She shied away from so much as thinking of that emotion in connection to Zachary Black, the Duke of Hawksmere—the very same man whom she had once shied away from marrying—knowing that to love him would lead to even more heartbreak than had her ill-fated and humiliating elopement with André Rousseau.
‘I do not dislike it,’ she answered Zachary noncommittally, only to look up at him quizzically as he began to chuckle softly. ‘What is it?’
‘I laugh because, as usual, your thoughts and emotions remain a mystery to me, Georgia.’ He gazed down at
her indulgently.
She frowned her puzzlement. ‘I do not mean them to be.’
‘Any more than I believe just now to have been my finest hour.’ He had sobered slightly, a teasing smile now curving those sculptured lips.
‘I do not understand?’ Everything had seemed more than satisfactory to Georgianna. Very much so. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ she prompted anxiously.
‘Lord, no.’ He groaned his reassurance. ‘If you had done anything more right, then I believe I might now be lying here dead from a heart attack.’
She blushed at his effusive praise for her lovemaking. ‘Then I still do not understand.’
Zachary could see that she really had no idea what he was talking about. Had Rousseau been such a uninterested and unsatisfactory lover that even Zachary’s hasty lovemaking just now was preferable? Hasty, because his thoughts of Georgianna these past two weeks had caused him to hope, to anticipate, the worshipping of every inch of her delectable and responsive body. To kiss and caress her. To give her pleasure again and again.
Instead Georgianna had taken control of the situation, of him, and made love to him in a way that had surpassed all and any of his fantasies of being with her again.
He grimaced. ‘We might have expected our lovemaking to last for longer than a few minutes,’ he explained gruffly. ‘I had expected my own control to last for longer than a few minutes,’ he added ruefully. ‘I wanted it to be enjoyable for you, too.’
‘How could you ever imagine it was not enjoyable for me, too, when I cried out my pleasure?’ Her cheeks blushed a becoming rose.
‘Because I know it could have been better.’ He caressed that blush upon her cheeks. ‘I could have been better. Instead, I was as out of control as a callow youth being touched by a woman for the first time.’ Indeed, he had been lost the moment he had felt the soft fullness of Georgianna’s lips upon him, and the soft rasp of her tongue as she licked and tasted him; at that moment he’d had no more control than the night he had lost his virginity fifteen years ago.
‘What was your finest hour?’ Georgianna now prompted almost warily.
Zachary knew she was questioning him about his previous physical experiences. Unnecessarily, as it happened, because enjoyable as those past encounters might have been, none of them had affected him in the way that making love to and with Georgianna did. And that was without his having as yet fully made love to her, because he had yet to bury himself in the heat and lushness of her.
Even this, their closeness now as they cuddled in each other’s arms in the aftermath of that lovemaking, was an unusual occurrence for Zachary. Usually he could not vacate a woman’s bed quickly enough once the deed was done.
This closeness with Georgianna was one he cherished rather than wished to avoid.
At the same time he knew that he must now put an end to that closeness. That he had yet to tell Georgianna of his encounter with Rousseau in Paris.
And he had no idea how she would react, what she would say, once she knew her previous lover was now dead.
Admittedly, Rousseau had treated her abominably, had seduced her, deceived her, betrayed her, before believing he had killed her.
But love, the emotions of a woman’s heart, were not things Zachary was familiar with, either. Despite all that Rousseau had done to her, Georgianna might still feel some vestige of that emotion for the other man. Knowing that Zachary had been instrumental in his demise might shatter this unique, and highly enjoyable, time between the two of them.
Did he want to risk that, put an end to this time of harmony between the two of them, for the sake of honesty?
No.
But if he chose not to, then how could he ever reassure Georgianna that she no longer had anything to fear from Rousseau? Or expect Georgianna’s forgiveness, when she eventually learnt, as she surely must, that he had kept this information from her and for such selfish reasons?
No, he could not keep Rousseau’s death to himself. He knew he must share that news with Georgianna.
Even at the risk of bringing an end to the fragile intimacy that now existed between the two of them.
Reluctantly he pulled his arms from around her, removing his handkerchief from his pocket and gently mopping up the worst of the evidence of their lovemaking, before standing up to turn away and refasten his clothing. He ran agitated hands through the tousled length of his hair as he contemplated how to begin this next conversation.
‘Zachary?’ Georgianna eyed him uncertainly as she slowly sat up, continuing to look at him even as she absently refastened the buttons on the front of her gown. Her hair was beyond repair at this moment, the pins scattered about the floor from when Zachary had released it earlier.
The lover of just moments ago was gone. Zachary’s expression was guarded when he turned back to face her and flatly announced. ‘Georgianna, there is no other way for me to tell you this. My dear, Rousseau is dead.’