The Unthinkable (38 page)

This was what she’d wanted. To humiliate him in front of his peers, to exact the perfect revenge. An eye for an eye. For forcing her to marry him, for the pain of his betrayal, she’d thought to ruin the precious social standing that had prevented him from marrying her all those years ago. Then he’d divorce her and she’d still have everything she wanted: wealth and property.

What had seemed so perfect when viewed through the dark blinders of vengeance now seemed petty and cruel. In her pain, she’d lashed out and hurt the man she loved. For tonight, at the very moment when she’d destroyed him, she realized the tragic truth. She loved him.

But it was too late. She’d ruined him. He would never forgive her.

If only she’d realized her feelings sooner. But her love felt so different. Before, she’d fallen in love with a handsome face and a fairy tale. This time, it had been more gradual. Not love at first sight, but a gentle awakening based on understanding. She loved him for the man he’d become: the duke who was responsible for seven estates and four younger siblings, the husband who had shown her nothing but thoughtfulness and kindness these past few weeks, who loved her despite the fact that he thought she’d sold herself, and the youth who’d not forgotten her—who’d searched for her for years and kept a small piece of ratty ribbon to remember the first day they made love. The enormity of her emotion stunned her.

But love wouldn’t matter when he discovered her perfidy.

When the carriage finally pulled up to Huntingdon House, Genie was twisted into a tight bundle of nerves. Tension knit the muscles in her neck and back. Rigidly, she exited the carriage and followed Huntingdon into the townhouse.

In the entrance hall, Huntingdon finally looked at her. His face looked drained and tired. Tiny lines appeared around his mouth and eyes. The strain of tonight had seemingly aged him.

The dull ache in her chest twisted.

One side of his mouth lifted into some semblance of a smile. “I think we could both use a drink.”

She nodded and followed him into the drawing room. She sat stiffly on a velvet-cushioned sofa while he went to the sideboard to fix their drinks. “Here, something a little stronger than Madeira.” Genie glanced at the snifter he’d handed her filled with an amber liquid. She took a sip and shuddered. Her throat burned. Whisky, not brandy. Grimacing, she forced herself to take another sip, allowing the smoky brew to work its dulling magic.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Huntingdon sat beside her and took her hand in his. “Don’t apologize. I don’t blame you.”

Emotion thickened her voice. “It was horrible.”

His thumb gently massaged the top skin of her hand. “I never should have brought you tonight. It’s my fault. I was arrogant. I thought I was above salacious gossip.” He shook his head. “My mother was right, I should have listened to her.”

Her chest burned with shame. He was trying to shoulder the blame when she was the one responsible. How could she have thought he lacked honor?

His gaze flickered over her face and his brows wrinkled with concern. He gathered her in his arms and gently kissed the top of her head. “Don’t worry. The worst is over. We’ll go to the country for a while until it blows over.”

Genie felt like she was being torn apart. Her horror was complete. Again she’d presumed wrongly. He wasn’t going to divorce her. He intended to stand by her.

She couldn’t do this anymore. The emotion, the guilt that had been steadily building inside her all night finally exploded. “Stop it,” she cried, shooting to her feet. “Stop it.”

Shocked by the violence of her outburst, he gaped at her.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Her voice shook.

He controlled his surprise. “Of course I do,” he said calmly. “We’ll leave for Donnington and wait for the gossip to die down. It always does. Eventually.”

“I’ve ruined your political ambitions.”

“I told you, it’s not your fault. If I hadn’t failed you long ago none of this—”

“But it
is
my fault,” she choked, a hot ball of salty tears lodged in her throat. “Don’t you see,
I was the one
.”

His eyes narrowed. “The one?”

She braced herself, ready for the blow. “I started the rumor.”

“You? But why would you—?” Comprehension dawned. He recoiled, his eyes widened with horror. “Of course, how could I be so thickheaded? Revenge.”

She couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t bear to see the condemnation in his eyes that had once looked at her so tenderly. With love.

Please, take me in your arms. Hold me. Forgive me
. But he did none of those things, just stared at her as if she’d ripped out his heart.

