The Unthinkable (21 page)

He pulled her closer, pressing her hips firmly against him, slowly sliding up and down, allowing her to feel every thick inch of his heavy erection. He cupped her bottom and lifted her until she could feel the engorged head of his arousal against her shivering entry. Something hot and deep uncoiled inside her. Her body responded to the primal urge of desire, softening, turning her insides to mush.

Huntingdon felt her response and it nearly drove him mad with lust. The sensation of her hands on his body was like no other feeling he’d ever experienced. Her soft little moans tortured him, so he kissed her harder, silencing her, devouring her mouth with his lips and tongue. He couldn’t get enough of her fast enough. He wanted to lift her skirt and plunge deep inside her, putting an end to her protestations once and for all. She was his, and he was going to prove it. He wanted her naked. He wanted her wet. He wanted her astride him, bare breasts bouncing as she rode him harder and harder until her head fell back in delirious ecstasy calling his name and flooding his cock with wave after wave of shuddering release.

He wanted to look deep into her eyes as she came and dare her to deny him.

He wanted to tell her exactly what he wanted to do to her, where he wanted to lick her, to suck her, but he didn’t want to give her the opportunity to think. His hands roamed her body, molding her breast, cupping her bottom, savoring every inch of velvety exposed skin. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted to see every naked inch of her. He wanted to tear her hair from its bindings, releasing the shimmering silk veil. He wanted her weak with passion, he wanted her to scream his name as she climbed the jagged pinnacles of a violent orgasm.

His mouth moved to the sensitive place below her ear as his hands loosened her gown and freed her breasts from the wretched confines of her gown, chemise, and stays.

He groaned at the vision before him. Her breasts were large and round, tipped with tiny pink nipples, rising high above the ivory contours of her belly. He reached out and cautiously slid his thumb across one sweet nipple. The helpless shudder that racked her shoulders nearly made him explode. Reverently, he weighed her breasts in his hands, lifting a delicate pink tip to his mouth for his kiss. Softly at first, then harder. He sucked and rolled the tip between his teeth until she moaned. Flicking his tongue and nibbling until she moved, circling her hips against his cock. She tasted so sweet, like honeysuckle laced with the faintest hint of salt. She was so hot, nearly ready for him, and just the thought of entering her, sinking into her full hilt as she wrapped her legs around him—he couldn’t stand it.

Genie had lost all sense of pride and decorum. The sultry air of the greenhouse became an oasis. His fingers skimmed the inside of her thigh, teasing. She stilled. Relax, she told herself.
He won’t hurt you
.

But Edmund had never done anything more than try to kiss her, and she wasn’t sure…

His hand brushed the juncture between her legs and she gasped—with pleasure. Awash in sensation and desire, a trance came over her for a second as her body focused on the urge to find release for the pressure building inside her. A sweet rush of dampness spread between her legs as she imagined the deft stroke of his fingers and the hard thickness of his manhood driving inside her.

Nothing else mattered. For a moment lust overrode panic. The rush of blood surging through her body hummed in her ears. For a moment she thought she could forget. She thought the darkness wouldn’t come.

Until he slid his finger inside her and she froze. Dark memories accosted her and a moment of panic set in. No, she fought silently, trying to shake the fear. She could do this.

But perhaps sensing her hesitation, Huntingdon stopped. So suddenly she nearly collapsed when he released her.

They stood staring at each other, breathing hard, both unsure of what had just happened. And why he had stopped.

After a few minutes he seemed to come to a decision. Genie fumbled with her gown and, silently, thankfully, he helped her dress.

Her cheeks burned. What must he think? She claimed to want nothing to do with him, but then he kissed her, and she nearly fell apart in his arms. She’d convinced herself that she’d changed, hardened. But she was still as susceptible to him as she had been five years ago. She was still a fool enslaved by the cravings of her body.

He lifted her chin with his fingers and looked straight into her eyes. “When I make love to you, it will be as man and wife.”

The arrogance of his words grated against her shredded pride. Her chest heaved as she lashed out. “You must be daft,” she spat. “I will never marry you.”

