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 surprise 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.
Only to then find herself accompanied protectively by Jeffrey on one side and Hawksmere on the other, as they had entered Lady Colchester’s London home together.
A closeness that had allowed her to feel the warmth emanating from Hawksmere’s body through the silk of her gown, to smell his familiar smell of sandalwood and citrus, along with expensive cigars and just a hint of brandy upon his breath.
The latter in evidence, perhaps, that Hawksmere had felt in need of some restorative himself, in order to be able to get through the evening ahead?
Somehow Georgianna doubted that Hawksmere had ever needed a restorative, of any kind, to get through anything.
Nevertheless, Georgianna had felt grateful that the interest and conversation of Jeffrey’s friends had separated her from Hawksmere, both before and during this break in the entertainments. His close proximity as they had sat together listening to several of the young ladies perform on their various musical instruments, had disturbed Georgianna on a level she had found distinctly uncomfortable. She still had no idea how she felt about Hawksmere’s involvement with André’s premature death.
That she no longer had anything to fear, in regard to André ever finding her again, was a relief beyond measure. Nor, having had time to adjust to André’s demise, did she find she felt the least regret. How could she regret it, when she had lived in fear of discovery by him these past months? No, it was Hawksmere’s involvement in the other man’s death which still unsettled her.
Frightened her?
No, she was not frightened by the thought of such violence. She was sure that most men, and women, were capable of committing murder if pushed to the extreme. That she had been more than capable, given the weapon to do so, of killing André herself that night in the woods outside Paris, when he had tried to end her life.
But if she
