‘Whatever you have yet to tell me, never doubt my love for you, Georgianna. Never. Do you understand?’ He held her tightly against him. ‘Be assured, nothing you have to say, now or in the future, will ever change that,’ he added with certainty.
Georgianna looked up at him wonderingly, moved beyond measure at the knowledge that Zachary loved her so deeply, so unconditionally. The same deep intensity of emotion with which she now loved him. ‘It is nothing bad, my love,’ she assured huskily as she reached up to stroke his cheek. ‘Only embarrassing for me to speak of,’ she conceded ruefully.
‘I grow more intrigued by the moment, my love.’ He eyed her quizzically.
‘Where to start?’ Georgianna pulled out of his arms before standing up and turning away slightly, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her. ‘When I eloped with André—allow me to finish, my love, please!’ she begged as Zachary made a noise of protest. ‘We spent several uncomfortable days being jostled about in the coach together on the way to the seaport. We passed the sea journey as brother and sister in separate cabins. And once we reached Paris…’ She gave a shake of her head. ‘You are well aware of what transpired within days of our reaching the French capital.’
Zachary’s narrowed gaze remained intently on Georgianna as he slowly stood up to move softly to her side, reaching down to lift her chin so that he might gaze down directly, searchingly, into the frankness of those violet-coloured eyes. ‘Are you saying…?’ He drew in a sharp breath, hardly daring to believe.
‘I am saying that André and I had never shared any more than a few chaste kisses before we eloped and that he did not so much as kiss me during the whole of our journey to France.’
‘Georgianna?’
She swallowed. ‘The intensity, depth, of our own lovemaking was—is, the first I have ever known.’
‘Can it be? Are you a virgin still, Georgianna?’ Zachary prompted tensely.
The colour deepened in her cheeks as she nodded. ‘I could not bear to tell you before now.’ She grasped tightly to the front of his waistcoat as she gazed up at him imploringly. ‘The Zachary I met on my return to England would have enjoyed tormenting me with that knowledge. Would have mocked and taunted me as to André’s disinterest in me. Would have—’
‘Hush, my love.’ Zachary placed a silencing fingertip against her lips, his heart having swelled almost to bursting point in his chest.
He had long ago accepted that Georgianna had been Rousseau’s lover and it had made no difference to the deep love and admiration, respect, that he now felt for her. But to now realise, to know, that Georgianna had never, would never, belong to any other man but him?
It was a priceless gift. A gift beyond anything Zachary might ever have imagined.
‘I took such liberties with you.’ He groaned, disgusted with himself. ‘I was far too rough in my lovemaking. Too advanced in the things I did to you and demanded from you in return.’
‘I loved the way you made love to me, Zachary, and so enjoyed making love to you,’ she admitted shyly. ‘Indeed, I cannot wait to repeat it.’
‘That will not happen until after we are married,’ he assured her determinedly.
She chuckled throatily. ‘Can it be that Zachary Black, the arrogant and haughty Duke of Hawksmere, has now become prim and respectable?’
‘You may take it that Zachary Black, the arrogant and haughty Duke of Hawksmere,’ he repeated huskily, ‘intends to cherish and love, to make love to, Georgianna Rose Black, Duchess of Hawksmere, and only Georgianna Rose Black, Duchess of Hawksmere, for the rest of their lives together.’
It was so much more, so indescribably, wonderfully, ecstatically more than Georgianna Rose Lancaster, soon to be Black, could ever have hoped or dreamed of.
*