‘I do not believe I have ever confirmed my intention of going to France.’
‘But we both know that you are.’ Georgianna glanced back at him as he did not deny it a second time. ‘And you would have admitted it was so earlier if we had not been…’ Her face flushed fiery red as she remembered the reason for their earlier distraction.
‘No, I would not, Georgianna, and for the simple reason I do not consider my immediate plans to be any of your concern,’ Zachary bit out harshly.
Georgianna recoiled at the disdain underlying his dismissal. It was as if he had physically struck her. As if, despite everything, Zachary still distrusted her.
She turned stiffly to face him. ‘Nevertheless, you cannot expect me to continue to remain here whilst you are away.’
‘And yet that is exactly what I expect.’ Hawksmere eyed her challengingly.
‘And if I should choose to make my presence here a difficult one?’
‘Then do so by all means. It will make no difference to the outcome.’ Zachary was no happier than Georgianna about the arrangement, and as such, his patience had worn beyond thin on the subject.
She raised haughty brows. ‘You may be lord and master of all you survey in your own world, Zachary, but I assure you, you are not my lord or master, in this world or any other.’
No, because if he were, Zachary would have put her over his knee by now and spanked her obstinate little bottom into obedience. As it was, he was so angry with her, not just for her stubbornness now, but because he now knew she had deliberately placed herself in danger these past months. So angry that he might still be driven to that action, if Georgianna didn’t cease arguing with him at every turn.
Not that he had really expected their earlier intimacy to have changed that stubbornness in any way. Georgianna had shown him only too clearly that this wilfulness was part and parcel of who she was. Or, at least, who she had become.
No doubt those weeks and months she had spent alone in France, fearing for her safety, for her life, were in part responsible for her present independence of nature.
The truth was, after the information Zachary had received this morning, he now believed the things Georgianna had told him about the time she had spent in France. And knowing that she had wilfully chosen to put herself in harm’s way by working at the tavern of Helene Rousseau was enough to turn the blood cold in Zachary’s veins. Anything might have happened to her; a young and beautiful woman, so obviously alone and without male protection.
As perhaps anything had?
His eyes narrowed. ‘Where did you live while working in the kitchen of Helene Rousseau’s tavern?’
Georgianna eyed Hawksmere warily as she heard the steely edge beneath the softness of his tone. ‘I do not see that is any of your concern.’
‘Answer the question, damn you.’ He strode forcefully across the room.
She blinked up at him as he now stood just inches in front of her. ‘I was given a room in the attic.’
‘You lived on the premises?’
She nodded. ‘So I was about to tell you, if you had let me finish.’
He drew in a slow and deliberate breath. ‘You, Lady Georgianna Lancaster, daughter, and now sister of the Earl of Malvern, lived in the attic of a common French tavern?’
Georgianna had no idea why Hawksmere was so obviously angry on the subject. Living in the attic of the Fleur de Lis paled into insignificance when she considered the other dangers she had faced during those months in France. ‘Mademoiselle Rousseau allowed me to stay there as part of my payment.’
‘So that you might entertain men there?’
Georgianna gasped in shock. ‘ Of course not! How dare you imply—?’ She broke off as Hawksmere took a painful grasp of the tops of her arms, his face tight with anger as he towered over her.
‘I was employed as a kitchen maid, not a whore, Hawksmere.’
‘I very much doubt that the men who frequented the tavern were capable of making that distinction.’ he said scornfully.
She frowned. ‘You are obviously more familiar with the practises of such places than I.’
His hands tightened painfully as he shook her. ‘It is not a question of what I am familiar with.’
‘Is it not?’ Georgianna challenged scathingly. ‘I worked in the kitchen of the tavern, Hawksmere,’ she maintained firmly. ‘And that is all I did.’ She looked up at him defiantly.
Zachary looked down at her searchingly, seeing the challenge glittering in those violet-coloured eyes, the unmistakable pride in the tilt of her chin, indignation in the stiffness of her body. As proof of her innocence? In regard to the months she had spent working at the tavern, perhaps; the weeks she had spent as Rousseau’s mistress were a different matter entirely.