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what to do?’

      ‘Oh, no, Georgianna, I am afraid that will not do at all,’ Zachary drawled drily, grateful for the approximate knowledge of where she was staying in London. And that no one but he was aware of her presence back in England.

      She stilled warily. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘I mean that, for the moment, I cannot allow you to leave this bedchamber.’

      She gasped. ‘You cannot keep me a prisoner here.’

      He eyed her mockingly. ‘Can I not?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘And, pray tell, who is to stop me?’

      Her hands clenched at her sides. ‘You are attempting to frighten me again.’

      ‘And succeeding?’ Zachary prompted mildly.

      ‘Not in the least.’ Georgianna clamped her lips stubbornly together as she refused to show any fear at Hawksmere’s threats.

      As she refused to ever show fear again, of anything, or anyone, after the way she had suffered at Rousseau’s hands.

      Which did not mean that Georgianna was not inwardly quaking at the icy determination so clearly shown in Hawksmere’s expression.

      She repressed a shiver at how, just ten months ago, she had so narrowly escaped becoming the wife of this cold and ruthless gentleman. A man, Georgianna had no doubt, who would have settled her in one of his ducal homes following the wedding and then repeatedly bedded her, until she had filled his nursery with his heir and his spare. After which, like many of the gentlemen of the ton, he would no doubt have abandoned her to find her own entertainments, whilst he returned to the life he had enjoyed before their marriage.

      Such, Georgianna knew, was the life of many wives in society. A loveless and boring existence.

      A life she had hoped to escape when she had eloped with André.

      Only to then find she had placed herself in an even more dire position than becoming Hawksmere’s unloved duchess.

      Did she regret her elopement of ten months ago?

      Of course she did.

      If she could live that time over again, she would have remained in England with her family.

      And become the wife of Zachary Black, the Duke of Hawksmere instead?

      Never!

      Despite all that Georgianna had endured these past months, despite all that she might still have to endure, she did not have a single regret in regards to refusing to become the wife of the Duke of Hawksmere.

      She would never marry at all now, of course. How could she, when her reputation was now such that no gentleman would ever consider making her his wife? And to lie about her past, to pose as a widow, perhaps, in order to marry a lower-born gentleman, was a deceit she refused to practise on any man, or any children born into that marriage.

      No, Georgianna had accepted that she would spend the rest of her life alone. As she fully deserved to do, when her impetuous actions of ten months ago had resulted in such shame and scandal.

      ‘Do not look so sad, Georgianna.’ The duke deliberately chose to misunderstand the reason for that sadness as he crossed the bedchamber on predatory soft steps, until he now stood just inches away from her. ‘I may be busy for the rest of the day, but I shall return later this evening. And when I do—’ those glittering silver eyes held her mesmerised as he slowly raised a hand and allowed the hardness of his knuckles to graze softly over the warmth of her cheek ‘—I am sure we shall be able to think of several ways in which to keep you entertained, during your incarceration in my bedchamber.’

      Georgianna gasped as she heard the intent beneath that softly sensuous voice. Just as she now flinched as the hardness of those knuckles travelled the length of her throat before moving lower, lingering to caress the swell of her breasts through the material of her gown.

      Leaving her in absolutely no doubt as to what those entertainments might be.

      Her cheeks burned with humiliated colour as she pulled back from those caressing knuckles. ‘I may have fallen from decency in society’s eyes, Hawksmere, but I assure you I have absolutely no intention of becoming your plaything.’

      The duke eyed her derisively. ‘The arousal of your breasts, from just the merest touch of my knuckles, tells a different story,’ he drawled mockingly as he glanced pointedly downwards.

      Georgianna’s startled gaze followed the direction of his mocking gaze, her face paling as she saw what Hawksmere so obviously saw; those rosy berries that tipped her breasts were now swollen and full, and could clearly be seen outlined against the soft material of her gown buttoned up to her throat.

      Because they were aroused?

      By Hawksmere?

      Impossible.

      Oh, he was handsome enough to set any woman’s heart beating faster. But it was a dangerous attraction, a challenge those silver eyes proclaimed no one woman would ever be able to satisfy.

      Too much of a challenge, it was rumoured, for any woman, high-or low-born, married or unmarried, to resist sharing the duke’s bed once he had expressed an interest.

      But Georgianna was not one of those weak and susceptible women. How could she be, when she found Hawksmere no less intimidating now than she had ten months ago?

      Except...

      There was no denying the physical evidence of her breasts having become aroused by his lightest of touches.

      Not with desire but fear, Georgianna instantly assured herself.

      Because Hawksmere had just threatened to keep her here, a prisoner in his bedchamber, for as long as he chose to do so.

      She straightened her spine. ‘You cannot keep me here against my will,’ she repeated firmly.

      ‘I can do anything I wish with you, Georgianna,’ Zachary murmured with satisfaction, mocking her response, her undeniable arousal at his caress.

      An arousal which Zachary knew no woman could fabricate or control.

      As he had been unable to control his own arousal as he had lightly caressed the engorged tip of her breast.

      Despite her having run away from marrying him ten months ago, Zachary could not deny that he still physically desired this woman. In his bed, beneath him, to be buried to the hilt between her thighs.

      Try as he might, Zachary had found no explanation for that sudden clench of desire when he had looked at Georgianna Lancaster ten months ago, and he had none now, either. It was enough to know that it still existed.

      A weakness, in the current circumstances, best kept to himself.

      He stepped back abruptly. ‘As I said, I have other things to occupy me this morning, but I will go downstairs now and arrange a breakfast for you, and then I advise that you get some sleep.’

      ‘I am not hungry, nor shall I sleep.’

      Zachary’s eyes narrowed on her critically, noting the hollows in the paleness of her cheeks, her slenderness beneath the unbecoming black gown. ‘You are grown too slender.’

      ‘I said I am not hungry.’ Those violet-coloured eyes flashed again in warning.

      Another show of temper Zachary did not care for in the least, as he stepped deliberately closer to her, so close that he could see the way the pupils of her eyes expanded as she now looked up at him apprehensively.

      ‘Nevertheless, you will eat all of the breakfast I have brought up to you.’

      She maintained her ground even as a nerve pulsed rapidly at her throat, no doubt as evidence of her inner nervousness. ‘And I have said I shall not.’

      Once again Zachary felt that grudging admiration for her stubbornness; not too many people

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