The Unthinkable

by Monica McCarty

  He took her hand to assist her in mounting her horse. Shockwaves of awareness tingled down her spine. Genie knew she was in trouble. Every day that she spent at Donnington, the deeper she fell under his spell. The relaxed charm was reminiscent of the youth, but far more devastating when set against the power of the man he had become. Whether conducting estate business, dealing with the mills and factories, or settling a dispute between two of his younger siblings, he exuded strength and capability in everything he did. And he’d put all of that strength and determination to work in trying to woo her. A patient seduction, but one that was not without substantial effect.

  “I’m sorry, did I keep you waiting?” she asked innocently, well aware that she was late.

  He brought her hand to his mouth. “It was well worth the wait, you look ravishing. Good enough to eat.” Her cheeks pinkened, not from the pretty compliment but from the lazy suggestive look he gave her as he placed a lingering kiss on her hand before releasing it.

  Ignoring the sudden racing of her heart, she asked, “Where are we riding today?” Usually they rode out to inspect the property, the livestock, or to attend to some business for the tenants. A few times he’d taken her to the mills and once to the mines at Ashby. One day last week he’d even taken her to the Huntingdon family’s ruined ancestral seat—the Castle at Ashby-de-la-Zouch, slighted during the civil war. The castle that had inspired Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe was truly magical.

  “Ah, no pressing business to attend to today, so I thought we’d go to the lake. Chef has packed a special surprise for you.”

  A picnic. She glanced up at the gray skies. Rather late in the season, but Genie did not mind the crisp temperature as long as the rain kept at bay. She tried not to think of other such outings long ago, but the similarities were impossible to ignore. Nor could she manage to rouse the anger that such memories usually entailed. Those people seemed so far away, and nearly unrecognizable from the people they were today. And for the first time, Genie allowed that perhaps that was not such a horrible thing.

  They rode for a while, occasionally stopping to speak with a tenant or a worker, waving politely to others as they passed.

  If she’d had any doubts about how seriously Huntingdon took his position as duke, they were dispelled soon after their first ride together. He immersed himself in every detail of the estate. That involvement was well rewarded with the unqualified respect of those around him.

  Not that he didn’t have his faults. He didn’t like being told no, and stubbornly pressed on determined to find a solution often when there was none. He and Stewart butted heads often enough over some such matter.

  She glanced over at him, noting the hard square jaw and haughty turn of his mouth. Now, however, Genie recognized that behind the superficial arrogance of his expression, lurked a man very willing to work with the lowest laborer. She’d not soon forget how surprised she’d been the first time he’d tossed off his jacket and joined in repairing a leaking roof or shearing an ornery lamb.

  Her eyes lingered on the wide set of his shoulders. At least she’d cleared up one mystery. She no longer wondered where he got those muscles. They were well earned.

  In Donnington, Huntingdon was in his element. She recalled what he’d once said about being a displaced farmer, though at the time she’d thought he wasn’t serious. Watching the pride and calm in his expression, now she knew he’d spoken the truth—he didn’t simply possess the land as a benevolent despot, he was part of the land.

  “What are you thinking about? You’ve been unusually quiet,” Huntingdon asked as they approached the lake from a spectacular vantage point high on a hill overlooking the water, surrounded by a wispy canopy of trees. The view was breathtaking. Even the bleak gray skies could not detract from the lush autumnal colors of Capability Brown’s pastoral landscaping.

  Genie thought for a moment before answering. “Do you remember what you once told me about being a farmer?”

  He gave her a long, intense look. She rarely brought up anything about their past. “I remember everything about that time.”

  There was nothing suggestive in his tone, only honesty and perhaps a note of regret.

  “At the time, I thought you were only trying to ease my embarrassment, but now I’m beginning to wonder whether you spoke the truth.”

  He chuckled, those brilliant blue eyes crinkling around the edges. He laughed so much easier these past few weeks. The resemblance to his humorless brother Loudoun had become fainter.

