The Unthinkable Read online

  He flinched at her deliberate crudeness. “What am I to think? Was there another reason for you to be in such a place? Damn it, Genie. Help me understand.”

  She bristled; her back straightened. “Why should I? I don’t owe you an explanation.” Her eyes narrowed. “If anyone made me a whore, it was you.”

  His eyes sparked with fire, hearing in her response what he wanted. He grabbed her arm, furious. “Don’t blame me for your choices.”

  “Shouldn’t I?” The anger she’d been holding back for years finally burst free. “Who seduced an innocent, respectable young girl with a promise of marriage? Who refused to answer my letter when I begged you to come to me and honor that promise? Whose mother forced me from my home, my family, from everything I’d ever known? Who left me with child, a child whose death nearly killed me? Who left me alone to face the ugliness of the world, and men who only want—” She stopped herself, aware that she’d said too much. She was shaking from the release of emotion that had been kept bottled for too long. Her throat constricted with a knot of hot tears. Forcing herself to take deep breaths, slowly, stone-by-stone, she erected the wall of detachment back up around her.

  Taken aback by the vehemence of her attack, he seemed honestly shocked by the level of her anger. And shamed. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I know how horribly I wronged you. Forgive me, I never realized.”

  “No. Of course, you didn’t. Why should you?” she asked bitterly. “As a man these are things you wouldn’t consider. The ‘choices’ as you put it are not the same for a man. Tell me this, Your Grace, what choice does a woman alone really have? A woman without money, without connections, without protection, without useful skills other than a passable accomplishment at pianoforte or embroidery.”

  “You had other skills,” he argued. “You are a bright, well-educated woman, surely there are many respectable professions other than being a wh—”

  “Don’t say it!” she warned through bared teeth. “Don’t you dare say something you know nothing about. About the kind women who showed me the compassion and protection that you and men like you did not. Don’t you think I tried to find employment? You know how I’d always loved children. I tried. Believe me I tried.” She stood back, moving closer to the candlelight, allowing the light to fully capture the lushness of her form. “But look at me, Huntingdon. Really look at me.”

  He did. His brow creased, unsure of what she expected, as his gaze traveled up and down over her form, briefly lingering on her breasts and face. Unknowingly lingering. Unable to completely mask the accompanying desire that flared in his eyes.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice rough with wanting.

  It was what she expected him to say. She shook her head, disappointed nonetheless. “And that is all that anyone sees. I was told often enough that the only thing anyone would want me for was my beauty. Isn’t that true, Huntingdon?”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her. From the top of her golden head turned silver in the candlelight, to the pointed tips of her tiny satin slippers. Standing like a goddess in her ivory gown, the thin fabric hugging the rounded curves of her breasts and hips, skimming the long length of her lean legs. He looked at her, at the beautiful features that had haunted him for years, the tiny nose, wide cobalt eyes, plump pink lips and the tight lush body that screamed out her sensuality. He felt the familiar rush of blood and all at once understood.

  The force of her accusation drove home with the increasing tightness in his groin. Like him, men would see her and want her. She could never fade into the background as a governess or servant must. No, she would be sweet temptation in any household. And completely, utterly vulnerable. He’d never thought of it like that before. Of the difficulties that a woman of quality would face when cast out with nothing. Women who had never been forced to protect themselves. No wonder she’d learned to defend herself, he thought, remembering her unique handling of him earlier. What else had she been forced to learn?

  Huntingdon felt the first inklings of unease. That perhaps the moral righteousness he’d felt when Hawk told him where he’d found her, ought to have been something else. Compassion. Or guilt.

  His own lust suddenly sickened him. It felt base and common. Had he really thought of her as just a beautiful face? Undoubtedly her beauty had attracted him, but there had been more to it than that.

  “I will not deny that you are beautiful, Genie. But you are very wrong if you think that was the only reason I wanted you. I was just as attracted by your sweetness, to your kind heart and to your gentle manner. You were funny and warm, honest and playful. You enchanted me.”

  Her lips curved into a rueful half smile. “Well, I am none of those things any longer, Your Grace. So do not fear. I have no intention of holding you to your generous offer of marriage.”

  Genie tried to bite back some of the sarcasm, but the bitterness once freed seemed to tumble out on its own accord. She was still furious at his attempts to force her into marriage with threats of ruin. He’d ravaged her hard-wrought pride with his high-handedness. She knew she was more than a beautiful face. She’d found strength within herself that she hadn’t known existed. She’d survived so much in spite of his betrayal, and it infuriated her that he could take it all away with one well-placed whisper.

  Or could he? She stopped for a moment to consider the ramifications of the errant thought. What was it that she really wanted? Security in the form of money and land. Security that would ensure she would not be vulnerable to the dictates of a man again. Social acceptance was just a means to an end because she did not want to hurt Edmund, but a place in society had never been her dream. She preferred the country to town on any day. A glimmer of an idea formed. One side of her mouth curved up. Perhaps there was a way of carving out her desires and settling old scores after all.

  Did it really matter who she married as long as she had security?

  But could she do it? She studied his face with new intensity. Even with what she’d just told him, Genie could see the conflict warring on his face. He wanted her, but still couldn’t accept her place at a brothel. Would he honor his offer this time?

  She waited for his response.

  The silence rang loudly for a long time. Too long. Finally, he appeared to reach a decision. To her surprise, honor won out this time around. He drew himself up, every inch the duty-bound duke condescending to do something beneath him. “I have made you an offer of marriage. This changes nothing,” he said stiffly. “I ask you again, Genie, will you marry me? It is your choice.”

  “Choice?” She laughed. “You speak of choice when you try to coerce me into a marriage that I do not want. And by the looks of it, neither do you.”

  He didn’t bother to deny it, but she noticed his mouth tighten.

  Genie was amazed. She wanted to laugh at the hypocrisy. He didn’t want to marry her, but would go through with it out of some strange sense of honor. She had to give him credit, he’d changed enough not to turn tail at the first sign of difficulty. Despite the possible scandalous consequences, he would marry her, even though he thought she’d been a whore. She hadn’t, but it wasn’t by any moral superiority to the women she’d met at Madame Solange’s. No, luck had been her morality. She hadn’t become a whore because Edmund had found her before she’d been forced to make that particular “choice.”

  Edmund. She’d tried to ignore the truth, but hadn’t been able to admit it to herself until this moment. Even without Huntingdon’s high-handedness, the truth could no longer be denied. Marrying Edmund was wrong. She did not love him the way he deserved to be loved—and what’s more, someone else did. After all he’d done for her, he didn’t deserve that.

  Maybe if she’d never come back to England, had never seen Huntingdon again, she could have gone through with it. Maybe if Lady Hawkesbury had not warned her of the devastation that unrequited love might bring. Maybe if there was no Fanny. But there were all of those things, and so she would not marry Edmund.

&nbs