The Unthinkable Read online

  He shrugged noncommittally, neither admitting nor denying. “I looked for you.”

  “Apparently, I’m not too difficult to find,” she quipped dryly.

  “That’s not what I meant. I looked for you when you disappeared five years ago.”

  She clamped her mouth closed, biting back the scathing retort that he only had to look as far as his own mother. It didn’t matter.

  “I never meant for things to turn out the way they did.”

  “You didn’t?” she said blandly. “I received your letter. I think things turned out precisely as you intended.”

  A crack of chagrin appeared in his arrogant façade. “That letter was a mistake. I should never have written it. I felt so much pressure at the time, like I’d been backed into a corner. I reacted. Horribly, I know, but I didn’t know what my mother had planned. I was young and foolish.”

  Genie flinched, disappointment surprisingly acute. Part of her had always wondered whether there was some chance that he hadn’t written that horrible note. She’d harbored the tiniest hope that it had all been some atrocious misunderstanding. Fool.

  “We both were,” she finished for him, not wanting to hear anymore on the subject. “There is no need to explain.”

  “I’d like to try.”

  Anger mounted at his conceit. As if words could make a difference. “Don’t bother. I know why you’re really here. You should know that you’re wasting your time.”

  “I’m afraid you have the advantage.” His mouth curved into a lopsided grin. “You’ll have to explain my motives as I myself am not certain.” He took a seemingly innocuous step closer.

  But Genie felt the threat. She couldn’t stand it a moment longer. The nearness of his body, the heat, the subtle spicy scent, combined to overwhelm her senses with his raw masculinity. He affected her much more than she wanted to admit. It was natural, she knew, after what they had once shared. She’d lain naked in his arms for God’s sake. But still, it infuriated her. She broke away, moving a few feet toward the warm, candlelit glow of the ballroom before turning to answer him. “Edmund explained that you refused to back down graciously. He warned that you might try to interfere with our engagement. I don’t know why it should possibly matter to you, but be assured that I have no interest in reliving the past.” The memories were painful enough.

  He smiled as if amused by a private joke, but there was no warmth in the sentiment. “Edmund,” he began sarcastically, “shows surprising candor for someone so proficient at holding his tongue about other things.”

  Genie flushed with resentment, keenly aware that she had shared those same thoughts. But how dare he malign Edmund. Edmund’s dishonesty paled in comparison to his own. “No more surprised than I in the divergent choice of friends of an honorable man like Edmund.”

  His gaze narrowed, but otherwise he gave no indication that he understood the disparagement in character that was intended. “I’m no longer a foolish boy, Mrs. Preston.” He took an intimidating step toward her. “Edmund is not the only man whose intentions are honorable.”

  Genie sucked in her breath. He couldn’t mean marriage? Did he expect her to weep with gratitude and jump at the chance to marry him after all that he’d done? She’d laugh in his face if his continued conceit didn’t infuriate her so greatly.

  But marriage did hold a singular charm. For a brief, tantalizing moment, the image of a supplicant duke brought to his knees, begging for her to marry him flashed before her eyes. Impossible, of course, but the potential for revenge wrought by marriage tempted for a long moment before she pushed it aside.

  She remembered that Huntingdon’s definition of “honorable intentions” could be subject to creative interpretation. Genie had no interest in being mired in the cesspit of his intentions again.

  Genie didn’t know what game he was playing, but she wanted nothing to do with it. “What will it take to get you to leave us alone?” she asked, throwing down the gauntlet.

  He cocked a brow. His eyes raked her body, pausing suggestively on her mouth, then lowering to her breasts. A dangerous grin spread across his features. His teeth gleamed white in the smoky darkness. “What are you offering?”

  The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

  Genie recoiled as if he’d slapped her. Huntingdon swore he saw a trace of hurt in her eyes before they turned to hard, black pebbles. The sensual mouth that he’d watched move between a pout and a smile all week—depending on whether she was getting her way—narrowed into a thin line.

  Damn, Huntingdon swore. Why had he said that? Huntingdon might not know what he wanted from her yet, but whatever it was he wouldn’t achieve it by lewd propositions. He raked his fingers through his hair, irritated by the turn in conversation. He meant to apologize, not besmirch her virtue. But she’d provoked him by comparing him to Hawk and finding him lacking. It rankled, so he’d struck back—cruder than warranted no doubt, but heightened by pent-up frustration.

  And Huntingdon was a frustrated man.

  For the better part of the week, he’d bided his time, patiently waiting for the perfect opportunity to confront her. Alone. It had taken far longer than he’d anticipated; she hovered close to her stalwart protectors. Forced patience only intensified his desire. As did the cool detachment that she presented whenever he was near. Her indifference goaded him. He craved the attention she’d once bestowed so freely. Genie was aware of him, he knew, but it was as a horse is aware of a fly.

  He wanted more. He wanted to shatter that cold mask of indifference and see her eyes burn for him… again. He wanted her to remember his mouth on hers, his hand cupping the velvet skin of her breast, his cock plunging deep into her tight flesh, catapulting her to peaks of shattering ecstasy.

  Because he could think of nothing else. Would the enchantment between them still be there? Had it ever truly existed?

  Would she still be hot and tight, making him ache to come as soon as he entered her?

  But as the week wore on, instead of attending him, her devotion to Hawk became strikingly obvious—and increasingly difficult to endure. They presented as a well-matched pair, he thought sardonically, like his prized chestnut bays.

  And the ton couldn’t get enough of them.

  Hawk had always been sought after, but Genie’s beauty and subtle air of mystery irresistibly sweetened the pot, placing them on the top of every hostess’s list. Genie moved through the ton with a grace and ease that he’d never expected, though perhaps he should have. At times he wondered whether he had ever really known her at all.

  How ironic. If he’d had the guts to defy his family all those years ago, he would have been proud to call her his duchess. He’d underestimated her. He acknowledged it, and added it to the long list of failures where she was concerned.

  She had refinement and beauty, impeccable manners, and an ease of conversation fostered by an unusual proclivity toward kindness. She also exuded a sensuality that made men fools. As a girl she’d been completely unaware of the power of her sexual charms. This woman was very aware, and moreover, wasn’t afraid to use her considerable beauty to get what she wanted. He couldn’t help but wonder how far she would be willing to go to protect her engagement to Hawk. And how far had she gone before with him to get what she wanted?

  The thought chilled him.

  His suggestive taunt had at least cracked her icy indifference. Boldly, her sultry blue eyes returned his hungry gaze, sliding down his body, lingering for a moment at the broad expanse of his chest then lowered to the substantial bulge in his fitted silk breeches. Blood surged with the weight of her eyes on his manhood.

  One side of her mouth quirked in a mocking half smile. “Offer? Why should I offer you anything? Except for silence, you have nothing that interests me. As I recall, you have very little to recommend you.” She raised her eyes from his crotch and met his stare full force, so there could be no mistaking her meaning. “Edmund more than fulfills my every desire.”

  Huntingdon saw re