for his livestock, found me unconscious and took me back to his farm.’
‘The doctor?’
‘The Bernards dare not call in a doctor, because they had no way of knowing who had inflicted such injuries. And, being unconscious, I could not tell them, either.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Madame Bernard removed the bullet herself, then she sewed the wound back up as best she could. It could have been worse, I suppose, and monsieur might have lived alone and so been the one to attempt to sew the wound.’
‘For pity’s sake, be silent a moment, Georgianna.’ Zachary choked as he finally found the breath to speak.
‘Why?’ she challenged. ‘Did I not tell you yesterday that we all carry scars, some more visibly than others? Or does it sicken you to see such imperfection? It sickened me at the time. Although, in truth, I did not see the scars for some weeks,’ she continued conversationally. ‘I remained unconscious for several days afterwards and delirious for the better part of a week or more,’ she explained flatly as Zachary looked at her sharply. ‘And then, finally, when I did awaken it was to discover that I was blind, Zachary. Completely and utterly blind.’ She raised her chin as she looked at him in defiant challenge.
‘Dear God.’
‘Yes.’
Zachary closed his eyes momentarily. ‘That is the reason you do not like full dark.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
‘Yes. The blindness lasted only a couple of weeks, but it was the longest fortnight of my life, as I lay there wondering if I should ever see again. Do you believe me yet, Zachary?’ she continued tauntingly. ‘Or do you require further proof? If so, I am afraid I have none.’
‘Stop it, Georgianna. For pity’s sake.’
‘Pity?’ she echoed bitterly. ‘And why should I pity you, Hawksmere? You were not the stupid fool who believed she was eloping with the man she believed herself in love with and whom she believed loved her, only to discover that she had been nothing more to him than a useful pawn. A pawn who was totally dispensable once he was safely returned to his native France and fellow conspirators.’
Zachary gave a dazed shake of his head. ‘I meant only that you have had months to grow accustomed to this, Georgianna. I have had only a few minutes. Rousseau truly believes he has succeeded in assassinating you?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘That is why you did not fear his looking for you after you had left him? Because he believed you already dead?’
She nodded abruptly. ‘And my body then eaten by scavenging animals, yes.’
Now Zachary did feel sickened. But not by Georgianna’s scars. Never that.
How could he ever be sickened by those, when they were the scars of the war she had been forced to fight alone, and in a country not her own? Indeed, it was the same evidence of war which he carried upon his own throat.
Georgianna might well have died, but for the kindness of a French farmer and his wife. And she had then placed herself in danger by working in a French tavern for months, followed by days of fearing being discovered at any moment as she waited at the dockside to return to England, so that she might bring back the information she had overheard of Napoleon’s intention of leaving Elba.
There had been no father to defend her.
No brother to cherish her.
No husband to protect her.
