The Unthinkable (11 page)

He’d been so damned weak. He’d had every intention of marriage, but he’d allowed himself to be persuaded by the prejudice of his parents and the jealously of his brother. “You are young, you lack proper comparison,” they’d said. “She’s taking advantage of you, don’t be a fool.” Their universal condemnation of the match as both unsuitable and foolhardy worked on his youthful insecurities.

Trapped between duty and desire when Genie pushed him to declare himself, unknowingly she’d exacerbated his guilt and resentment. Building to the point that when the letter arrived, he’d lashed out in anger like a cornered dog. He whipped off a terse reply to her heartfelt entreaty, never considering the ramifications of his actions. He’d just wanted the problem to go away.

For a little while.

When he discovered that Genie had fled, initially he felt relieved. He didn’t realize then that a part of him had departed with her. Within days he knew he’d made a mistake.

It took far longer to realize how much of one.

Though he might not have intended to, he’d acted the cad. He offered no excuse for his conduct. The fault was his. But he was no longer the unreliable, carefree young man. Circumstances had forced him to change.

And now that he’d found her, he’d have the chance to atone for his sins. Finally, he could begin to chip away at the block of guilt and regret that had been strapped across his shoulders since she’d left.

He started toward her, a broad, benevolent smile on his face.

Before he could reach her, a man moved protectively to her side, halting him dead in his tracks. There was something possessive about the movement that made his blood run cold.

But only for a minute. When he realized who stood before him, he nearly sighed with relief. Pushing aside the moment of unease, he chuckled at his foolishness. It was only Hawk. His best friend. The very man he’d sent to find her.

Strange that Hawk hadn’t notified him of his return. No matter. He owed Hawk a debt that he could never repay. How could he ever thank him? For Hawk had traveled half the world to find the girl who’d haunted his memories. The girl he could never forget.

Genie gazed fondly at Edmund. He’d said that she looked as though she’d seen a ghost. One corner of her mouth lifted with the barest hint of amusement. His heartfelt concern warmed the dank chill in her heart. She’d exchanged a frog for a true knight. “In a way, I suppose I have,” she said wryly.

Edmund followed the direction of her gaze and flinched, immediately dropping her arm. The blood rushed from his face. No doubt from her reaction, he realized who the man must be.

But there was something else. Something was very wrong. Edmund was staring at Hastings and he couldn’t look away. He looked guilty—almost ashamed. “Edmund?” She clutched his arm, shaking him. She hesitated. “Do you know him?” Genuine fear laced her voice.

“Edmund?” Hastings repeated incredulously. Her use of Edmund’s given name rather than his title had alerted him to the intimacy between them. Among peers, given names were rarely used—usually by siblings. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising that Genie had never called Hastings “Fitzwilliam.” The divide had always been there between them, even if she hadn’t recognized it.

She ignored Hastings and turned to Edmund. Her question seemed to have snapped him out of his trance. His gaze drifted down to her, anxiety etched across his handsome features. “We’ve been friends for years. We were at Eton and Oxford together.”

“You never told her?” Hastings demanded.

“Told me what?” Genie’s brow creased with worry. She braced herself, instinctively knowing that she would not like his answer. But Edmund ignored her and turned back to Hastings.

He bowed. “Now is not the time to discuss this, Your Grace.”

Bewildered, Genie rounded on Edmund. “Your Grace?” she echoed dumbfounded.

Edmund hesitated. “Mrs. Preston, may I present the 12th Duke of Huntingdon.”

“But…” Her voice trailed off with disbelief.

His
voice replied. “A carriage accident three years ago. Both my father and Henry.” The husky honey-filled voice that sent chills down her spine had deepened to a sinful dark molten chocolate. The memories of his voice sent a feathery twinge across her heartstrings. The haunting voice of her past stirred up the buried memories. At one time she’d have given her life to hear that voice again.

“I’m sorry,” she offered unthinkingly. Loudoun dead? It was unthinkable, all that youthful vitality snuffed out.

He acknowledged her condolence with a shrug. “It was a horrible shock to us all. My mother most of all; she is quite changed. She has quite forsaken town society and resides permanently in the country now.”

The mere mention of his mother acted like a bucket of icy water, dousing all thoughts of sympathy. She schooled her features into the blank emotionless wall that tragedy had painstakingly perfected.

