The Unthinkable

by Monica McCarty

  The night that began with a bang of promise, then fizzled to an abrupt end with the slow break of dawn. Though she had achieved her objective this night—her debut into society had been a resounding success—Genie couldn’t help but feel that her appearance at the prince’s fete had opened a Pandora’s box.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Duke of Huntingdon hunched over his desk and swirled the viscous amber liquid in the cut crystal glass before draining the contents in one deep gulp. Another followed. And another. Soon he lost count. The sun had risen hours ago, at last putting an end to a night that he wanted to forget. Closeted in his private study, heavy velvet curtains closed to block the offending light, the memories of all that had transpired stuck. Not even inebriation could dull the lingering emotion still smoldering in his chest, kindled by disappointment and betrayal.

  Sweet, innocent Genie had betrayed him as surely as Hawk. That it was undoubtedly deserved did not lessen the pain. Nor make him feel less of a fool.

  He’d romanticized a youthful liaison, relegating it to such enormous proportions, he was bound to be disappointed by reality. He just never expected the truth to be so painful. Had he honestly meant that little to her?

  After so many years shouldering the blame for the disastrous end to their affair, it felt strangely traitorous to contemplate ulterior motives on her behalf. Could she have had a different purpose all along? Could she have entered into a love affair with him knowing that his family would buy her off rather than see him marry so far beneath them? He couldn’t believe it of her. It didn’t fit with his memory of the sweet, naïve country girl.

  But it did seem more in line with the cool beauty who stood on the walkway of Carlton House and acted as if she barely knew him.

  At least he had one answer. Genie’s sudden marriage explained why she hadn’t returned to England. Why she hadn’t come back to fight for him as she’d vowed to his mother?

  What a damned idiot he’d been. He was embarrassed for all the times that he’d thought about her over the past five years, for the pedestal on which he’d placed her, for the comparisons to other women who had always fallen impossibly short of her perfection.

  He’d spent the years since they’d parted chasing after something that had never been. The way he’d agonized after she’d left, the years of searching all seemed laughable now.

  Five years ago he’d loved her with all the unfettered passion of youth. The intensity of his feelings had terrified him. It was too strong, too fast. Too much. And he’d been too inexperienced to realize that he had stumbled onto something worth fighting for.

  As intensely as he’d loved, he suffered doubly when she left. He’d tortured himself for months trying to find her, but she’d disappeared without a trace.

  He took a deep breath, clearing the painful memories. That was a long time ago. Thankfully, he’d put those dangerous feelings behind him. He would never give himself up to a love like that again; it was far too destructive. The guilt, the suffering, the frustration of not being able to find her, was something he never cared to repeat.

  Unfortunately, her quick marriage did not erase the fact that he’d acted dishonorably; Huntingdon could not be absolved that easily. But the insatiable drive to redeem himself no longer burned quite so intensely. He’d lived with guilt for so long, he acknowledged that the burden might prove difficult to relinquish.

  He’d always felt that something terrible had happened to Genie in America that prevented her from returning to her family, if not to him. What else would explain her silence all these years? He’d made it his personal crusade to find her, to convince himself that she was unharmed. And because he never seriously contemplated marriage, it had never occurred to him that she would.

  Fool.

  The door opened and the Earl of Hawkesbury strode in unaccompanied. Apparently Huntingdon had neglected to instruct Grimes that his former best friend should now be announced like any other stranger.

  Hawk took one look at him and said, “You look like hell. Haven’t you slept?”

  Huntingdon glared at him with bloodshot eyes, taking in Hawk’s equally bedraggled appearance. He, too, still wore his evening clothes. The rage he’d felt last night at Hawk had diminished. Though he was not as drunk as he’d like to be for this conversation, his temper had cooled. He wanted answers. “Have you?” he returned.

  Hawk’s mouth curved into something that vaguely resembled a smile. He bowed and tipped his hat as if to say touché.