There was a long, dark pause before he spoke. The jagged shadows of the greenhouse cast his features in a sinister light. His eyes still gleamed with the angry vestiges of unspent desire. His steely gaze did not flinch from her face. “You’ll marry me, or I’ll be forced to see to it that you have no other choice.”

The words pelted her like ice. After what they’d just shared, what they’d nearly done, the coldness of his threat hurt. But Genie could not doubt that he meant what he said.

She froze as the full impact of his words hit her. The blood drained from her face. He meant to ruin her. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered.

“To stop you from marrying the wrong man, I would. I’ve made some inquiries about your late husband.”

Genie felt panic claw her chest. He knew. He knew she’d lied about being married.

“Strange, but there does not seem to be a record of him?” The knowing look on his face belied the feigned surprise in his tone. “When I make our previous acquaintance in Thornbury known, it won’t take long for people to remember the mysterious disappearance of the county’s reigning beauty. I’m afraid my ongoing attempts to find you are rather well-known. It won’t take long for someone to figure it out.” He lifted a brow. “If I’m not mistaken, Lady Hawkesbury has already done so.”

He was right. But she was not ready to admit defeat. “Edmund would still marry me.”

He smiled and shook his head, a patronizing movement that further bruised her damaged pride. “But would you marry him, knowing what it would cost him?” He gave her a long, hard look. “You have changed Genie, but not that much. Would you have Hawk shunned by polite society?”

Would she? Had she become that mercenary?

The iron resolve forged by disappointment and tragedy faltered. The realization that Huntingdon might know her better than she knew herself chafed. He’d played her well. She’d changed, but not as much as she wanted to.

She would not intentionally harm Edmund. Not after all he’d done for her.

Scandal had to be averted. “It won’t come to that.”

“Do you doubt me?” He smiled, but his voice turned hard. “Don’t.”

He would do it. He wanted her and he wasn’t going to back down unless she did something. She felt the walls closing in on her. Her mouth went dry and her voice, when it came, broke pitifully. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I feel responsible for what happened to you. I want to do right by you. To do what I should have done all those years ago.”

“So you seek to erase your shame, and you think forcing me to marry you will make it right?” She couldn’t believe the insanity of his reasoning. “Did you learn such gentle persuasion at your mother’s knee?”

He flinched, but did not back down. “Would you agree otherwise?”

She ignored his question. She had not agreed. “Why now? Surely, you can’t claim to love me?” she asked incredulously.

His face shuttered. A wry smile curved his lips. “No. I want you. Let’s leave it at that.”

The truth stung. Even though she’d known his answer, the disavowal still managed to find a tender spot in her hardened heart.

“You want a possession,” she challenged. “You only want me now because you can’t have me. This is about lust.”

He glanced meaningfully down at his breeches. The evidence of his arousal obvious in the tight, form-fitting clothing. “I can hardly deny that’s a part of it.”

“Passion eventually dies.”

Amused, he quirked a brow. “Does it?’

Perhaps not. Five years hadn’t dampened his any. Flustered, she tried a different tact.

“Why?” she asked hollowly. “Why do you want to ruin my life again?” The conflicting emotions of what had nearly happened between them and his cruel threat had shaken her defenses. “Wasn’t once enough for you?”

Don’t cry. Please, don’t let him see you cry
.

His tone softened. “Don’t you see? I want to make it up to you. I’ll give you everything you ever wanted. Name it and you shall have it. If I thought you truly loved Hawk, it would be different.” He grasped her shoulders and stared deep into her eyes, daring her to deny his words. “I know you don’t love him. I saw the way you kissed him. It was nothing like what just happened between us.”

Her cheeks burned. He was right, but she didn’t want to concede to it. But after Huntingdon’s latest kiss, the comparison with Edmund was… well, there wasn’t any comparison.

Genie grew frantic, trying to find a way out of the noose tightened around her.

She was scared. Scared of what he made her feel. She didn’t know how long she could resist this insane pull to him—a pull that challenged her resolve whenever she was around him.

