The Unthinkable

by Monica McCarty

  Huntingdon flinched.

  “The ladies of the house nursed her cuts and bruises as best they could, but her spirit was crushed. For a long time, even after her injuries had healed, I didn’t think she was going to live. She’d lost the will of it.” Hawk studied him. “You have to understand. My heart broke to see a young girl—any girl—so brutally treated. I didn’t care who she was, I had to help her. I think I fell a little in love with her from the first time I saw her lying in that bed. She was like a little broken bird, so fragile, in such despair.” Hawk’s jaw hardened and took on a defiant tilt. “I would have done anything for her.”

  “But how?” Huntingdon asked incredulously. “How did she end up in a place like that? My mother sent her away with a small fortune.”

  Hawk’s expression turned cold and accusing. “After she lost the child Genie became very ill. While incapacitated, the maid your mother so graciously provided stole her money, fleeing the ship as soon as they docked. Genie arrived in America ill, destitute, and alone.”

  Huntingdon felt ill. Bile soured his mouth. His mind was spinning in thousands of directions. He wanted to lash out. To find answers that would explain the unexplainable. He’d wanted to know what she was hiding, but he’d never imagined anything like this.

  “But as for how she ended up there,” Hawk shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. I’ve never asked her the details. I know that she worked as a governess, but that it became impossible for her to continue. I have my suspicions about why.”

  But to sell herself in a brothel? There had to have been another choice. Anything other than that. How could she have…? His stomach rolled.

  He clenched his teeth together, holding back the bile. “Who beat her?”

  “She never told me. Believe me, I did my best to find out. I was most eager to take care of the matter.” Hawk gazed at him meaningfully. Huntingdon understood how “the matter” would have been handled. He felt the same way now—like he could kill the bastard. “But Genie said she didn’t know.”

  Another horrible thought crossed his mind. He leveled a long look at Hawk. “Did you…?”

  Hawk’s eyes blared with fury. He drew himself up stiffly, every inch the honorable English gentleman. “No.”

  Huntingdon knew he spoke the truth. Hawk would never take advantage of a damsel in distress. He, on the other hand…

  As if he knew what Huntingdon was thinking, Hawk explained. “She was hardly in any condition for that. It was many months before she’d recuperated enough for loving, and by then I knew I wanted her as my wife.”

  “But before you found her. Did she… had she?”

  “I don’t know.” And I don’t care. Huntingdon heard the unspoken censure. “Does it really matter?” Hawk asked.

  Yes, unfortunately, it did. He was not as generous a man as Hawk.

  Hawk must have read the answer on his face. He shook his head. “She was right then to tell you. You’ll not force a marriage upon her now. I assume this means you will step aside.”

  Huntingdon put up his hand. “Not so fast. I’ll hear the story from Genie first. Go. Rejoin your guests. I’ll be along directly.”

  He needed to compose himself. To give his shock and anger time to abate. Edmund looked like he wanted to say something more, but deciding against it, left Huntingdon to his thoughts.

  Suffocating in the small room heavy with emotion, he strode to the window. Fumbling with the latch, he managed to finally force it open. A cool breeze washed over him. He planted his hands on the wide sill and leaned out into the darkness, filling his lungs with long, deep breaths. The crisp air cooled the heat of his anger, but the twinkling stars seemed to taunt him with their celestial beauty. With their very purity.

  Could he take a woman as his wife who had sold herself?

  For the life of him, he didn’t know. His reaction to Hawk’s kiss had been visceral, extreme. What would the knowledge of her lying with another man, or God forbid, multiple men, do? Could he wipe the image from his mind?

  What had driven her to such perdition?

  Even if Genie had come to be in the brothel innocently—a hope that he clung to—if society found out she’d spent time in a house of ill repute, she’d be ruined. And he along with her. He hadn’t thought a scandal would matter, but then he’d never imagined something like this.

  A brothel. God in heaven, how had it happened?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  At times like this, Genie thought morosely, the obligations imposed by society seemed particularly onerous. Rather than taking refuge in the cathartic solitude of her bedchamber as she wished to do, she laughed and danced as if she did not have a care in the world. As if everything she’d fought to achieve did not hang in the balance.