  “Well, perhaps it was a bit of both. I must admit that being a duke has its advantages.” His gaze swept over the wide expanse of land around them with no less supreme authority than a conqueror after the battle was won. “Though the life of a farmer is hard, there’s something elegant in the simplicity of a life in such delicate harmony with the land, don’t you think?”

  “Perhaps a bit too much in harmony for my taste,” Genie answered honestly. “You paint a pretty picture, but there is nothing romantic about hard work. Nor about blisters, a sore back, or an empty belly. Nor do I envy having the bread that I eat dependent upon the capricious nature of the weather.”

  She bit her tongue, knowing she’d said too much.

  He gave her a hard, appraising look. Probably surprised by the rare glimpse into her past.

  “Perhaps you are right. I did not mean to make light of the difficulties of such a position.”

  Genie turned her gaze, but he’d already seen enough.

  His voice soothed over her like a mother’s comforting caress. “I hope one day you will tell me what it was like for you, Genie. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be left with no money, all alone in a strange country.” His voice barely rose above the soft clop of their horses. “I admire your strength and bravery. Had I been in the same position, I doubt that I would have fared as well.”

  Her throat closed, overwhelmed by the respect in his voice. But he didn’t know how weak she was. “I wasn’t brave, I was scared.” Her voice caught, thick with emotion.

  “There is no shame in admitting fear, Genie. When I first inherited the dukedom, I was terrified.”

  She raised a brow as if she didn’t believe him.

  A small self-conscious smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “I assure you it’s the truth. I didn’t think I had what it took. The only time I’d ever faced real difficulty before, I’d failed.” He looked deep into her eyes. “I failed you.” He paused, allowing his words to penetrate. “But that failure made me realize that I didn’t want to be that kind of man. The kind of man who lets people down. When my father and brother died I had a choice. I could rebel against the responsibility as everyone expected, or I could take the more difficult route and change. I chose the latter, and it wasn’t easy. But fear is a very powerful motivator.”

  Touched by the little corner of his soul that he’d revealed to her, Genie didn’t know what to say. She stared at the powerful, handsome man before her with new eyes. A man who on the outside appeared to have every confidence, but who on the inside was driven by a fear of failure. Though he obviously thought it was a weakness, to Genie the acknowledgment of vulnerability only made him seem stronger. When their eyes met, a shock surged through her, a deeper connection forged by understanding.

  He’d fought to find his success—just as she had.

  And she was going to topple him. She shivered, unease chilling her. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She glanced sideways at him under her lashes and her chest squeezed. The more Genie learned about her new husband, the more she struggled with what she’d done. By now, the letter had surely found the hands of its recipient. The threat of pending doom was like a guillotine hanging over her future. Until it fell, she couldn’t consider the alternatives.

  But revenge no longer smelled quite as sweet. In fact, it had begun to stink.

  Huntingdon helped Genie dismount and escorted her to a small stone bench beside the lake while the servants laid out the food and drink. Leaves littered the
ground, providing all the excuse he needed to wrap his hand around that tiny waist ostensibly to prevent her from slipping. The smell of roses clung to her hair and instinctively he pulled her a little closer, inhaling the fresh scent.

  A few weeks ago he would never have dreamed that he would be confiding his insecurities to Genie, but their relationship had changed. He’d changed. In an effort to win her affection, he’d rediscovered some of the lightheartedness that he’d lost. To earn a smile from those beautiful lips, he’d do just about anything. To wipe away unhappiness, he’d bare his soul.

  And in spite of herself, she’d warmed to him. Ever since she’d discovered that piece of ribbon, she’d softened. He shook his head. If he’d known, he would have brought it to her attention a long time ago.

