The Unthinkable Read online

  It had started out innocent enough, as all great falls from grace do, with one mistake. And then it happened again. And again. And again. Along the bank of the Severn, in the secluded greenhouse of Thornbury Castle, anywhere they could find. Her grand intention to not repeat her folly was all but forgotten with the silver of his tongue and the haunting tenderness of his embrace.

  It was a vicious circle from which she could not wrench free. The further she fell from respectability, the more her body craved his touch. She no longer had the pain of the first time to viscerally remind her that she sinned. And after the second time, when she’d shattered in his arms and touched a sliver of heaven, she’d found the temptation of making love all but impossible to resist. As he’d promised, it had only gotten better. Now her body craved him as deeply as her soul. He’d awakened her passion, and it would not graciously retreat.

  In truth, she didn’t know that she would wish it away even if she could. The intimacy, the closeness, they shared was incredible. If she thought she knew him before, it was nothing compared to now. Genie didn’t just know that he liked roasted potatoes but not roasted carrots, she knew the way his jaw clenched when he drove deep inside her, and the way he liked to look deep into her eyes as he exploded in release. Her heart squeezed just thinking about it.

  She couldn’t get enough of him even as she realized what they were doing was wrong.

  Genie swore each time that it would be the last, but when he kissed her—touched her—the wicked cravings of her body took over, and she lost all manner of decorum and rationality.

  Yet each time he took her in sin, she hated herself—and him—a little more.

  Shame had tainted their love. Since that fateful sun-drenched September morning, Genie had learned a painful truth about the inherent fragility of virtue. Virtue, once taken, could not be restored. It was a lesson that had been instilled in her since birth, but which she had so easily forsaken for the gratification of a moment. Without virtue, Genie was ruined. No one else would marry her now. The fate of a woman without fortune was inextricably tied to marriage. Unmarried, she would become dependent on the charity of her father and later, of her brothers.

  She’d been such a fool. Seduced by the oldest lure of all… love.

  And may God forgive her, she still loved him—but with increasing desperation. He had to marry her, not only to restore her lost virtue, but because she couldn’t imagine life without him. In a little over three months, he’d wormed his way around her heart. The immediate connection between them had blossomed into a true friendship. Hastings made her pulse race, her smile bright, and made her more comfortable than she’d ever imagined with a man.

  But the moment she left him all comfort fled. She wanted to feel secure again, and that would only come with a formal proposal.

  He’d dragged his feet for months. She’d hinted and danced around the topic of their understanding since it had become apparent that his parents would not happily welcome her into the family. The much-anticipated soirée at Thornbury Park had been a miserable affair. The duke and duchess had not cut her directly, but the cold manner of their greeting left no doubt as to their wishes on the matter.

  Two months after they’d first made love, two months after that disastrous first meeting with his parents, and Hastings still had not offered for her. Indeed, he steadfastly avoided the topic of engagement at all, so much so that Genie had begun to wonder whether Lizzie had been correct. Had he ever intended it at all? But what else could “make you mine forever” mean? His vow of love was often repeated, but usually in the hazy, dreamy moments after they made love.

  It was time to stop hinting. She’d learned over the past two months that Hastings did not like confrontation, but she had to do something. What they had was worth fighting for, he must realize that.

  The front parlor of Kington House with her mother on the other side of the room might not be the best place for this conversation, but the opportunities for privacy had grown scarce with the increasing rain. And when they did have the occasion to meet in private, there was usually not much time left for conversation. With a laugh and a smile, he’d tell her not to worry before kissing her into oblivion, making her forget everything but the feel of his body on hers.

  “What’s wrong, love? Don’t you like the cakes? I had the chef make them especially for you.” Disappointed by the unenthusiastic reception of his gift, Hastings waited anxiously for her reply.

  She hated to look at him. Even now, from his seat beside her on the couch as they took tea, Genie felt her heart tug. She desperately wanted to believe the adoration, the love he offered in his guileless blue gaze. “They’re delicious. It’s not the cakes.”

  “Then what is it? Something has been bothering you all morning.”

  Something has been bothering me for months. “I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I notice everything about you,” he murmured suggestively, in that husky voice that sent chills up her spine.

  Ignoring her body’s instinctive reaction, Genie took a deep breath. No matter how unseemly it was to broach such an indelicate subject, he’d left her no choice but to press the matter. The temporary lull of gentlemen callers afforded her the opportunity; she could not guess when it would be repeated. “The situation with your parents has not improved. I cannot help but worry about their resistance.” She spoke in a low voice, but it was unnecessary. Her mother was occupied by Fanny and Lizzie taking turns at the pianoforte.

  Hastings stiffened and immediately leaned away from her. A mask of discomfort descended across his gregarious features. She’d obviously offended his sense of propriety, but to Genie’s mind they’d forsaken propriety the first time they made love. But clearly, he didn’t wish to discuss this subject.

  “You are mistaken,” he said brusquely. “They are not resistant. Do not concern yourself with the matter.”

  Genie chewed on her lip. Her teacup rattled as she placed it in the saucer. His cold response hurt, but she would not be put off this time. At moments like this when he seemed every inch the remote, humorless duke’s son, Genie wondered whether she knew him at all. Behind the fun, lighthearted young man she loved, she glimpsed a hard, impenetrable—immovable—layer of steel to his character that frightened her. She saw the shadow of the man he might have been had fate made him heir.

  Genie looked down at her fingers as she nervously fiddled with the delicate teacup handle. “But what if they never approve?” she asked softly.

  “Nonsense. There is plenty of time before we leave for town.”

  At the mention of him leaving, Genie’s stomach twisted. Her panic increased. It was still some time before the season, but she didn’t like to be reminded that he might eventually leave.

  He continued in earnest. “I am confident that before that time I can persuade them…” His voice dropped off leaving an awkward silence.

  Genie realized that he did not want to make her any promises, and it stopped her heart cold. Had he ever made her any promises at all? The color drained from her face and she felt suddenly nauseated. Mute, she stared at him in horror.

  He took his thumb and wiped the crease from between her brow. “Don’t worry, Genie, trust me.” His greatest charm was the uncanny ability to say exactly what she wanted to hear. But this time, she felt not the least bit reassured by his empty promises. She needed to hear more. And she feared that she never would.

  Genie did not doubt that he loved her. But did he love her enough to defy his family?

  A short week later brought such a change in circumstance Genie could have wept for the joy of it. She’d been wrong not to trust Hastings. He had indeed kept his promise. The previous day card arrived from the duchess informing Genie of her intent to call on Mrs. Prescott and her daughters the following morning. Genie’s happiness knew no bounds. There was only one explanation: Hastings had informed his parents of their attachment. Such condescension in calling at Kington House could not be misinterpreted; the duchess had sign