  Looking at her, no one would ever know how dangerously close to the edge she hovered. How just one push might send her catapulting into darkness. She flirted harmlessly with her latest dance partner, a man old enough to be her father, executed the intricate dance steps with casual precision, and tried to keep her gaze from flickering back and forth to the entry. Her mouth ached from the effort to force a gay smile across her face. A smile that she hoped would mask the worry, and perhaps fear, clouding her eyes.

  Edmund had been gone for some time now. At any minute…

  Her dance partner stared at her expectantly.

  He’d said something and she hadn’t been listening.

  “I’m sorry, Lord Chester.” She swayed a little. “I feel a bit light-headed.”

  His weathered brow wrinkled with immediate concern, forgetting his unanswered question. “Allow me to find you a chair, my dear.”

  She gazed at him as if he was the most brilliant, most considerate man in the world. “That would be divine.”

  He ushered her to a cluster of armchairs in an adjoining room. Genie took out her fan and fluttered it furiously.

  “Is there anything I can get for you, my dear? Should I send for Lady Hawkesbury?”

  “No, no. I shall be fine in a moment. But if you wouldn’t mind, a glass of ratafia would be just the thing.”

  He hurried off to do her biding, eager to be of some use. Genie was grateful for the reprieve and for the moment of relative quiet. Aside from a handful of footmen, there were only a few people milling about and most seemed as eager as she to enjoy the solitude.

  He would be coming soon and she wanted to be prepared.

  But rather than Huntingdon, it was Fanny who found her first. Fanny, the girl who’d once giggled with her like a sister, but who now glared at her with something akin to hatred blaring in her lovely blue eyes. The constant none too gentle reproach was hard to take. She’d been doing her best to avoid Fanny, dreading this conversation nearly as much as Huntingdon’s. Indeed, this was the first time she’d spoken with Fanny since that unfortunate episode in the garden.

  “Where’s Lord Chester? I saw him bring you in here?” Fanny asked.

  “Fetching some refreshment.” Genie motioned to the chair next to her. “He should be some time, it’s quite crowded out there.”

  Fanny pulled the chair out and sat down. “Yes, Lady Hawkesbury’s annual ball is always popular. It’s become something of a tradition to mark the end of the season.”

  “So I see,” Genie replied. They sat in uncomfortable silence for some time. Taking in Fanny’s pale face, she asked quietly, “What is it Fanny? Is there something you want from me?”

  Tiny white lines appeared around Fanny’s mouth and brow. She met Genie’s gaze with a flat stare that wasn’t exactly a challenge, but more a look akin to betrayal. A look that made Genie distinctly uncomfortable.

  Fanny appeared to brace herself and without further preamble, she asked, “Are you going to marry Hawk?”

  There it was. How like Fanny to come right to the point, no delicate sidestepping around the subject for her. Having care for Fanny’s tender feelings, Genie said gently, “I’ve agreed to marry him, yes.”

  Fanny’s face crumpled and Genie�
�s conscience bit her soundly in the chest. She looked away, unable to bear the sight of Fanny’s heartbreak. It is just a schoolgirl’s crush.

  “But why? You don’t love him.”

  “Of course I do.”

  Fanny’s jaw tightened. “Not in the way that matters. You forget, Genie, I know what you look like when you are in love. You don’t look at Hawk the way you looked at my brother.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Genie said sharply, intending to cut off any discussion of the past. “I was just a girl.” Like you, she wanted to say.

  “You still love him.”

  “I despise him,” Genie replied fervently. Perhaps too fervently.

  Fanny laughed, but it was with sadness not amusement. “I think you wish you did. And Lord knows he deserves your anger. He acted like the worst sort of cad. But I know he wanted to marry you. He made a mistake, a monumental one, confusing duty for honor. But you didn’t see him after you left, believe me, he’s paid for it. Many times over. My brother has changed, Genie.”

