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 blo
ody 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.
She flinched. For a moment, he thought he saw a shadow of pain cross over her before the cool emotionless curtain dropped back into position. She lifted her chin and met his mocking tone. “As have you, Your Grace.”
He couldn’t conceal his rabid curiosity. “And what of Mr. Preston?”
The small smile she gave him did not reach her eyes. “A soldier, Your Grace. He fell at Vimeiro, not two years after we married,” she parried, wielding her sword with pinpoint finesse, pinning his heart with the tip of her blade.
“My condolences,” he murmured as the air squeezed from his lungs. The Battle of Vimeiro was in August of ’08, meaning that she must have met and married her soldier soon after she’d fled Thornbury in November. Perhaps on the very ship that had carried her away from him. He fought to breathe normally. Clearly, she’d spared little time “getting over” him. Huntingdon held his expression even, but the load of guilt he’d been carrying for so many years combusted in his chest.
Their eyes met and held one last time. Hostility sparked between them like a vicious lightning storm. He was in no danger of romanticizing their past now. The past was gone. He didn’t even have the memories to cherish any longer.
This time when she and Hawkesbury moved away, he let them go.
Genie held her breath as Edmund steered her away from the duke. If she’d been forced to stand there one minute longer, biting back all the accusations she yearned to fling at him, she would have been in danger of screeching like a madwoman. That would certainly make a lasting impression on the ton.
Fortunately, Genie recalled what was at stake and maintained her façade of disinterest, an impressive enough performance to convince even the most curious that she was not a part of the disagreement between the two esteemed peers. Nothing would interfere with her debut, she vowed. Not even the blasted 12th Duke of Huntingdon.
Despite her forbearance in curtailing her temper, inwardly Genie seethed with indignation. How dare he assault Edmund then direct his venom toward her! Blaming her for his failures. Though his face retained its granitelike composure, she could not miss the brittle sarcasm of his conversation. He thought she’d benefited from her forced exile. She wanted to laugh at the irony. If he only knew how wrong he was.
He’d made her so angry, Genie had been unable to resist taunting him with her supposed hasty marriage. His self-righteous attitude had egged her on. The new Duke of Huntingdon was the same arrogant man she remembered, without the good humor. The irrepressible charm that had drawn her to him had turned stern and malignant.
She glanced up at Edmund, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Loss of good humor seemed to be a common affliction this night. Edmund had never looked so grave.
“What was that all about?” she asked Edmund as soon as they cleared the crowd.
“Unresolved issues.”
“I gathered as much,” she said wryly. “Will you not tell me the reason that you and Huntingdon nearly came to blows?”
Edmund met her gaze. Worry casted his handsome face in a gray, sickly light. “I fear what I have to tell you may change your good opinion of me.”
“Nothing you do could alter my esteem and love for you,” she said earnestly. “After all, you have restored my faith in honorable men.”
Rather than console him, her praise only served to heighten his discomfort. “That is a heavy mantle for any man to bear. I fear I may disappoint you.”
“Never,” Genie said with conviction. “I could never forget everything you have done for me.”
“I don’t want your gratitude,” he said angrily.
“But you shall always have it.” She put her hand on his. “Though that is not why I love you. You are a good man, Edmund St. George. The best. Any woman would be a fool not to love you. And I am no fool. Whatever it is you have done, you can tell me.”
Edmund raked his fingers through his hair, weighing his words with obvious precision. “I should have told you sooner. I meant to,” he mumbled distractedly. Looking around he said, “Tomorrow I will explain everything. This is not the place for private conversation.”
“Very well. It all sounds so tantalizingly mysterious. But I will not press… until tomorrow.” She had her own problems with which to attend.
When Prinny finally departed, the Countess of Hawkesbury was found and the small party quit the waning delights of the magnificent fete to call for the earl’s carriage. With so many guests having reached a similar conclusion, the wait again proved interminable.
Conversation lulled to a welcome halt. The evening had proved an exhausting one for all, each for very different reasons. Content with her own thoughts for company, Genie welcomed the opportunity to consider all that had occurred.
All in all, the evening had been a success. The ton had embraced her, she had secured the coveted invitation to Almack’s, and she had acquitted herself well in the face of potential disaster.
She had almost lost control but had managed to hold her tongue. Though Huntingdon’s appearance at the fete was not unexpected, Genie clearly had not been as prepared as she thought to see him. But now it was behind her.
His joy at seeing her had disarmed her. As had his sudden anger first directed at Edmund then at her. One thing was certain, his behavior could hardly be termed “indifferent” as she had hoped. But what significance did that have for her plans with Edmund? Would he interfere?
His odd reaction still niggled at her. Why had he seemed so happy to see her? Perhaps he regretted his harsh treatment of her all those years ago?
Did it matter?
No. She realized that
it didn’t. All the regret in the world could not return what she had lost. His feelings were immaterial. She was relieved to discover that she no longer cared. All she wanted now was to protect her future, and for that she needed a plan to secure his cooperation.
She had to find out whether the duke would maintain discretion regarding their prior connection. There was no reason to suspect that he would have any interest in rehashing the past, but she had to make sure that he did not hint at what had transpired between them. Surely people in Thornbury must have speculated about the reasons for her swift departure, but she had no idea of how far afield those suspicions might have traveled. In any event she did not want to be connected with Huntingdon. It might provoke more questions about her past than she had answers for.
Her thin veil of respectability had to be protected at all costs. She knew the knife’s edge upon which she walked.
That the duchess resided in the country was admittedly a welcome boon. Would that all her problems proved as simple. Fanny and Lizzie, for example, might both be in town. How she longed to see her sister. She’d made a few discreet inquiries, but without explaining the connection, obtaining information on Lizzie proved difficult.
But her primary concern was the duke.
The young man she’d fallen in love with had changed, and not just in rank and appearance. No, the change was more elemental; his character had changed. The youth that had been quick with a smile and a jest, had transformed into a hard man, quick to temper. A man who no longer shied from confrontation. More important, Genie sensed that he might not be so easy to persuade as she had anticipated. She’d assumed he would be eager to forget the shame of what he’d done. But he didn’t seem embarrassed or ashamed at all.
No matter, Genie had also changed and she was well prepared for whatever challenge he could muster.
Confined once again within the silken walls of the carriage, Genie relaxed. All the excitement and nervous energy that had accompanied her on her arrival had fled along with the oppressive heat. She closed her eyes, allowing the gentle sway of the carriage to ease the storm of worries in her mind.
The Unthinkable Page 9