The Unthinkable

by Monica McCarty

  One side of Hawk’s mouth lifted. “Your brother can take care of himself.” The decidedly avuncular expression in his eyes made her want to cry. “But your concern is sweet. You’re far too protective of your friends and family, sometimes I think your emotions prevent you from seeing the whole picture. You’re so young.”

  “I’m one and twenty,” she said vehemently, managing not to stomp her foot in frustration.

  “Practically ancient.”

  He thinks I’m a child. She wanted to cry. “Don’t make fun of me,” she said hollowly.

  He seemed to take pity on her earnestness. “I’m sorry.” He reached up to tuck a curl behind her ear. A brotherly gesture to him, but torture to her. Her breath caught as his finger swept the side of her cheek. She thought she might die with longing. For a brief instant she thought awareness flickered across his gaze. He smiled gently, perhaps reading her thoughts and dropped his hand, excusing himself.

  Her hand covered her cheek, holding in the heat left by his touch.

  But before she could consider what had just happened, someone came up beside her. Turning, she saw that it was Percy.

  “Seems like I’m not the only one who is not enjoying myself,” he said wryly.

  “What do you mean?”

  He indicated Hawk’s retreating back. “Still pining after that one?”

  Fanny didn’t answer him, she didn’t need to. No doubt her face probably said it all.

  “Don’t waste tears on Hawkesbury, Fanny,” he said gently. “If he doesn’t know your worth, he doesn’t deserve your heart.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not like that, he sees me as a sister.”

  “He’s a fool.”

  He said it with such disgust she had to smile. Percy might be an unusual champion, but right now she was just happy to have one. Unlike her relationship with her brother, Percy and she had always gotten along quite well. She never understood why he hated Fitz the way he did.

  “Not a fool. Only in love with someone else.”

  “Ah, the beautiful new duchess, conquering hearts wherever she goes?”

  Fanny shot him a look of surprise. He knew about Hawk and Genie? Her heart sank, realizing Hawk’s humiliation was common knowledge. It gave her all the more reason to be furious with Genie. “They met in America, but I don’t think she ever loved him.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t think she ever got over my brother.”

  “But she married?”

  “So she says.”

  Percy’s eyes sparked with something beyond brotherly concern. “What do you mean?”

  Fanny bit her bottom lip, nervous. She’d allowed jealousy to loosen her tongue, giving voice to her suspicions that were based on nothing more than intuition. Despite Percy’s kindness to her, she probably shouldn’t be discussing this with him. But it was so nice to have someone on her side. “Nothing,” she said quickly. “Don’t mind me, I’m not making any sense right now.”

  He gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze. “He’ll forget about her.”

  Fanny thought for a moment. “Yes, eventually, but it won’t make any difference. He’ll never see me as anything other than his friend’s little sister.”

  He brought her hand to his mouth and gave her a courtly kiss. “As I said, he’s a fool.”

  Genie returned to the celebration not long after Fanny had stormed out of the chamber.

  She smiled and laughed, chatting amiably with the guests, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Lizzie. How could Lizzie have blamed herself for Genie’s mistakes?

  Genie had never considered what her leaving would do to Lizzie. She thought she was doing the right thing, avoiding scandal, enabling her sister to have a London season. Instead, she’d left her sister to bear the brunt of the speculation and to shoulder the blame—wrongly—for Genie’s mistakes.

  Had Genie’s mistakes ruined her sister’s chances for happiness too? She remembered how anxious Lizzie had been to make her entry into society, how she couldn’t wait to have a beau (or two), how the thought of a London season would have filled her to bursting with excitement. Could the sad, quiet girl that Fanny described be the same lighthearted, naughty sister she’d left five years ago?

  Was it possible for someone to change that much?

  Of course it was. All she had to do was think of herself.

  Genie felt sick. How could her actions have had such unintended consequences?