He was a duke. How horribly ironic after all his mother had done to prevent an unsuitable match when he was only the second son. What would the duchess be willing to do now? Genie thought with a bitter laugh. Ship her off to the Orient? She was almost tempted to find out. For years, all she had thought about was revenge. Revenge had protected her, giving her a purpose to survive, when nothing else did. But then she’d met Edmund and forced it aside.

Coming face-to-face with the man who had stolen her virtue had awakened it again.

But even if Genie had harbored some inkling of making him regret what he’d done, Huntingdon—nee Hastings—was even farther beyond her reach. And there was no reason to think that he’d have any more interest in her today than he had five years ago.

No, revenge no longer consumed her. Not now that she’d found Edmund. Instinctively, she drew closer to his side. Edmund wrapped her carefully under his arm, shielding her. She lifted her face to his and smiled. Edmund would give her the security that she craved and she, in turn, would give him what he craved. What all men craved. Men wanted a woman like her for one reason only. She’d learned the harsh truth of that many times over. Dear Hastings had been her first instructor. It was a fair bargain, she told herself, assuaging any guilt.

Hastings—no, she corrected herself—Huntingdon had watched Genie’s instinctive, intimate movement toward Edmund with disbelief. He turned to Edmund, looking for an answer and apparently found one.

One that was completely unexpected.

Huntingdon looked as if he’d been struck, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The joyful, welcoming smile disappeared, replaced by one of horror. He had the look of a man whose best friend had just plunged a knife into his gut and twisted it.

And Edmund looked like a man who’d wielded the traitorous blade.

Genie’s blood ran cold. Something was very wrong. This whole situation was making her extremely uneasy. She lifted her hand to cradle Edmund’s bloodless face. “Edmund, we should leave.”

But rather than defuse the situation, her thoughtless gesture only seemed to make things worse. Huntingdon seemed to snap. His jaw hardened, his eyes blazed with barely contained fury. Edmund straightened his back, squared his shoulders and met the duke’s rage straight on. A silent battle was being waged that Genie didn’t understand. Genie couldn’t fathom what would cause Huntingdon to be so angry, except that it was not directed at her but at Edmund.

“Strange that I did not hear of your return,” he sneered caustically at Edmund. When Edmund didn’t reply he turned to Genie. “And how do you know Hawk?” His voice had turned dark and dangerous.

It took Genie a moment to realize that he referred to Edmund. Sensing her confusion, Edmund explained, “My friends call me Hawk.” Huntingdon snarled his disavowal. The two men were no longer friends. Edmund stepped forward, shielding her from the duke as if he knew the reaction his words would effect. He took a deep breath, seeking strength. “Although it has not yet been announced, Mrs. Preston has agreed to be my wife.”

Huntingdon froze at the unexpected announcement. He gazed at Edmund as if seeing him for the first time. It seemed to take him a minute to understand. But when he did, the words only inflamed his already burgeoning anger. Now almost murderous with rage, his muscles bulged; his entire body seemed to shake with the effort it took to restrain himself.

Genie read the raw clash of emotions that crossed his face—hurt, anger, betrayal… and rage. It was rage that won out. He flew at Edmund, his cape a black wing behind him. “You bloody bastard. How could you do this? I trusted you.”

Huntingdon’s fist slammed toward Hawk’s jaw. He had never wanted to kill someone as much as he did at this moment. To finally find the woman he’d been searching for, only to discover that the man he’d sent to find her had betrayed him. And the betrayal was made all the more crushing because it was delivered by the man he’d considered his closest friend. Tonight, he’d been sent on a fool’s errand by this very “friend.” Now he knew why.

At the last minute Hawk ducked, avoiding the blow. Hawk caught Huntingdon’s arm midair, holding him back.

“Not now, Huntingdon,” he cautioned through clenched teeth. “I promise you, we’ll deal with this later. In private,” Hawk added meaningfully.

Huntingdon looked around, realizing a small crowd had gathered along the walkway. A duke brawling with an earl at Carlton House was sensational enough to entice even the most cynical of the ton to gawk. Hawk was right, this was not the place. As it was, the rumor mongering ton would be atwitter for days.

He lowered his arm, but did not stand down.

