She sat still, too still, waiting for him to say something. Huntingdon noticed the nervous twisting of her hands in her lap. She noticed the direction of his gaze and her hands clenched the fabric of her skirt.
Though she’d tried to cover it up, he’d heard her mention that she’d been ill after she’d lost the child. Now she forgets her husband. Something about this was not right. “I would like to hear more about your husband. When did you first meet?”
She stood up and moved to the window overlooking the garden, avoiding his eyes. “Why is this important to you? What reason could you possibly have for being interested in a common soldier?”
He moved beside her, careful not to get too close. Her face looked pale, even under the warming glow of sunlight. Her bottom lip trembled ever so slightly.
“I’m curious about the man to whom you would give your heart. About the man who did what I have regretted not doing for five years,” he said quietly.
She stood perfectly still. He could tell that she was engaged in a fierce battle to control her emotions. What he didn’t know was what she was trying to hide: sadness at the memory of her dead husband or at him for his betrayal.
She lifted her chin defiantly. “It’s easy to make such claims now.”
“No,” he said with a crooked smile. “It isn’t.” She looked so vulnerable, he ached to reach out and touch her. But he didn’t, knowing it would not help his cause. “My conduct back then is not something I’m proud of and not something I like to remember. But neither can I forget. You see, inexplicably, I find myself very curious about one thing.”
She turned to face him, eyeing him cagily. “Yes?”
“If you loved me, how could you have married someone else within weeks of leaving England?”
Genie didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t married someone else, but she could hardly tell him that. It was a foolish mistake to claim she’d married so quickly, but he’d made her so angry, she hadn’t been able to resist. It was clear that he questioned the ardency of her affection. She’d laugh if it wasn’t so painful. If he only knew how long she’d held out hope.
No, the constancy of her heart was never the issue.
She’d desperately wanted to return to her family, but she’d been left utterly destitute by the treachery of her borrowed maid.
Rather than answer the question, she hedged. “People marry for many reasons, most of which have nothing to do with love.”
“So, you didn’t love him?” Or you didn’t love me? She heard the unspoken question.
“I didn’t say—” She stopped. “Perhaps I married him for money?” she said provokingly, noticing the erratic pulse in his jaw. She held his gaze. “Or perhaps to give a child the protection of a name.” He flinched at that and Genie suddenly felt cruel. She didn’t want to get into this. Accusations, drama, emotion. She wanted to stay comfortably detached. “And what of yourself, Your Grace? Surely, a man of your position must have been tempted to take a wife?”
White lines appeared around his mouth. “No,” he replied stonily.
Genie remained silent.
He stood so close she could hear the harsh unevenness of his breathing. Gazing out the window, warmed from the gentle heat of sunlight, she could smell the faint hint of sandalwood that lingered from his soap.
His voice deepened. “I was tempted… once.”
A pit dropped in her stomach. “Oh?” She hadn’t been expecting that. She should have, but hadn’t nonetheless. Sadness swept over her. A dull ache resounded in her chest, born of disappointment and something else. Jealousy. Why? It shouldn’t matter. She was marrying someone else, wasn’t she? But it did. Matter, that is.
“What happened?” she found herself asking.
He thought for a moment. “I was a cad and a fool. I promised to marry her, I wanted to marry her, but in the end I betrayed her. She went to America and she didn’t come back.”
Me. He means me. She relaxed her shoulders, not realizing that she’d been holding her breath. Relief filled her chest. He hadn’t wished to marry someone else. She hadn’t been completely wrong in his intentions all those years ago. Possibly he had even loved her…
But not enough, she reminded herself.
Genie couldn’t stand this anymore. Couldn’t stand the feeling he was arousing in her. The awareness of him that she’d tried to snuff out, but which apparently would never be completely extinguished. Huntingdon the man was infinitely more dangerous than he’d been in his youth. Without the carefree charm to moderate his pursuit, he attacked with a fierce single-mindedness, with such forthright determination that it was difficult to withstand the onslaught. She’d successfully put the past behind her, but he wanted to force her to remember. To reopen a part of herself that had been locked away for a very long time.
She looked down at her hands, curled into tight fists at her side. “Why are you speaking like this? Why tell me this now? After what I just told you, surely you understand that it is far too late—I would never wish to relive the past, even if it were possible.”
Slowly, so slow that she could stop him if she wanted to, he brought his fingers to her chin and gently tilted her face up to meet his gaze. She read the turmoil there that surely matched her own. Possibly, he was just as confused as she by the heavy fog of emotion that seemed to encircle them.
“If I could, Genie, I would do it differently. I’d do anything to make it up to you.” His callused thumb swept the side of her cheek in a heart stopping, loving caress. Her heart skipped unwillingly. “Are you sure that it is too late?” he asked.