Genie realized that she’d been wrong. It wasn’t the past she needed to worry about, it was the present. The man he’d become was infinitely more dangerous than the man he used to be. He no longer relied on charm. The charisma of power and confidence was infinitely more appealing. Ironically, Huntingdon had become the sort of man who inspired trust. She couldn’t believe she was even thinking about trust and Huntingdon together. How long could she resist him? And resist him she must; his betrayal had run too deep.

She’d survived once, but she couldn’t do it again.

The urgency of the situation made her contemplate something that she would never have thought possible: confiding a bit of the truth. The truth would put an end to his threat, but could she stand his censure? Could she stomach witnessing the disgust that he would try to hide when he looked at her? She would have to.

“You don’t understand. You can’t marry me. There are things about my past…” She sighed, calming the nervousness in her voice. “Things that could make your political ambitions impossible.”

He spoke without hesitation. “I don’t care.”

But he would. Any man would. Even though she was innocent of wrongdoing, it would not matter.

“But a cabinet post is important to you?”

“Extremely.”

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bear to see his disgust or, even worse, his pity. But he’d left her with no choice. She turned away. There was no other way, she could not destroy Edmund, and marriage to Huntingdon was unthinkable.

She hated him anew for forcing her to this.

“Ask Edmund where we met,” she said dully.

“Why?” he asked, puzzled. “It won’t change my mind.”

But it would, she thought sadly. But said, “Just ask him.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his brow wrinkle. He turned pensive, searching for a clue in her expressionless face. “Very well, but you’ll do something for me.”

She eyed him warily, justly cautious of his ultimatums.

“You will call off the announcement of your engagement to Hawk tonight.”

She started to protest, “But Lady Hawkesbury is expecting—”

“Lady Hawkesbury will understand.” Noticing Genie’s guilty blush, he smiled. “In fact, unless I am mistaken, I think Lady Hawkesbury will not be surprised.”

No, she wouldn’t. “Fine,” Genie managed. “But it will be only temporary.”

Huntingdon’s hand reached out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Her heart leapt to her throat. The hard, callused fingers singed a fiery path along the soft curves of her face. He gazed at her in a way that could only be described as loving. Her foolish heart actually had the gall to clench.

“We shall see about that,” he said softly, an arrogant smile played about his mouth. “Marry me, Genie, and I will do everything in my power to make you happy. If it takes me a lifetime.”

The tenderness of his touch and the huskiness of his voice chipped away at the ruins of her defenses. She wanted him to go on looking at her like that. She wanted to trust him again. For the first time since she’d returned to England, Genie actually considered the ramifications of surrender.

With the pad of his thumb he wiped an errant tear from the corner of her eye. Their eyes met and held. She ached for something deep in her chest with an intensity that took her breath away. Something that felt horribly like fulfillment.

“Trust me,” he whispered.

The words jolted her back to reality. The familiar refrain that had haunted her darkest memories shattered the fragile moment of connection.

She laughed, a pitiful, slightly hysterical sound.

Furious with her capriciousness, Genie jerked her face from his hand and ran. Ran as if the very Devil were nipping at her heels.

And in a way, she supposed he was.

Huntingdon couldn’t force her to marry him. He couldn’t.

But in her heart she knew he could.

If it came to that, even if it took her a lifetime, she would make him regret it. She would have her revenge not only for what he did five years ago, but for forcing her into an unwanted marriage. And for something even worse: making her wish it could be different.

After Genie left the greenhouse, Huntingdon made his way to the library to await the fallout. It wouldn’t take Hawk long to track him down.

Huntingdon had visited Hawkesbury House many times over the years, but it had been some time since he’d ventured into the library. A lifetime ago, more times than he’d care to remember, Huntingdon and Hawk had been marched to this room—knees shaking—to face their punishment for some boyhood infraction. This room had represented the end of the road, when the transgression was grave enough to warrant the final arbiter.

The desk still stood in the same place, dominating the center of the dimly lit room like some great mahogany fortress. Despite the distance of years, Huntingdon shivered. He could still remember the late earl looming like a giant executioner behind his behemoth desk, a black scowl indicating his displeasure at the bothersome interruption, ready to impart some horrible punishment. As was often the case with youth, the imagined punishment usually eclipsed reality.