  Though the duke had not given him leave, Hawk sank down in a chair opposite him. He reached across the desk and helped himself to a generous pour of Huntingdon’s best brandy.

  They stared at each other, both unsure how to approach the insurmountable barrier erected between them. A lifetime of friendship desecrated by one unforgivable act.

  Huntingdon tapped the empty glass in his hand with his fingertips, the dull clink resonating in the silence. Finally, he spoke. “Does she know?” His voice sounded sluggish, rough from drink and lack of sleep.

  “Know that you sent me to America to find her?”

  Huntingdon nodded.

  “No,” Hawk said tightly. “Though she will later today.”

  Huntingdon raised a brow. “No excuses?”

  Hawk sighed wearily. “Would it make a difference?”

  “It might. I should like to think that my oldest friend did not set out to betray me.”

  “I didn’t.” Hawk stopped, searching for the right words. “There are things I can’t discuss, but I can tell you that I did not know who she was when I found her. She is much changed from your description…” He looked to Huntingdon for confirmation.

  “Yes, she is,” Huntingdon acknowledged reluctantly. “I barely recognized her.”

  Hawk nodded and continued. “When I first met her she was going by the name of Mrs. Ginny Preston. She only revealed who she was a month ago, by then it was too late. I was already in love with her. She trusted me. I couldn’t risk losing her.”

  Huntingdon gritted his teeth. The litany of accusations he’d been holding back shot forth. “Your losing her? You of all people know what I have gone through to find her. How I searched for her that first year without any trail to be found. How I drowned my shame and disappointment in drink and women. You were there. You pulled me out of the gutter. You know how much I have blamed myself for her being forced to leave her home, how much I’ve wanted to rectify my conduct. How relieved I was when my mother finally broke her silence and gave me a place to search. It was you who offered to go in my stead when Prinny wouldn’t allow me to leave England last year and I was about to commit treason and go anyway, throwing my political aspirations to the wind.” He stood up, yanked the curtain open to gaze out the window, turning his back to Hawk. His voice shook. “How could you?”

  “If you knew the circumstances…” Hawk began then stopped himself. “I know it seems insufficient, but there are reasons. And as I said, they are not mine to divulge. Suffice it to say that she is not the same girl you remember. I believed then, as I do now, that she was irretrievably lost to you.”

  Some of the duke’s rage returned. “How dare you presume to judge. You are in no position—”

  “I know,” Edmund agreed pitifully.

  “And last night? Was the ‘emergency’ that took me to your estate in Surrey part of your plan?”

  Edmund shrugged abashedly. “I admit to desperation, though there was nothing so formal as a plan. Of course, I knew you would eventually discover the identity of my betrothed. I just hoped to formally announce our engagement beforehand. But Genie has proved more obstinate in that respect than I anticipated. She has an unreasonable desire not to see me hurt.” He laughed without amusement at the irony. “She wants to ensure her acceptance by the ton.”

  Huntingdon understood. Genie feared that their former liaison might come to light and create a scandal. “There is little chance that our former connection would become known. Our families did a fair job of l
imiting speculation. It was a long time ago.”

  Hawk seemed pleased. “Then there is no impediment to our betrothal. Except for you.” He paused, appearing to brace himself. “I ask that you stand down and not interfere.”

  Huntingdon crossed his arms and peered down his nose at Hawk. “Why should I do that?”

  “Because she loves me and I will make her happy.”

  Huntingdon’s eyes flared for a long moment. Reining in his anger, he chuckled dryly. “Are you so sure? The lady’s love has proved rather inconstant. How do you think she will react when she finds out about your role in all of this?”

  “I don’t know.” Hawk’s voice sounded strained. “But it is my problem. You had your opportunity five years ago when you refused to do right by her and marry her. Why would you want her now when you don’t make any pretense of loving her? You don’t need to make the sacrifice to assuage your guilt; I will do it for you, happily. I hope you will not let pride get in the way of doing what is right.”