  A firm hand slid around her waist and she looked up to see Huntingdon at her side. Awareness and a warm sensation, not at all unpleasant, swept over her. Unintended consequences. Just like Huntingdon could never have guessed what would happen to her when he hadn’t answered the plea in her note.

  She shivered. Where did that come from? The situations were not at all the same… or were they? Thinking she was cold, Huntingdon lifted the shawl she wore low across her back and settled it higher over her shoulders. “I was beginning to worry about you.” Huntingdon looked over meaningfully at Fanny who was speaking with Percy. “Is everything all right?”

  It was so strange having a normal conversation with him. Her husband. One that did not involve anger and recrimination. Genie managed a crooked smile. “Fanny is very upset with me.”

  Annoyance darkened his expression. “If she is being impertinent or causing you any problems—”

  She put her hand on his arm, stopping him. “Don’t be upset with her. She has every right to be angry.”

  “Will you tell me what this is about?”

  “Yes. Later.”

  He nodded, pleased, before he nearly fell over at her feet from a firm thump at his back.

  “Delightful celebration, my boy,” Lord Davenport said. “Capital, capital. But if I were you, I’d take my bride away before she’s too exhausted to enjoy the rest of the wedding traditions,” he boomed with an exaggerated wink. “If you get my meaning.”

  Genie stilled. The wedding night. She’d completely blocked it from her mind. Panic welled up within her. The cold sweat of fear broke out on her forehead. She thought that she could go through with it, but now that the time had come her confidence had deserted her.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  She lay in the strange bed like a trussed up goose waiting to be devoured. Her hair had been brushed until it shimmered in long waves down her back. She wore a silk chemise and wrap, which despite being chosen for their modesty, managed to cling to every womanly curve.

  She yanked the bed coverings up to her nose and sank deeper into the feather mattress, trying to disappear. Her heart raced as the clock ticked and the fire crackled.

  She could do this…

  But it was the waiting that was the worst. Knowing what was to come, but being powerless to prevent it.

  Just like in Boston.

  Eventually, they’d worn down her resistance. Her employers, men who took her into their homes to teach their children, then tried to attack her in the hallways. Forced from one job to the next, she’d learned to let them grope. A graze of a finger on her breast, a squeeze of her bottom, a stiff kiss. She’d suffered the humiliation, knowing that each place of employment might be the last.

  But sooner or later the greedy devils would want more than she could stomach and she’d be forced to leave. Until finally, ignoring the warning bells clamoring in her head, Genie was forced to accept a position in the house of a milliner and his family. A man with beady eyes and swarthy skin who made her flesh crawl.

  Everything about it had felt wrong, but what choice did she have?

  Work or starve.

  And so she worked… and waited. Waited for the inevitable.

  It didn’t take long. One night not a month after her arrival, when the rest of the family was in bed, the milliner had snuck into her room. He’d refused to take no for an answer. She’d fought like a madwoman, his fetid hand over her mouth stifling her screams. He pulled up her dress and she felt his hard member against her stomach. Revulsion
made her gag. She’d thrashed wildly and he’d hit her. Again and again. Until she stopped moving. He tried to jab his erection into her and she panicked—finding a burst of sudden strength through the haze of near unconsciousness. Her hand reached out toward her secretaire, groping in the darkness for anything, until her fingers curved around the handle of a letter opener. Without hesitation, she’d plunged the blade deep into his groin.

  His screams still echoed in her head. Bloodcurdling shrieks that had brought his wife to her room. Despite the evidence before her, the horrible woman refused to believe Genie’s claims of near rape. Worse, she’d actually accused Genie of seducing the vile bastard. “You flaunted yourself, begging for his attentions. You tease him with your beauty and then try to play the prudish miss.” Threatened with a call to the constable, Genie fled into the night, barely able to stand after the vicious beating she’d endured at the hands of her employer.