“When.” His voice sounded harsh and empty. “When did you plan this?”

Her hands twisted as she fought to control her panic. “Some time ago. When you made your original marriage proposal. But it wasn’t until you retracted your offer at Donnington and I thought that you were abandoning me again that I put my plan in motion. When I realized that I’d erred in judging your intentions, it was too late.” Emotion strangled her voice.

“You planned your revenge well.”

She flinched at the blow. Her control slipped. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. He was a cold, emotionless stranger again. “You must believe me. I would do anything to take it back,” she pleaded, but to no effect. He’d apparently heard enough.

He stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I’m more tired than I realized. We will discuss what is to be done tomorrow.”

The formality of his tone was pure agony.

Genie dared to look at him. It was a mistake. His eyes were haunted. He looked lost, like a man stripped of everything he cared about.

When he turned his back on her and walked out of the room, all hope went with him, shattering her fragile heart.

Her knees buckled and she crumpled to the floor. But she couldn’t cry. The pain was too profound. She felt like an empty shell, devoid of sensation, except for the soul encompassing nothingness of despair.

What had she done?

She’d achieved her goals. She had her fortune and a beautiful house, but it was meaningless without Huntingdon. She loved him. But he would never forgive her treachery. With one fell swoop of her vengeful sword, she’d simultaneously ruined his social standing and his political ambitions. But worse, she’d humiliated him in the eyes of his peers. She curdled with shame.

She’d killed his love for her.

She picked herself off the floor and slowly made her way up the stairs and down the long corridors to her room. She knew what she had to do. She’d sever the connection as quickly as possible in the hope that it would lessen the burden on him. Perhaps then he could escape the destruction of scandal. The dull throb in her chest intensified. Divorce. Her entire being recoiled at the thought. But even if it killed her, she’d do it. She’d do anything to salvage what he had left of his pride.

She took out a small bag and began to pack. She had one more battle to face before she could retire into anonymity in the country. She knew where she had to go. To Thornbury. To her family.

Her maid had just finished buttoning up the back of her morning gown when there was a soft knock at the door. A moment later, it opened to reveal her sister.

“Genie, Mother would like to see you in the drawing room.” Lizzie smiled wanly in the open doorway, then turned to leave. A poor shadow of the vivacious, exuberant sister she remembered.

“Thank you, Lizzie, won’t you—” Genie called after her, but Lizzie had already gone. Genie resisted the urge to go after her, realizing that Lizzie needed time. The shock of Genie’s return was too fresh.

Genie had arrived on the doorstep of Kington House late last night. Unable to face Huntingdon, like a coward she’d fled before sunrise. She didn’t bother to hide her destination; there was no need. Huntingdon wouldn’t be following her. She’d left a note, all the explanation that was necessary under the circumstances.

My dearest Fitzwilliam, I hope my leaving will make it easier for you to return to your rightful place in society. I know that my actions have made it impossible for our marriage to continue. I will always love you. I pray that one day you will be able to forgive me. Eugenia

The day-long journey from London to Thornbury had given Genie plenty of time to think about what she was going to say to her family, how she would explain her long absence, and her sudden arrival—alone—at their door, but it hadn’t been necessary. Her mother had taken one look at Genie’s wretched face and whisked her into her loving embrace. It was all she needed to burst out crying, finally releasing some of the heartbreak of losing love for the second time, the comforting arms of her mother.

Later, Genie had provided only the barest explanation. For the second time, she’d been forced to flee from scandal, but this one was of her own making. Her parents had been shocked, but thankfully hadn’t asked many questions. At some point she would tell them everything, but right now it was enough to be home—and welcomed.

Genie gazed at her reflection in the looking glass propped up on a desk in her old bedchamber. Frowning, she patted her swollen eyes with a damp cloth and tidied her hair before starting down the stairs to her mother.

The narrow staircase creaked with each step. The house seemed so much smaller than she remembered. She smiled wistfully. It hadn’t taken her long to grow accustomed to the grandeur of Huntingdon House and Donnington Park. In many ways she felt like a stranger here. She put her hand on the banister, feeling the familiar wiggle. She’d changed so much and Kington House so little.

