The Unthinkable Read online

  Lady Worthington laughed, a low, seductive throaty sound. “No. But it seems he has paid you quite a bit of ‘particular attention.’”

  Thankfully, Lady Thornton, an older woman who would never be called sharp, broke in. “He’s remarkably large, don’t you think? And appallingly muscular. Quite unfashionable, but irresistible nonetheless with those golden-god looks. He looks like he tumbled right off Mount Olympus.” She sighed dreamily and fluttered her fan.

  Genie made a small choking sound. He’d tumbled from Mount Olympus all right, straight to Hades. Lady Worthington’s gaze intensified; those dark, feline eyes altogether too perceptive. “Where did you say you hailed from, Mrs. Preston.”

  Genie’s heart raced. “Gloucestershire,” she murmured, but was saved from further inquiry by the impending arrival of Huntingdon. She took one look at his face and suddenly she had a powerful urge to run.

  He wore the devil’s own black expression. Firelight flickered off his dark-golden head like some macabre halo. His mouth was drawn in a thin line of a man determined to act, though the task might prove distasteful. No, she had not imagined his reaction. He’d only been biding his time. But for what?

  She was about to find out.

  Quickly, he closed the distance between them with long, purposeful strides. Before she could make good a coward’s retreat, he was at her side.

  He made his bow to the other ladies in her group before turning his undivided attention to her. “Mrs. Preston.”

  “Your Grace.”

  She felt like a hare trapped in a hunter’s snare. The heat of his magnetic gaze held her. She couldn’t look away.

  He wore black. Black that contrasted sharply with a stark-white waistcoat and cravat. The colorless garb suited his devilish demeanor. All he needed was a red cape and a trident and he could rival Hades for the throne of the underworld.

  Despite his somber attire, every man around him paled in comparison. The thin, foppish peacocks of Brummel’s set seemed ridiculously feminine. For once, his heavily muscled form did not seem out of place encased in such finery. The hard lines of the cutaway coat emphasized the wide set of his shoulders and narrow waist, and the tight breeches his powerful thighs.

  The Duke of Huntingdon was a man and every woman in the room was aware of it.

  Including Genie. Much to her irritation.

  She lowered her gaze, trying to ignore her attraction, but even her nose fell traitor to the enticing male scent of soap and sandalwood. Damp locks of dark blond hair curled along his collar. The knowledge that he’d just come from his bath conjured up some rather explicit images. She swiftly forced the unwelcome picture aside before she did something utterly humiliating and blushed like a moonstruck schoolgirl.

  He flashed a dazzling smile to the other ladies that surely sent quite a few hearts a flutter. “If you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Preston has promised to show me Lady Hawkesbury’s prized pineapple plants.”

  Pineapple plants? That was original.

  “I’m afraid now is not a good time, Your Grace,” Genie refused ungraciously to quite a few raised eyebrows. A soldier’s widow did not countermand a duke. “Lady Hawkesbury is expecting—”

  “I’m sure our hostess will not mind a few moments delay,” Huntingdon interrupted smoothly. “I am most anxious to see them. I am thinking of trying to grow the fruit in my own greenhouse.” Despite the deceptive pleasant tone, Genie heard the firm command underlying the request.

  Boldly he met the obstinate refusal in her gaze, almost daring her to deny him. The silent standoff lasted only a moment before sanity returned. Genie pursed her lips together, biting back an unladylike oath. Unless she wanted to create a scene, she would do as he asked. Clearly, he meant to have this discussion and she supposed that now was as inconvenient as any other time. She lifted her chin and smiled icily. “Very well, I’m sure I can spare a few minutes.”

  He took possession of her elbow, a sizzling brand on her skin, and quickly steered her toward the door. In one last brilliant defensive maneuver, Genie turned around to ask Lady Thornton to accompany them, but he stopped her with a gentle squeeze. In a low voice meant for her ears alone, he warned, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

  She clamped her mouth shut. Before she knew it, they were outside in the rose garden headed for the greenhouse.

  “I fail to see what could be so important that it can’t wait—”

  “Trust me,” he murmured near her ear, the deep husky burr sending a warm tingle down her spine. “It can’t.”

  Genie jerked her elbow free and stomped into the greenhouse. An action made much less effective by an accompanying wince of pain. The thin soles of the slippers that she wore with her diaphanous silver ball gown permitted every sharp stone to pierce the soft skin of her feet. She glanced down at the elaborate Grecian-style ensemble. She hadn’t noticed before, but the dress was remarkably similar in style to the one she wore to the harvest festival race-week ball all those years ago. Fitting somehow. But this time she was not the same naïve little innocent. She was a woman equipped for battle.

  The room was hot and ripe with the pungent fragrance of flowers. Roses, ferns, and large potted fruit plants lined the narrow stone paths. She wished she’d thought to bring a lantern. The only illumination was the dim cast of flame from the torches that burned along the dark garden paths outside. The heat, the starlight, the delicate smells, the uncertainty of his intentions, all combined to heighten her senses.

  Though he stood a few feet away, she could feel him around her, crushing her with the weight of his presence. It was insane, this feeling of a physical connection whenever he stood near. If only he didn’t smell so good. The fresh, warm scent of sandalwood was almost hypnotic. She frowned. She needed to get out of there before she completely lost her mind and let sensation override her good sense.

  “Well, there they are.” She pointed to the large potted pineapple plants in the far corner. Ruse fulfilled, she spun around to leave. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  “Not so fast.” He caught her waist and turned her back to face him, pulling her hard against his body.

  Genie gasped at the intimate contact.

  “Let me go!”

  “You and I have some unfinished business.” His head dipped until his mouth was only a few tantalizing inches from hers.

  Genie’s temperature shot up a few hundred degrees.

  Enveloped in the heat of his embrace, awareness surged through her. Pressed against the muscled wall of his chest, her breasts rose and fell with the excited pounding of her heart. He gazed down at her low décolletage with such an expression of raw desire that her nipples grew taut, straining against the thin fabric of her bodice. Disconcerted by her body’s reaction, Genie lifted her chin and mustered in her most prim governess tone. “We have discussed everything there is to discuss.”

  “I’m afraid not. Circumstances have changed.”

  “Nothing has changed,” she said stubbornly.

  He ran his fingers down the bare skin of her arm. She shivered, from fear or excitement she didn’t know. All she knew was that her heart pounded furiously and she couldn’t breathe, waiting for him to make his next move.

  “Everything has changed.”

  That blasted kiss. All her plans undone by a simple kiss. There had to be irony in there somewhere, but Genie was too upset to see it. Why did he have to be on that balcony?

  She was so close to achieving her goal, she would not allow the man who had once taken everything from her to interfere with her future. She wanted it all back: the promise of youth, the life that had been cheated from her by cruelties of fate. Security. Happiness.

  But would Edmund make her happy? And what of his happiness?

  She quieted the obnoxious voice of uncertainty that would not shut up. “You vowed to leave me be and I intend to hold you to your promise.”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid that is no longer possible.”

  Genie’s eyes narrowed, frustrati