  Genie had saved herself from rape. No knight in shining armor had ridden to her rescue. She alone had fought off the milliner, nearly castrating him in the process. With the help of the ladies at Madame Solange’s, she’d survived, but the memories of what had nearly happened would haunt her forever.

  Now she feared they would ruin any pleasure she might have once felt in the act of lovemaking. She’d felt passion with Huntingdon, but only to a point, before the old fear returned and panic set in.

  Time, she told herself. That was what she needed. Once she felt safe, it would be different. But could she get Huntingdon to agree?

  The door opened. And closed. Her heart pounded in her chest as the heavy footfalls approached the bed.

  “I know you’re not asleep, not with all these lights in here burning as bright as Hades.”

  She grimaced under the bedcovers. So much for subtlety. She’d definitely gone a little overboard with all the lamps and candles. But she’d wanted to discourage any thoughts of romance.

  The bed tilted from the weight of his body as he sat on the edge of the bed, an enormous contraption that suddenly felt very small.

  “I can see we’ll need to discuss economy in seed oil,” he said dryly.

  Genie opened her eyes and met his amused grin with a sheepish one of her own. Seed oil for lamps was very expensive, even for dukes.

  “I prefer a bright room,” she said matter-of-factly, her voice steady. At least it was until she caught sight of him. Whatever else she was going to say died in her throat. He’d removed his jacket and loosened his cravat. His hair was charmingly mussed and one golden brown wave fell forward across his forehead. The comfortable state of dishabille was a poignant reminder of the intimacy of the present situation: They were man and wife.

  “So I see,” he said, indicating the four Argand lamps that she’d collected from around the house and scores of candles illuminating the chamber. Her things had been brought to the duchess’s suite earlier. It was a large room, beautifully furnished and decorated. But it was the interior door that she’d noticed right away. The door that led to the duke’s chambers.

  “It’s good for conversation,” she replied, trying to explain her sudden preference for brightly lit rooms.

  He chuckled. “Is that what you think we are going to do tonight?”

  The huskiness in his voice set her nerves on edge. She knew he was going to touch her. Wide-eyed, she watched him. Waiting, as the hunter stalked its prey.

  He leaned down and scooped up a handful of her hair, mesmerized as the shimmering curls slid through his fingers to fall back onto the pillow in a pool of disarray.

  She blushed. “I… no… I don’t know,” she stammered.

  His gaze slowly traveled down the length of her body, lingering on the telltale curves and bumps. She pulled the covers tighter, feeling suddenly naked under the heavy bed coverings.

  He smiled, no doubt at the futility of her efforts. The tighter covers only emphasized the lush shape of the body underneath.

  “Perhaps you are right. A well-lit room has its benefits. For ‘conversation.’” His grin turned devilish. “Among other things.”

  Genie gulped. Her silly attempt to ruin the mood for seduction had quite the opposite effect. She’d hoped to make him uncomfortable. To make him feel as awkward as she, but he was determined to have her. She could see it in his eyes.

  Her hands gripped the edge of the sheet until her knuckles turned white. “Please…”

  “What is it, Genie?” he asked, but he was already kissing her neck. Light kisses that tickled and teased. “Your pulse is racing.” His tongue flicked gently over the beating spot. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, there’s no reason to be nervous.” He chuckled. “It’s not as if we haven’t done this before.”

  He was right: they had done this before. So why was her heart fluttering like a bird in a cage?

  She’d known what would be expected of her. She had to try to relax. He won’t hurt you…

  Her senses heightened, she took in every detail. He’d shaved. She could smell the soap on his skin, his chin smooth, with just the barest hint of roughness as he nuzzled her neck. The gentle caress of his mouth on her sensitive skin worked its subtle magic. She softened for a moment. The heat of his mouth and press of his body lulled her senses into a temporary stupor. Her eyes flickered, wanting to close. She could feel the haze of passion descending.

  But she knew that it wouldn’t be enough. “Wait!”