  There were moments like last week when she’d frolicked about the ruins of Ashby Castle that he’d see flashes of the sweet innocent girl that he remembered, wide-eyed with excitement and wonder. But it wasn’t that girl that made his heart feel as if it could explode. It was the contrast that intrigued him. Beneath the jaded exterior, she was still the girl he’d fallen in love with, only stronger—a harder edge, but she challenged him in ways that he never would have expected.

  Yet, even as they drew closer, as the days went on, there were still many questions that had gone unanswered. Though the importance of the answer had diminished, he still wondered why she’d been at the brothel. And did it have anything to do with what had happened on their wedding night? A part of him was certain that something had happened to her, but another part of him wondered whether he was just looking for an excuse for her lack of response to him. I used to love you. Her words still haunted him—taunted him.

  But he knew that until she trusted him, she would not confide anything about what had happened to her. He wanted the closeness back that they’d once shared. Their disastrous wedding night had showed him what a poor substitute passion was for intimacy. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. It had taken the fear of a carriage accident to make him realize that he still cared for her, but these weeks had shown him just how much.

  “Wait here,” he said, seating her at the bench.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Patience, my sweet. I told you of a surprise. Now close your eyes.”

  She frowned, but did as instructed. He motioned to a groom to bring the basket forward. He opened it to reveal a banquet of mouth-watering confections, from tarts, to biscuits, to delicate chocolate cream puffs sprinkled with powdered sugar. Everything her heart could desire.

  She sniffed in the air. Her tiny brows furrowed together.

  “Keep those eyes closed,” he ordered. Taking a chocolate cream puff, still warm from this morning’s baking, he swept it under her nose. Her tongue darted out to wet her upper lip.

  Heat surged in his crotch and he wondered who was teasing whom. She had the sensual, naughty mouth of a jade, and he could well imagine that tongue licking something else.

  He cursed under his breath. Despite his vow not to ravage her until she was ready, the swift bolt of lust kicked him hard.

  “Now open your mouth.” His voice sounded rough.

  When it looked like she was going to argue, he stopped her with a light kiss. She tasted of honey and it took everything he possessed to stop from deepening that kiss, from pressing the tight curve of her body against his in a crushing embrace. He spoke only inches from her mouth. “Open.”

  He popped the tiny ball into her mouth and she moaned. The deep, throaty sound of rapture only heightened the erotic images already swimming about his head.

  “You devil,” she said, but with a deliciously satisfied smile. “You know I don’t eat sweets anymore.”

  “Chef and I thought we might change that.”

  Before she could argue, he plied her with a biscuit. His mouth salivated, whether from the smell of the warm caramel or from watching the obvious enjoyment she was getting from eating it. Genie chewed the tender confection as if every bite were pure heaven.

  When she’d finished, she opened her eyes. Amusement twinkled back at him. “Perhaps you might.”

  With each tender morsel she devoured, Huntingdon watched her hard-wrought restraint crumble.

  Later that night, Genie suffered for her gluttony with a severely upset belly, but it was all worth it—every delicious bite. She never thought she’d be able to enjoy sweets again, but enjoy them she did—thanks to her husband.

  She rose the next morning feeling substantially recovered and ready for another ride. A soft knock at the door interrupted her toilette.

  “For you, Your Grace.” The young housemaid bobbed and scooted out of the room before Genie could reply.

  She quickly scanned the contents, then her heart lurched and the ability to breathe left her. The tersely worded note in the familiar scrawl paralyzed her with soul encompassing dread.

  Distressing news from London prevents our morning ride. I await your immediate attendance in my private study. Huntingdon

  The note fluttered to the floor. Stricken, she gazed out into nothingness.

  The guillotine, it appeared, had fallen.

  This was it. The moment she’d been waiting for. The moment of triumph for which she’d struggled. Genie would show him just how strong she was. That she was a woman who could not be forced, a woman not to be trifled with.

  But it all felt wrong. The weight of what she’d done pressed down on her. She felt as if she was suffocating, not elated that revenge would soon be hers. Instead, it felt like her happiness had just come to a crashing, disastrous end.

