The Regency Season Collection: Part One. Кэрол Мортимер

of marriage to her father eleven months ago. Had thought only of his own needs then and assumed that Georgianna would be flattered by the offer, and more than content just to become a duchess, as most young women of his acquaintance would have been.

      Zachary had not realised, had not known then, that Georgianna was not like other young women and had a definite mind of her own in regard to what she wanted for her future. And duke or not, a loveless marriage to Zachary Black had certainly not been what she had wanted.

      Zachary was not the man she had wanted, either.

      And he was still not the man she wanted in her life.

      To a degree that Georgianna did not just scorn him, but now heartily disliked him.

      Why that should disturb him, hurt him, quite so much as it did was still something of a mystery to him.

      Zachary had always lived his life exactly as he pleased, answerable to no one since his parents died. He did not understand why Georgianna’s good opinion should now be of more importance to him than anything or anyone else.

      He gave a shake of his head in an effort to clear his mind. But, damn it, what did it mean, when thoughts of a certain woman haunted his every waking moment? When just to look at her caused a tightness in his chest? When her unique perfume alone succeeded in arousing him?

      When wanting Georgianna, desiring her, now consumed him utterly?

      It was thoughts of their explosive and satisfying lovemaking which had made Zachary’s torment this evening all the deeper. Far better that he had never known the softness of Georgianna’s lips against his flesh, the caress of her hands upon his body. How he wished he’d never touched the silkiness of her own skin and enjoyed her own unique taste. Better that than to suffer the torment of remembering the way in which Georgianna had withdrawn from him after he had informed her of Rousseau’s death.

      The shock upon her face yesterday, when he had informed her of that death, her obvious disgust at his own involvement in Rousseau’s demise, her coldness towards him since, was proof enough, surely, that she still had feelings for the other man?

      And that she would never feel any of those softer feelings in regard to Zachary.

      Even more so, now that Malvern had overheard part of Zachary’s conversation with Wolfingham earlier this evening. The damning part: when Zachary had discussed the conditions of his father’s will and the reason he had offered for Georgianna at all the previous year.

      A disclosure that had been the truth then, even if it was not now, and which Zachary had not felt it was within his power to ask Jeffrey to keep from telling his sister.

      Even though that truth would no doubt damn him for ever in Georgianna’s eyes.

      * * *

      Bastard.

      Cold, unfeeling, arrogant, impossible, selfish, selfish bastard!

      Georgianna’s ire towards Zachary was so intense this evening she did not feel in the least guilty about her repeated use of that unpleasant word inside her head, even as she had danced and flirted with all of the gentlemen at the Countess of Evesham’s ball.

      As she now muttered several other, stronger, French epithets she had in her vocabulary, as she edged her way round the ballroom of the Countess of Evesham’s London home towards the open French doors and the solitude of the terrace beyond.

      How could Hawksmere have done such a thing?

      To any woman?

      To her?

      Her conversation with Jeffrey the evening before had revealed that she had been wholly correct in her previous assumptions concerning Hawksmere having calculated intentions when he’d offered marriage to her eleven months ago.

      Indeed, it was worse than she had thought, because the offer had been made only so that Hawksmere might attain a wife and impregnate her, and so ensure that his heir was born before his thirty-fifth birthday. And all so that he might inherit all of his father’s estate rather than a portion of it.

      Poor Jeffrey was most disillusioned with the man he had previously so looked up to and admired.

      To Georgianna it explained so much of Zachary’s behaviour eleven months ago, of course. The reason he had offered marriage at all to a woman he did not even know and so obviously did not care to know. Followed by his anger that she had then chosen to elope with another man rather than marry him. And his distrust and punishment of her for that misdeed upon her return to England.

      No doubt it also explained the penchant Hawksmere had for making love to her. As an example to her, no doubt, as a lesson to her never to cross a duke.

      And Hawksmere had dared to be angry with her when they met again? To punish her?

      How she despised him now.

      Hated him.

      Wished him consigned to the devil.

      ‘Where are you going?’

      Georgianna came to an abrupt halt, unable to keep the surprised expression from her face as she now turned to see the man who so occupied her thoughts.

      Primarily because Hawksmere was not supposed to be at the Countess of Evesham’s ball at all this evening. He had sent a note to Malvern House late this afternoon to inform Georgianna and Jeffrey that he would not be attending. He had offered no explanation, but had ended the brief note by wishing them both a pleasant evening.

      That he was now standing before her, after all, caused Georgianna’s heart to flutter erratically in her chest as she gazed up at him from beneath the fan of her lowered lashes.

      He looked magnificent, of course, in his black evening clothes and snowy white linen, a diamond pin glittering amongst the intricate folds of his cravat, his fashionably tousled hair appearing as dark as a raven’s wing in the bright candlelit ballroom.

      And yet beneath that magnificence Georgianna noted the lines of strain around Zachary’s eyes and etched beside the firm line of his mouth, the skin stretched tautly across the pallor of his chiselled cheeks. His mouth was set grimly, eyes glittering that intense silver as he continued to look down at her intently.

      She moistened her lips before answering. ‘I was going outside on to the terrace to take the air.’

      He nodded abruptly. ‘Then I will join you.’ He took a firm hold of her elbow before cutting a determined swathe through the other guests towards the doors leading outside.

      A determination none present dare question and leaving Georgianna no choice but to accompany him.

      She was not sure she wished to be alone on the terrace with Zachary, or anywhere else.

      Her conversation with Jeffrey the evening before, the confirmation of Hawksmere’s perfidy, had cut into her almost with a pain of the same terrible intensity as when André had shot her. Starkly revealing, to Georgianna at least, that she had been using the anger she felt towards Zachary as a defence to hide what she really felt for him.

      Love.

      How it had happened, why it had happened, she had absolutely no idea, but during the events of the past year she had promised herself, if she survived, that she would never deceive or lie to herself again. And somehow, in these past three weeks, she had managed to fall in love.

      She was in love, deeply and irrevocably, with Zachary Black, the emotionally aloof and coldly arrogant Duke of Hawksmere.

      The same man who, it now transpired, had only offered for her the previous year because of his father’s will. A man who had made it more than obvious, now as then, that he did not believe in love, let alone have any intention of so much as pretending to ever have felt that emotion in regard to Georgianna.

      She glanced across at him now as he stood beside her in the moonlight, her expression guarded. ‘Your note said that you would not be attending the ball this evening.’

      Zachary gave a humourless smile. ‘Obviously