  “You are hardly in a position to lecture me on what is right, my dear Brutus.” Huntingdon warned in a dangerous voice. But Hawk was right. Huntingdon didn’t love her. The lovesick fool had drowned many years ago in drink, gaming hells, and between the loose thighs of too many women. But he still wanted her. Maybe if only to erase the importance of their interlude in his mind.

  “Will you stand down?” Hawk repeated.

  Huntingdon sank down in his chair and stretched his legs out lazily before him, the whole time intently studying his former friend. Only someone who had known him for as long would realize that Hawk was nervous. Very nervous.

  Good. “Afraid of a little competition, my boy?”

  Hawk’s jaw twitched at his patronizing tone. “Hardly. Genie despises you.”

  Huntingdon ran his finger around the rim of his glass as if deliberating, but really only toying with the impatient Hawk. Huntingdon had already decided what he was going to do. A slow, lazy smile curled his lips. “I’m told there is a very thin line between love and hate.”

  Genie couldn’t swallow, a ball of hot tears lodged in her throat. Her eyes burned. But she would not cry; not over yet another man who disappointed her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked softly, her words conspicuously strangled.

  And why did it matter as much as it did? Because she had let him in and he had lied to her. A lie of omission, but a lie nonetheless. And Edmund knew how significant even the most insignificant of lies was to her.

  She’d thought him different. She’d trusted him as much as she’d thought to trust anyone again. But he, too, had lied to get what he wanted: her. Even dressed in shining armor he was still a man.

  Edmund had arrived at Hawkesbury House on Berkeley Square hard on the heels of the departure of their last morning caller. Genie was relieved to see him, knowing that he had come from Huntingdon House, and could barely hide her impatience to speak with him in private. Understanding, the countess discreetly bowed out of the elegant sitting room under the pretense of getting ready for the Duchess of Devonshire’s “intimate” soirée for a hundred guests that they were to attend later that evening.

  His dark, tousled hair still damp from bathing, Edmund appeared utterly exhausted. Weariness tugged around his eyes. He probably hadn’t slept at all last night. Genie was afraid the duke might have made good on his threat of a challenge. Edmund promptly allayed her concerns on that matter, sat her down on a small silk upholstered settee, and without further ado blurted out his damning confession.

  Genie took a deep breath, allowing the tears to abate. Eyes glassy but composed she turned back to face Edmund.

  “You lied to me,” she said, her voice hollow. How could she have let it happen again?

  Her accusation drew blood. Strong, confident Edmund seemed strangely deflated as he tried to explain. “At first, I didn’t realize who you were. You were so ill; my focus was only to make you well. Later, when you recovered and confided some of your history, I began to suspect that I had accidentally stumbled upon the very woman I’d been sent to discover. My suspicions were finally confirmed when you told me your real name.” Exasperated with the feeble excuse, he tossed up his hands. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. I knew how you despised him. I suppose I was afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?” Genie scoffed. “You couldn’t possibly believe that I would catch the next ship back to England at the snap of his fingers, merely because his guilty conscience had caught up with him. You couldn’t have thought that. Not with everything you knew.”

  “You loved him,” he said simply as if that fact explained everything. “And this was not a whim; he’d searched for you before.”

  She ignored this new tidbit of information, though it stopped her for a moment. Huntingdon’s actions after she fled were irrelevant. “I loved a boy. A boy who failed me. You are a man, I expected honesty from you.”

  “I know it sounds ridiculous. I started to tell you so many times, but I could never quite get the words out. Perhaps I was reluctant to dull the shine of my armor. I loved the way you looked at me. But no man is perfect, Genie. Certainly not me.”

  “I am well aware of that,” she snapped.

  “Are you? At times I wonder…” His eyes raked her face, looking for something. “I realized that it was a losing battle. You would eventually find out that Huntingdon was searching for you. I just wanted you safely beyond his reach before you did. He is not the same boy you knew, the man can be very determined.”

