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

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.

      And perhaps that had just been a ploy and she was even now poised behind the silence of that door, candelabrum in hand, ready to knock Zachary senseless before making good her escape?

      His smile was grim as he quietly unlocked the door to his bedchamber. He entered softly and saw the room was in semi-darkness, the curtains pulled halfway across the two picture windows, nevertheless allowing him to see that the breakfast tray still sat on the table near the door where he had placed it earlier.

      The untouched breakfast tray.

      A single glance was enough to show him that none of the food on the plates had been eaten. Only the dregs left in the bottom of the delicate china cup to show that Georgianna had drunk her tea at least.

      The half-drawn curtains allowed the weak February sunshine to shaft across the room to where Georgianna lay asleep on top of his bed. She was still dressed in that unbecoming black gown. The curling ebony hair had been loosened, however, and now flowed thick and silky over the pillows behind her and across her breasts down to her tiny waist.

      Zachary put down the bag he carried to cross softly to the bedside and look down at her. Her face appeared as a beautiful pale oval in the weak light. Long lashes fanned silkily against ivory cheeks as she continued to sleep, her rosy and sensual lips slightly parted as she breathed softly and evenly.

      A deceptive picture of innocence, if not beauty.

      So she might once have looked in their marriage bed, Zachary acknowledged with annoyance as his traitorous body stirred, hardened, as he continued to look down at her. And he had no doubt that until a year ago she had been an innocent, those violet-coloured eyes full of joy, of the expectations of life, rather than swirling with dark shadows as they had been earlier today.

      Feeling any sort of empathy, sympathy, for this woman would be a mistake on his part. Most especially when he still questioned her real motives for seeking him out.

      Zachary’s mouth thinned as he turned away impatiently and walked determinedly from the bedside with the intention of pulling the curtains completely across the windows. He had no time to rest himself—he had Wilding’s wedding to attend—but Georgianna might as well continue to sleep peacefully.

      Zachary was in need of a bath and a change of clothes after his own sleepless night, before he then attended the wedding in just a few hours.

      ‘Leave them. Please.’

      Zachary gave a start at the sound of Georgianna’s voice. A voice that sounded as if it were underlined with panic. Or possibly fear? Simply because he had been about to draw the last of the curtains fully across the windows to shut out the daylight?

      He turned to see that Georgianna had moved up on to her elbows, those ebony curls falling past her shoulders and cascading back on to the pillows behind her.

      Her face was still that ghostly oval, her eyes so dark they appeared almost purple as she looked across at him pleadingly. ‘Please,’ she beseeched earnestly.

      ‘What is it, Georgianna?’ Zachary prompted sharply as he crossed, frowning, to her side.

      Her breasts quickly rose and fell. ‘I—I am afraid of... I do not like complete dark.’ She sat up abruptly to curl her arms defensively about her drawn-up knees, looking for all the world like that frightened deer of earlier.

      ‘What foolishness is this, Georgianna?’ Zachary chided impatiently. ‘If you think to appeal to my softer side with exhibitions of feminine—’

      ‘How could I possibly do that, when we both know you do not have a softer side for me to appeal to!’ she came back sharply as she moved swiftly to the side of the bed before standing up and crossing to the window on stockinged feet. There she pulled back the curtains to allow in the full daylight. ‘And I assure you I speak only the truth.’ Her hands, no longer hidden in those black lace gloves, were clasped tightly together in front of her, the knuckles white as she looked up at him. ‘I do not like to be in the complete dark. Ever.’ Her lips firmed as she raised her chin in challenge.

      Zachary ignored Georgianna’s insult as he continued to study her through narrowed lids. Her face was ashen, but that could be because she had not slept for long enough, nor had she eaten the breakfast he had had brought to her.

      No, it was those tightly clasped hands, and the defiance in her stance, which now convinced