  Genie didn’t want to discuss Huntingdon. She appreciated Fanny’s sisterly loyalty, but Genie doubted Fanny knew everything about what had happened between them five years ago. “Perhaps he has changed, but not as much as you think,” she said, thinking of his selfish attempts to force her to marry him and his broken promise to leave her alone. “In any event, it is five years too late. You can’t change the past.”

  Fanny looked at her sadly. “No, you can’t. But nor can you ignore it, no matter how much you might wish to. Don’t make Hawk pay for your unhappiness, Genie. He deserves to be loved.”

  “And you think if I let him go, he’ll fall in love with you?” she asked softly and immediately regretted it.

  Genie heard Fanny’s sharp intake of breath. Her lovely face twisted with grief. Genie felt cruel.

  “No. I don’t think that.” Fanny’s voice caught. “He doesn’t think of me like that. But perhaps there will be someone else.”

  “I will make him happy,” Genie said firmly, trying to convince herself.

  Fanny stared at her for a long time, silently urging her to change her mind. But Genie stood firm. What choice did she have? Could she just give up on all of her plans? No. She had to marry Edmund. Apparently sensing that Genie would not be swayed, Fanny’s glare hardened. “My brother is not the only one who is selfish.”

  Her words were loaded with pent-up emotion. Something other than Edmund was troubling her, Genie realized. “What are you talking about, Fanny? What have I done to make you hate me so?”

  Fanny stood up. Back rigid and shoulders set regally she paraded to the door. Genie didn’t think she was going to answer, but at the entry she turned. Pity and anger marred the beautiful planes of her face. Her voice shook. “Not once have you asked about your sister. Don’t you care what has become of Lizzie?”

  Startled, Genie rose and hurried after her into the ballroom, quickly losing sight of her. What about Lizzie? What had happened to her? Was she all right? Genie scanned the crowd for Fanny, but her eyes caught instead on Fanny’s brother. And by the black look on his face, discovering what had happened to her sister would have to wait.

  He knew. Genie could see it on his face. Disbelief, disappointment, anger… and perhaps the first seedlings of disgust. The sharp pinch in her chest told her that his reaction mattered much more than she wanted it to. It was foolish, of course, because she’d known what would happen by sending him to Edmund. She knew what he would think. Counted on it, in fact.

  He was wrong. Yet in many ways, the truth was not much better.

  Huntingdon picked his way across the ballroom, occasionally stopping to make brief remarks to the many who hailed him, but his destination was clear. Genie steadied her frantic nerves for the coming storm, telling herself that it would be worth it in the end. The truth—or partial truth—would free her from any further attempts from him to force marriage upon her.

  He wouldn’t want her, the threat of ruin would disappear and she would be free to marry Edmund. Forcefully, she pushed aside the memory of Fanny’s agonized eyes and Lady Hawkesbury’s heartfelt warning.

  So intent on Huntingdon, Genie failed to notice Lady Hawkesbury’s approach until she stood right beside her. She grasped Genie’s hand and gave it a gentle, encouraging squeeze.

  “I spoke with my son.”

  Genie hesitated, not sure what her reaction would be. “And he told you?”

  The countess was visibly distressed, but nodded as if she’d expected it. “Yes, that you wish to postpone the announcement.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Genie said, meaning it. Lady Hawkesbury had been nothing but kind to her, and she hated to disappoint her. “I had no choice.” Genie’s gaze traveled meaningfully to the duke, who was descending upon them like some dark, avenging angel.

  Genie took immediate umbrage at his judgmental reaction. After all he’d done, his attitude stung. She thought she’d put aside the anger and resentment and moved beyond the need for revenge. But the dark emotions she’d suppressed threatened to explode. She felt a burning desire to make him pay for hurting her again.

  Lady Hawkesbury took note of the direction of Genie’s angry gaze and, despite the circumstances, smiled kindly. “No, if I know Huntingdon, I’m sure you didn’t. He always was a willful child. But irresistible just the same.” She nodded to the approaching duke. “Have care, my dear. Hatred corrupts in devastating ways. Make sure you know what you want before you make a decision that can’t be undone.” Startled, Genie’s eyes widened. How did she know what Genie was thinking? Were her thoughts of revenge that transparent? Lady Hawkesbury continued, “Use my private drawing room. From the looks of it this is a conversation that is better held in private. No one will disturb you.”