  “You should have trusted me. I have never been anything but honest with you, Edmund.” Her voice broke to a whisper. “I’ve told you things I’ve never told another living soul.”

  The truth of her condemnation struck the fatal blow. He knew he had violated her trust and how much it meant to her. Stricken with shame and remorse, Edmund appeared on the verge of being ill.

  “I did trust you. I just didn’t trust myself. Or him,” he muttered as an afterthought.

  She stared at him blankly.

  “I erred horribly. I should have told you the truth as soon as I suspected. Please tell me you can forgive me?”

  Could she? Genie thought about it. It was her fault, really. She never should have let her defenses down. Did she have to be beaten over the head repeatedly for it to sink in? Men would say anything to get what they wanted. Even a man as wonderful and honorable as Edmund. He was all that, she realized. Perhaps that is why his lie hurt so much. She gave him herself, and in the end, her knight, like everyone else, had let her down.

  She could forgive, but she would not forget.

  “Of course, you are forgiven,” she said firmly. “We will not speak of it again.”

  He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, relief bringing a joyous shine to his eyes.

  Fundamentally, she realized, Edmund’s lie did not change anything. She would still marry him. Now, however, she would not suffer under any delusions.

  Perhaps she should thank him for allaying any guilt she might have in using any artifice or feminine wiles to encourage his suit.

  Genie hadn’t forgotten the debt she owed him. No matter how he came to be there, Edmund had rescued her from hell. Edmund St. George, the 8th Earl of Hawkesbury, would get what he wanted, and so would she. With his name and wealth, she would never find herself at the mercy of a man again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I’d hoped to find you alone.”

  The deep, silky voice startled her out of her reverie. Genie swung around to find the Duke of Huntingdon at her side. Locked in the tumult of her thoughts, she hadn’t heard him approach. For such a muscular man, he moved as stealthily as a cat.

  His face was partially hidden in the shadows of the soft garden moonlight. Hard, blue eyes pierced the smoky veil, glowing unnaturally. Not a cat, more like a panther, she thought. Sleek, dark, and dangerous.

  Genie tensed at the intrusion, but held her ground. He stood closer than was proper which she assumed was intentional. Heat
radiated from his body. She fought the urge to step away, refusing to let him think his closeness bothered her.

  But it did.

  It was impossible not to be aware of him. His size alone demanded her attention. The cast of his shadow seemed to have doubled in size over the years. The bulky muscles and broad shoulders were so different.

  Good. She had enough reminders already.

  She lifted her chin and met his stare. Again, the change in his demeanor took her aback. The jaunty grin and twinkling eyes had vanished to the point that he seemed to have lost the ability to smile. Even his posture had changed. The relaxed, lackadaisical young man now stood straight and inflexible. This improved her spirits considerably. Change pleased her; it wrought unfamiliarity. The more he seemed a stranger, the less chance there was for her memories to blur the space of time and confuse her.

  Genie steeled herself for the inevitable; she’d known she could not evade him forever. Huntingdon, the man, no longer shied from unpleasantness.

  “I desired a breath of fresh air and Edmund is engaged at the gaming tables.” Her gaze flickered over his blank expression that still managed to convey arrogance by the square set of his jaw and the firm line of his mouth. “But I suspect you know that. You’ve had a remarkable habit of turning up everywhere I’ve been this week.” Every soirée, every ball, every assembly. Even Almack’s. Fortunately, until now, he had not sought to approach her. She’d almost convinced herself that he meant to leave them in peace. She’d almost grown accustomed to seeing him again. Almost.

  Genie had done her utmost to avoid him, keeping close to Edmund and the countess. Until now. She screwed her lips together, annoyed that he’d found her alone in Lady Jersey’s garden. After refreshing herself, and using the necessary, she’d slipped out onto the garden path from a side door, trying to escape his constant predatory stare. Like him, it followed her everywhere.