Genie glared at him, disgusted, as if she didn’t know him. Obviously, she blamed him for what she thought was an unprovoked attack. If only she knew.

But she didn’t, he guessed. He’d seen Hawk’s face. He’d seen the guilt. And fear. Emotions he’d never before seen on Hawk’s face.

With effort, Huntingdon collected himself and backed off Hawk. But the heat of battle still pounded through his veins. “I’ll expect you at noon.” He lowered his voice, “Consider yourself fortunate, Hawkesbury. Only the present rather public nature of our circumstances prevents me from calling you out right now.”

Genie did not miss the implied threat. He might not be so lucky tomorrow. “You have no right,” she whispered angrily.

“Don’t I?” he sneered, looking at Hawk. “Would you care to explain to her what
right
I have, Hawk?”

Face grim with understanding, Hawk turned to Genie. “Don’t worry, love, I’ll take care of this,” he soothed. Face tense he glanced at Huntingdon. “Tomorrow then,” Hawk agreed, dismissing him and immediately turning his overly solicitous attentions back to Genie.

Again, Huntingdon’s gaze seized on that once beloved face, no longer familiar but even more beautiful—achingly so. In profound disbelief he watched Hawk’s thumb trace the curve of her cheek.

Something primal in him revolted at the thought of anyone touching her but him. Time, he realized, had not softened his possessive streak. Had he once been privileged to stroke that porcelain skin? If he closed his eyes, he could almost remember how it felt to hold her in his arms and slide deep into her body. Did she still gasp and utter those sweet little moans of pleasure as she fell apart? He tried to picture her face as she gazed at him adoringly, full of love, the pink blush of her orgasm spread across her cheeks, her mouth bruised from his kiss. But the details were frustratingly fuzzy.

It was so long ago.

But not long enough to forget the powerful surge of desire that had made him rock hard whenever she was near. Time might have blurred the details, but his body remembered.

After all these years he still wanted her. For himself. Alone.

Holding himself back, watching Hawk’s intimate ministrations was nearly unbearable—made worse by the bitter betrayal of the man touching her. The same strange urge to possess that had lain dormant for five years, now awakened, had not diminished in intensity. Despite the inappropriate venue, Huntingdon had to force himself not to attack Hawk again. Watching him put his hands on her was bloody torture, when he’d dreamed of nothing else for the past five years.

She on the other hand seemed to have forgotten Huntingdon existed. Once he’d been able to read her every emotion simply by watching the sparkle in her lively eyes or the naughty twitch at the corner of her mouth. No longer. The cool, self-possessed young woman standing before him guarded her thoughts well.

He searched for a connection, an indication that she remembered, but her face betrayed nothing. It was as if they were strangers and she’d obliterated him from her memory.

He pushed away the empty feeling in his chest. Guilt, he told himself. It was no more than he deserved.

He turned away from the intimate scene playing out before him. He could not watch any longer.

She moved and her gown shimmered in the moonlight. Now that the shock of seeing her after all these years had finally dissipated, the bitter irony of the situation did not escape him. For years he’d tortured himself with a hair shirt of guilt, while Genie had moved on and—if her elaborate and expensive gown was any indication—done quite well for herself.

Genie Prescott, the country rector’s daughter had certainly come up in the world. Her fiancé was one of the wealthiest men in England. Wealthier even than him.

A fist of rage socked him in the gut when the second realization hit him. Hawk had introduced her as Mrs. Preston.

She’d married
.

It was nearly inconceivable.

Though she must be widowed, why did the knowledge that she’d found someone to do what he would not feel like such a betrayal? What had he expected? That she would share the torch that he carried?

And now she was engaged to his best friend. Double betrayal.

The thought of Hawk and Genie together, the realization that she’d been married before, caused Huntingdon to turn some of his burgeoning wrath toward her.

The crowd, sensing that there would be no further spectacle, began to disperse. When it looked as if Genie meant to follow them, Huntingdon stopped her. “I shall look forward to renewing our old acquaintance,” he mocked suggestively. Her back stiffened; she had not missed the sexual innuendo. He continued, unable to stop himself. “I’m eager to hear what you have been doing in the intervening years since last we met. You’ve obviously done well for yourself,
Mrs. Preston
.” He held his expression impassive, but he could not completely hide the biting sarcasm of his words.