  Genie nodded her gratitude and started to turn away. But something confused her. “Lady Hawkesbury?”

  “Yes.”

  “There is something I don’t understand. The other night, why suggest the house party?”

  “Hmm.” She brought a finger to her mouth, considering. “When I realized that you were the girl from Huntingdon’s past… Well, I know something of the duchess’s role in your disappearance. It is important to me that you be absolutely sure about marrying my son. The only way to do so is by fully facing your past.”

  “But isn’t there a risk that forcing me together with Huntingdon might hurt Edmund?”

  The countess gave her a long, thoughtful look and nodded. “Yes, of course. But if you and Edmund are meant to be together, you will survive the duke and his mother. True love can survive any obstacle, can it not?”

  No, Genie thought, there were some things love could not survive. Like betrayal. Like the death of a child. Like the death of innocence.

  Lady Hawkesbury continued, “In any event, the duchess will eventually hear that you have returned. You might not want it, but you will need her support—or rather her silence.”

  Huntingdon was almost upon them. “Go, now,” Lady Hawkesbury motioned. “I’ll tell him where to find you.”

  True to her word, not five minutes after Genie had dismissed the footmen, she heard the doors of the drawing room open behind her. She turned around only to see Huntingdon close the doors firmly behind him. A foreboding click and they were alone.

  He approached her soldier’s stance by the fireplace. A sudden chill swept over her and she shivered. Her delicate ball gown did not offer much protection against the drafty room. Although it was a cool evening, the coals had not been lit. As this was not one of the public rooms, it was not expected to be occupied during the ball. She dearly wished it wasn’t occupied now.

  He broke the silence. “Lady Hawkesbury is unusually accommodating,” he noted dryly.

  Genie met his gaze. His expression was strained, like he was fighting to stay calm, fighting the urge to hurl accusations at her. Genie shrugged. “She has her reasons.”

  Huntingdon looked at her questioningly, but did not pursue the matter. Instead he a
sked the question that hung like a giant albatross between them. “Why, Genie? Why were you in a place like that?”

  He kept his tone careful, nonjudgmental, but Genie could hear the underlying plea. She steeled herself from the sudden urge to come clean. To tell him everything. Would he understand? Would he blame her? Judge her?

  But she couldn’t tell him the truth—not if she wanted to ensure that he left her alone.

  Clearly, he was trying to be fair, giving her the opportunity to explain, but just as clearly he’d already damned her.

  He would never understand. He was a man, used to taking what he wanted. Just like the others.

  She squared her shoulders. “Didn’t Edmund explain?”

  He shrugged noncommittally. “Hawk said that you had been badly beaten.” He took her chin and tilted her face up toward him, as if he was looking for any lingering evidence. But the scars that remained were far too deep to see. Her skin tingled under his callused fingertips. Their eyes met and Genie felt that powerful connection. The awareness that could make her forget everything else—almost.

  She could melt in the liquid warmth of his eyes, in the rugged handsomeness of his face.

  “Who hurt you, Genie?” The soft caress of his husky voice made her eyes burn with longing. It was a voice that promised protection. The voice of a man who would defend her against the world.

  If only he had been that man.

  “A man.” She wrenched her face free from his tender fingers. “It doesn’t matter who.”

  “It does to me.”

  “Why? It was a long time ago. Don’t worry, he has received his due.” At her hand. No one had been there to save her but herself.

  “Was he…?” He stopped, unable to finish the question. He cleared his throat and started again. “Was he a visitor to the house?”

  He was my employer, she wanted to scream, a man who’d hired me to care for his children. A man who refused to take no for an answer. But instead she scoffed. “That’s a rather kind way of putting it.” She smiled coldly. “What you’re really trying to ask is whether I was a whore?”