  She had everything she’d fought for: wealth, power, position… and now, revenge. The manor in Gloucestershire was hers, and she’d begun to implement her plan. She would never find herself at the mercy of a man again. But it wasn’t enough. She’d also been given a glimpse of the life she’d dreamed of as a girl. A life with a beautiful home and a doting husband.

  She tried to calm the race of her heart, tried to calm the wave of panic that threatened to overwhelm her. Her body felt tight, as if every bit of air had been sucked out of her.

  Too late. It was too late to realize that revenge was not what she wanted.

  Much too quickly, her maid finished arranging her hair in a soft knot secured at the back of her head with a jewel-encrusted comb. Gowned in a simple green morning gown instead of her riding habit, she made her way down the stairs and long hallways to Huntingdon. Each footfall felt heavier, like she was sinking deeper and deeper in mud with each step closer.

  His back was to her as she entered the room.

  Her hands clenched and unclenched in her skirts. “You asked to see me?” She couldn’t control the slight wobble in her voice.

  He turned and for a moment she froze, his visage was so severe. Her heart thumped loudly, waiting for the condemnation. At that moment, the magnitude of everything she’d forsaken struck her. The wait stretched beyond endurance, every muscle in her body clenched.

  His handsome face broke out into a wide, easy grin, and a wave of pure relief washed over her. He wasn’t angry with her. The news from London didn’t concern her. Relieved, she exhaled loudly.

  “Ah, there you are.” He came toward her and took her hand, leading her to a chair. “Tea?”

  “No, thank you.” She didn’t trust her stomach, it still churned with anxiety over what she’d narrowly avoided.

  He lifted a tray too close to her nose. “Cream puff?” he asked devilishly.

  She grimaced, recalling her upset stomach last night and shook her head. “Beast,” she muttered.

  He laughed, setting down the plate of sweets on his desk. “I’m sorry we missed our morning ride, but I received some disturbing news from London.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m afraid we shall have to return to town sooner than expected. There is some unrest in Nottingham, a rebellion of sorts that must be put down before it spreads to Leicestershire.”

  “A rebellion?” she asked, suddenly
alarmed.

  He patted her hand. “Nothing to fret about, my sweet. A few workers calling themselves Luddites are upset with the modernization of the mills and factories and have destroyed some stocking frames. It began this past spring, but the unrest has spread. Something needs to be done before the rioting turns violent, and I fear that unless I’m there to sound caution, Percival’s reaction will be strong and swift.”

  Genie nodded, she’d heard some talk of these men—skilled croppers who resented the lower wages paid to unskilled workers who could operate the machines. With his mills and factories, it was only natural that Huntingdon was concerned.

  “We will leave in a few days,” he added.

  Genie experienced a sharp twinge of disappointment. She would miss the quiet peace of the country.

  Apparently, sharing the same thoughts, he squeezed her hand encouragingly. “We’ll return as soon as we can. And I promise that it won’t all be business. There will be plenty of entertainment. I believe the Duchess of Devonshire is holding a ball next week to welcome all those in town for the opening of parliament.”

  Genie forced herself to smile, but she knew it would not be the same.

  She stood up. “I shall begin preparations immediately.”

  Before she could leave, he stopped her. Taking her in his arms, he tilted her chin back to meet his warm gaze. “I know you are disappointed, but we will be back at Donnington before you know it.” He dipped his head, and placed a tender kiss on her lips.

  An arrow shot straight to Genie’s heart. The painful truth was that she might never return to Donnington. She had a reprieve, but for how long?

  She started the long walk back to her chamber, lost in thought. Still shaken by what she’d narrowly avoided, Genie realized that she’d made a mistake in sending that letter to Fanny. Fanny had never been one to hold a secret. Genie’s only hope was that Fanny would grasp the harm to Huntingdon if the news of Genie’s sham marriage was discovered.