The Unthinkable (20 page)

Tossing his black cape behind him, he alighted from the carriage and made his way up the staircase lined with rows of footmen dressed in vivid blue and gold livery. Cheerful greetings accosted him as he stormed through the crowd, but he barely acknowledged them.

He was a man on a mission.

The Duke of Huntingdon had made his decision, even if it would damn him in her eyes.

He would live with the consequences. The alternative was simply inconceivable.

He hated that it had come to this. But there was no time for wooing, for explanations, for convincing. Edmund and Genie planned to announce their engagement tonight. And he was there to put a stop to it.

There would be an engagement this night, but it would not be the one anyone was expecting.

When Huntingdon entered the ballroom, everything around her seemed to stop. Genie’s heart beat so furiously her entire body shook. Lulled by his conspicuous absence over the past few days, she’d nearly succeeded in convincing herself that she’d imagined his reaction to her kiss with Edmund.

But the moment he entered the room, his ice-blue gaze shot straight for her, piercing her with a cold, possessive intensity. A shiver of apprehension cut through her. Whatever his purpose there this evening, it did not bode well.

Lady Worthington, one of her companions, noticed the direction of her stare. “The Duke of Huntingdon is a very handsome man is he not, Mrs. Preston?”

Lady Worthington was a shrewd, exotically beautiful woman, perhaps in her mid-thirties, rumored to have had many paramours amongst some of the more distinguished members of the ton. Yet despite her reputation, Genie rather liked her. But Genie would have to be more careful. Controlling her blush, Genie arched a brow skeptically. “I suppose. I haven’t paid him particular attention.”

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, frustration and anger mounting. She nudged her pointed finger at his chest, stabbing him repeatedly to mimic the staccato of her voice. Though it was about as effective as trying to dent stone with a feather. “I thought you had changed. I thought you might have learned the word honor. But you are still the same selfish boy that you were five years ago. Breaking vows, taking without thought or care of others.”

A shadow that looked like regret crossed his features. His hand pressed the small of her back, bringing her even closer to the hard wall of his chest. “I can’t allow you to marry Hawk.”

Squirming, she scoffed at his arrogance. “I don’t need your approval. I will marry Edmund whether you like it or not.” She cursed the breathlessness in her voice that weakened the impact of her words. If only he’d stop holding her so close. If only she couldn’t feel every hard plane and ridge of his chest, every angle of his hips, and something else. Something that demonstrated the sheer magnitude of his attraction. Something that made her legs turn liquid from… It was such an alien feeling she almost didn’t recognize it—lust. She’d no longer thought herself capable of that weakness.

His gaze darkened, a heady mix of anger and attraction. “I think not. It seems I have a strong aversion to seeing you kiss another man.”

Jealousy. Possession. Lust. That was all that this was about. He wanted her and he was willing to destroy her to have her. How could she have thought even for a moment that he’d changed?

“You have no right,” she said furiously, trying to pull free from his embrace.

His arms tightened. “I have every right.” A wicked grin curved his lips. “You will be my wife, and my duchess will confine her kisses to me.”

He took her dumbfounded open mouth as an invitation, smothering the startled cry of outrage by the force of his lips on hers. It was a kiss meant to show possession. A kiss to brand. A kiss to erase all thoughts of others.

And God help her, it did.

He told her with his mouth what she didn’t want to accept, but what she instinctively knew: some things never changed. For her, no other man would ever compare.

She wanted to cry, to rail at the cruel Fates for making her still want this man after all he had done to her. Why him and not Edmund? She choked on the bitter truth as he kissed her senseless and her body soared with the sheer perfection of the sensations leaping through her.

Heaven and hell. Huntingdon could bring her to both.

But right now, it was all heaven. She’d tried to forget the magic of being wrapped in the arms of a man who made her heart lurch with each seductive caress of his lips. A man who could ignite the ashes of her passion with a simple stroke. She wanted him to kiss her, to touch her, and she wanted to drown in the seductive warmth of his mouth and arms.

He kissed her with a raw hunger that should have terrified her with its intensity. There was no gentle buildup, but rather a spontaneous combustion of molten desire.

She should have banged against his chest like a madwoman and demanded to be released or bite his tongue as she’d done before. But she could no more deny his kiss than she could the breath that gave her life. Genie needed to feel alive again and Huntingdon was the only man who could awaken the dormant embers and make her burn. Again.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest, but behind the hazy fog of desire, she could not completely quiet the conflicting emotions battling in the dark recesses of her mind. Her pride hated the weakness, the very helplessness that made her melt into his arms. But the weak part of her yearned to succumb to the promise of pleasure in his tormenting kiss.

This time, she couldn’t fight the pull, the attraction, the memories. A traitorous whimper escaped from between her lips, practically begging him for more.

And he gave it to her, sliding his tongue into her open mouth. He stroked and teased, taunting her with a carnal rhythm that promised untold sensual delights.

The man could kiss like the Devil.

And the Devil take her, she responded, matching the movements of his mouth, entwining her tongue with his, sliding deeper into the kiss, allowing her body to sink into the warmth of his powerful embrace. The heavily muscled body of a laborer mixed with the suave elegance of an aristocrat was an impossibly attractive combination.

He was so big it should have terrified her, knowing that she was helpless against his dominant strength. But she knew—no matter what his other flaws—that he would never use that strength against her, only to protect her. Her insides uncurled with wicked delight as her tiny hands made him shiver with desire. She explored the expanded planes of his body, tentatively at first, but with burgeoning intensity. Her fingers splayed against his chest then gripped his broad shoulders, traced the firm muscle of his upper arms and back, admiring the impressive male strength of his form. The layers of hard muscle flexed instinctively under her fingertips and a gut-checking slice of lust cut through her. She wanted to rip his shirt off and place her hand on his bare skin.