The Unthinkable Read online

  Her body ripped apart in excruciating agony, sweat poured off her skin, as she writhed in a sopping blanket trying to break free from the invisible chains of delirium.

  The ship rolled, tossing against the waves in a dangerous dance with a torrential storm. Nausea turned her stomach, but she’d long passed the relief of retching. Something cool pressed against her brow, but still she burned.

  Other voices, softer voices invaded her dreams. Fever. Too much blood. Dying. And something else.

  No! Not that! Her body twisted free. She screamed. Sheer terror provided a fleeting moment of lucidity.

  Please God, don’t punish my child for my sins. I promise I’ll make it right. I’ll crawl back to England on my knees. I’ll swallow my pride and force him to marry me. I’ll do anything. Please, don’t take my child.

  A knife of pain sliced through her abdomen in harsh response. She curled up into a ball, trying to escape the twisted knot of cramps burning in her belly.

  Hastings, where are you? I need you…

  She closed her eyes, trying to block out the excruciating agony—the violent purging of her sins.

  But still the damning words pounded in her ears. Trust me…

  Until at last, the haunting voice faded away as she slid into merciful blackness.

  Genie woke from the dream with a start. Wide-eyed, she popped straight up, gasping for breath, fighting the suffocating panic that squeezed her chest. Her pulse raced wildly, sweat dampened her linen chemise. Suddenly, heavy bile rose in her throat. Knowing she couldn’t stave it off, she leaned over the side of the bed and emptied the paltry contents of her stomach into an ivory porcelain chamber pot.

  The sight of porcelain where she expected tin jogged her fully awake.

  For a moment Genie didn’t know where she was. Ravaged by the force of her memories, she felt like she was reliving a nightmare. She looked around trying to place her surroundings. In the darkened room she could just make out the soft floral wallpaper and fine mahogany furniture that lined the walls of her large sleeping chamber. A beautiful silver candelabrum rested on the table beside her bed. Rather than a wooden sleeping berth, a gracious velvet canopy hung over her head. She loosened her grip on her coverlet, her fingers clutching fine silk, not rough wool.

  Her heart slowed. She was safe at Hawkesbury House, the pampered guest of the Countess of Hawkesbury, and not imprisoned by delirium on a ship bound for America.

  It had been horrible. The sickness, the storms that had turned six weeks into ten, the unfathomable loss…

  Incapacitated from the start of the voyage by nausea, it took Genie weeks to realize that she was pregnant, not seasick. And by that point, almost four months along. If it were possible, she would have returned to England immediately and demanded that Hastings marry her. For her child she would have risked anything. Her pride, her reputation, the formidable duchess… anything.

  But then came the blood. So much blood and the decision was wrested from her control. The fever that followed had lingered for days. When she regained consciousness, the ship had docked in Boston Harbor and her sullen, “borrowed” maid had disappeared, absconding with her fortune. Leaving Genie alone and destitute; at the mercy of a cruel world that she had not known existed.

  Only the kindness of two elderly sisters had saved her. Temporarily at least.

  Trust me.

  Her heart twisted.

  She had. Even then, on the ship in the middle of the ocean with nothing around but the endless indigo vista of the wide-open sea she thought: He must realize his mistake, surely he would sense her agony and would come for her. Their connection was strong enough to bridge an ocean.

  Irrational? Probably.

  Foolish? Undoubtedly.

  Genie could only depend on one person and that was herself. Never again would she trust a man. Controlled by lust, men only sought one thing from a beautiful woman. And if she was not willing, they simply took. Huntingdon had demonstrated that well enough tonight with his suggestive taunts and unsolicited embrace.

  He’d taken, without care for her wants or wishes. His were still the self-indulgent actions of an arrogant man. After all that had passed between them, did he actually believe that she would fall into his arms overwhelmed by something as fleeting and unreliable as passion?

  As if she could be persuaded by the mere favor of his kiss.

  Thoughts of that kiss stopped her mental rampage.

  She hadn’t been as indifferent as she pretended, or as she wanted to be. When his lips touched hers, the years had magically slipped away. She was an innocent young girl again, heart fluttering uncontrollably in her chest. The soft pressure of his mouth teased and seduced with the same heart-wrenching intensity. His arms felt achingly familiar. He even tasted the same. Spice laced with a tinge of claret. And he still smelled cozy and warm; she wanted to burrow deep into his embrace and sleep in blissful ignorance forever.

  Her blood had pounded with honest desire for one brief moment. It had been so long she’d almost forgotten what it felt to have every nerve in her body on end. To drown in sensation and heat.

  Until her hand had pressed against rock and her cheek was scraped by the heavy stubble of his jaw.

  This was not the Hastings of her youth; this was a stranger. A man. A duke. Suddenly, everything felt different, no longer familiar, and the span of five years seemed infinitely longer. She couldn’t escape his kiss quickly enough.

  Genie wrapped her arms around her waist, rested her forehead on her knees and, for the second time that night, wept. Shoulder-racking sobs that shook her core, but could not rid her soul of the emptiness that had haunted her for years. She wept for the memories dredged up by a kiss and a question. She wept for the loss of the child that she would never know.

  She wept, she swore for the last time, for the loss of her golden prince. The prince who in those rare moments of weakness slipped into her dreams and made her remember what it was like to love. Dear God, how she yearned for that charming boy who’d stolen her heart before everything had gone so horribly wrong.

  When the sobs subsided, she wiped her burning eyes with the sleeve of her gown and sucked in great gulps of air, trying to catch her breath. She felt silly. Crying never seemed to help; it only intensified the feeling of loneliness. But it had helped her reach a decision.

  This time she was determined to have him out of her life forever.

  Huntingdon owed her. She’d paid a heavy price for their sin. She alone had shouldered the tragedy begot from their brief affair. Surely he would acknowledge his debt and leave her and Edmund to their future.

  If not, Genie knew that she would fight him with everything she had. From the arsenal of tricks that life had so cruelly taught her.

  The next morning, a knock on Genie’s door interrupted her morning correspondence. “Come in,” she answered.

  One of the young housemaids scrambled in and bobbed an unnecessary and painstakingly deep curtsey. The countess’s bevy of servants seemed intent on treating Genie like nobility; she’d given up trying to correct them. Genie wrinkled her nose and tried to make out the features nervously turned to the floor and half hidden by a large white cap.

  She placed her quill back in the well. “Yes, Sarah, what is it?”

  The girl bobbed again, her plump cheeks pink with pleasure at the personal greeting. “The countess requests your immediate presence in the south sitting room, my lady.” Seeing Genie’s expression she corrected herself. “Er, ma’am. There is a gentleman waiting.” Her eyes stayed firmly planted on the floor. “A duke, ma’am,” she said in hushed, reverent tones.

  Genie’s heart sank. She should have known he would call on her first thing in the morning after what she’d revealed last night. She drew a deep breath, preparing herself for the inevitable questions that were sure to follow such a disclosure. She’d never meant to tell him about the baby, but she couldn’t lie. She could never deny her child. But how had he known to ask? How had he guessed? And why c