  He lifted his head and studied her. She could see the questions forming in his eyes and knew she had to stop them. He was too perceptive. If she gave him an inkling of her fear, he would guess.

  Genie fought the sudden urge to confide in him. Would he understand? Or would he jump to conclusions as he had about Madame Solange’s? Would he be disgusted? Ashamed? Pitying? These past few days he’d seemed so different, she wanted to trust him. But to what avail? Her plans for revenge were already in motion.

  “Please,” she said more calmly. “I can’t do this. Not tonight. I need some time.” She scooted to a sitting position, putting some distance between them.

  A mild look of annoyance crossed his face; he obviously hadn’t anticipated having to persuade his new wife to his bed. “Time for what?”

  “To grow accustomed to our new arrangement. To get to know each other better.” It might have sounded reasonable if her voice wasn’t shaking.

  She sounded as if she was lying, and he heard it. His eyes narrowed. “We know each other well enough, intimately even. Much better than most new husbands and wives.”

  “Not anymore.” She shook her head. “We’ve both changed.”

  His gaze fell to her mouth. “Some things never change. I had you in my arms not so long ago—I felt your passion for me.”

  Heat rose in her cheeks, recalling their last interlude. She had felt passion—for a while. But it hadn’t been enough to erase all the memories. He thought physical intimacy would solve their problems. That the problems of the past would magically disappear under the bedcovers. If only it were that simple.

  “What is this really about?” He studied her so intently, she feared he could see right inside her. Her skin prickled when a hard glint of suspicion appeared in his eyes. “Does this have something to do with where Hawk found you?”

  He couldn’t even say the word brothel. Shame and disgust, that is what he would feel if she told him. She couldn’t resist prodding him. “You mean about my being a whore?” From the way his face darkened, Genie knew she had made a mistake. Provoking him would not make him give her time. She took a deep breath and changed tactics. “This has nothing to do with that,” she said honestly. “A little time, that is all I am asking for.”

  But his suspicion once roused would not be so easily dismissed. “Is this another negotiation ploy?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, genuinely confused.

  “One of your conditions. Like the house and the annuity. What demands will you make of me now?”

  “No! Of course not.” She started to move off the bed, but it
was clear he didn’t believe her. He thought she was trying to manipulate him; the terms of the agreement she’d wrested from him were working against her. “This has all happened so fast, I need some time to get used—”

  He grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Don’t take me for a fool, Genie,” he growled, his words clipped. “You made the bargain. I’ve kept my part, now you’ll keep yours. You’re my wife. And I assure you, I will not settle for a wife in name only. Nor will I give you the basis for an annulment. Your terms are beginning to make a lot more sense.”

  She felt the walls closing in around her, knowing a way out was slipping away from her. “I’m asking only for a few days, a week at most,” she pleaded.

  He was unmoved. “And if I give you this week, your trepidation will miraculously vanish, and you will come to me willingly?”

  No. How could she explain that she might never be ready? But Genie knew one thing with certainty, if he pushed her now, it would be disastrous.

  He saw the truth in her expression before she could think of a lie. “I didn’t think so,” he said. “I’ll not be put off, my clever little wife. I intend to have you and consummate our vows tonight.”

  His voice left no doubt: he would not be dissuaded.

  “You’ll not force me.” She tried to control the panic in her voice, but it sounded shrill.

  Huntingdon stared at her in shock. Force? What the hell was she talking about? First she tried to manipulate him, and now she was casting him in the role of evil seducer?

  A reticent bride was the last thing he’d expected when he entered the room. But if Genie thought he would let her wriggle out of their agreement with a few anxious pleas, she didn’t know him very well. And if she thought she’d get out of this marriage with an annulment, she’d have to find another cause. Because tonight this marriage would be consummated.

  Although at first he had wondered whether there was something else behind the request. There was something slightly frantic underlying her appeal. Almost as if she was scared. But it wasn’t fear, it was just more of her scheming. Another way for her to try to control the situation—to keep distance between them.