Her parents had aged. There were quite a few more lines on her mother’s face and her hair was now completely gray. Her father too had grayed, and was perhaps a bit rounder around the middle. With her brothers all moved away, only Lizzie remained. Fanny had not exaggerated. The quiet, reserved young woman was not the sister Genie remembered. Though Lizzie had greeted Genie warmly, she felt acutely the loss of their closeness. She vowed to do whatever it took to bring a smile back to her sister’s face. Somehow she’d make it up to her.

To all of them.

A housemaid she didn’t recognize opened the door to the drawing room and Genie faltered. Her heart skipped. Sitting on the sofa, opposite her parents, were her husband and his mother.

Genie blurted out, “What are you doing here?”

Huntingdon rose as she entered, his face bore such a look of relief that Genie felt something spark in her chest. But it was his mother who spoke first.

The dowager duchess lifted a brow. “Eugenia,” she called her by her Christian name, which was a shock as she’d never even heard the Duchess call her son by his Christian name, “you have developed an appalling tendency to speak your mind.” She turned to her son and lifted her eyes “America” as if that explained everything. She turned back to Genie. “A duchess must always remain unflappable,” she instructed. “Even under the most strenuous of circumstances, isn’t that so, son?”

What was going on here? Genie thought, confused. Her eyes fell to Huntingdon, the sight of his rumpled cravat and haggard face made her breath catch.

He spoke to his mother, but he didn’t take his eyes of Genie’s face. “Yes, indeed, Mother. I’m afraid we shall have to work on that.”

The dowager duchess stood up and shook out her skirts, the black silk rustling. “Now, if you’ll excuse us. I would like to speak with your parents alone.” Her mother looked at her questioningly, but they quickly followed Huntingdon’s mother out of the room.

Leaving her alone with her husband.

“I don’t know whether to strangle you or to kiss you. How could you leave like that?”

Genie didn’t allow herself hope at his words. “I thought it would be easier that way. With the divorce—”

He made a fierce noise and grabbed her arm. “There will be no divorce,” he growled each word with superb finality.

Standing this close to him was torture. She yearned to curl against the warm shelter of his chest. “But after what I told you, I thought…”

“You were wrong,” he said decisively. “I’m furious with what you did, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you. You are my wife and I love you, whether we never attend another ball or not. But I have to know, did you mean what you said in your note?”

“Of course I’m terribly sorry for what I did. I hope someday you will forgive me.”

He made another sound, this one of frustration. His arm tightened, pulling her close against the hard shield of his chest. “Not that.” He cupped her chin. “You called me Fitzwilliam.”

Her brows drew together. “It’s your name.”

He smiled at her confusion. “Do you love me?”

His mouth was only inches from hers. She trembled, overwhelmed. She couldn’t believe it. He still loved her. Despite her treachery that could cost him the loss of his position, the very wedge that drove them apart years ago, he would stand by her. The unreliable young man of her past was truly gone. Her heart soared. “Yes,” she said huskily, “I love you.”

His mouth found hers in a tender kiss. “God, I thought I’d never hear you say those words again.”

“I’d never thought to say them again.”

He grinned and kissed her again. “I won’t let you down this time.”

“I know,” she said. She trusted him completely. She’d learned to look at the past differently. He’d made mistakes, but so had she. “We’ve both changed.” Her brow furrowed, someone else had changed—a fact that had been bothering her. “I’m surprised your mother is here.”

“So am I, but she insisted. She blames herself for all of this. I believe she means to apologize to your parents for her part in your disappearance.”

Genie was surprised. “I appreciate her support, but I’m afraid in this instance my letter did the damage.”

“That’s not entirely correct.”

“What do you mean?”

He threaded his fingers through his hair. “We would have arrived sooner, but Fanny arrived at Huntingdon House with Lady Hawkesbury and Edmund. I know you sent the letter to Fanny, but it was not your letter that started the gossip.”