Her skin tingled under the gentle stroke of his fingers. His question echoed in her head. Was it too late? She studied his face. Older, harder, but still incredibly handsome. The blue eyes, straight nose, square jaw, wide sensual mouth. Handsome enough to plummet her to the deepest bowels of hell again. If she were fool enough to let him.
“Yes,” she said adamantly. “I’m sure. If you truly wish to make amends, leave me be,” she pleaded. “Allow me to marry Edmund in peace. Your pointed interest in me has drawn enough speculation. Someone is bound to put it together.”
He hesitated.
She could tell he was not ready to give up. She sensed a dogged determination in him that would never let go if she gave him reason to hope.
Genie debated her next move. She knew that he had political aspirations, a cabinet post according to Edmund, and that she could threaten him with scandal—ruin worked both ways. Though he would not suffer as much as she, it would not be pleasant for him. But somehow she sensed that such a threat might have the opposite effect with Huntingdon. No, she’d discovered his weakness. If he agreed, it would be from guilt.
“You owe me,” she whispered. It wasn’t necessary to mention their lost child. “Stand aside and pay the debt you owe me.” He understood what she meant.
His expression shuttered. His fingers fell from her chin, leaving her cold. The tiny, cruel lines around his mouth became more pronounced. “Very well, Mrs. Preston. You shall have your wish.”
And with that, he turned on his heel and was gone. Leaving Genie feeling emptier and more desolate than she had in years.
CHAPTER TEN
This time, Huntingdon kept his word. And his distance. Genie no longer felt the heat of his predatory gaze stalking her around London’s ballrooms. Although she’d seen him arrive at Almack’s that night, after a polite nod to her and Edmund, he’d completely ignored her. As he’d done every time their paths happened to cross since the emotional confrontation in Lady Hawkesbury’s drawing room one short week ago.
Genie was relieved, but not as much as she should have been. She’d achieved her goal: He would not reopen the past by recalling Genie Prescott, parson’s daughter from Thornbury, to the ton. The questions that could tumble her into ruin and disgrace—about his prior courting of her, her sudden unexplained disappearance, the dead husband—had been avoided. In keeping his distance, he’d given her a chance.
You
got what you wanted, she told herself. Peace. Acceptance.
Why then did she feel such disquiet? Restless and on edge, she navigated the treacherous path of high society night after night with a brittle smile forced on her face and an anxious ache in her heart.
She should be ecstatic. It was clear she had been accepted, welcomed even, by the all-important “grande dames” of the beau monde. Even the formidable Lady Jersey had pronounced her “beautiful” and “charming,” notwithstanding her lack of fortune and “misfortune” of birth.
No one had connected the former Genie Prescott with Mrs. Preston, soldier’s widow. She and Edmund could announce their engagement without fear of reprisal. Though there might be rumblings and murmurings about her lack of rank and fortune, Edmund could be excused because of his superior wealth and her exceptional beauty. The ton would forgive much for a fat purse and pretty face.
Scandal had been averted.
She’d triumphed. She would have wealth beyond her imagination and security for the rest of her life. She could return to her family without shame.
Why then did she feel like she’d failed? Memories constantly accosted her, stirring feelings and emotions that she’d thought long buried. No more so than when she noticed Huntingdon dance twice with a beautiful dark-haired woman who effortlessly teased a smile from his grim countenance.
And why did her nerves prickle with apprehension as the date for Lady Hawkesbury’s ball approached? The much-anticipated night when she and Edmund had agreed to formally announce their betrothal.
Edmund caught her gaze across the dance floor. An apologetic smile flickered across his face as he carefully made his way back to her. The promised ratafia had taken some time to procure.
Guilt gnawed at her. The strain of the last week showed plainly on Edmund’s face. He seemed as uneasy as she with the precarious truce forged with Huntingdon. Accepting her explanation that Huntingdon would not interfere, Edmund hadn’t questioned her about what took place that morning, but he knew that it had upset her. He was giving her time to confide in him, but it was costing him. He’d lost some of his easy, swaggering confidence. He was worried and Genie knew it, but couldn’t bring herself to speak of what had occurred—the kiss, the confessions, and her subsequent confusion.
Confusion exacerbated by Huntingdon’s continued presence amongst the ton. Why was he here? Tonight, at least, she’d thought to be free from his infernal presence. Most unmarried men avoided the “marriage mart” like the plague.
Of course, there was one explanation that Genie had refused to heed. Could the rumors be true? Genie had heard the whispers upon the duke’s arrival that he had finally decided to take a duchess.
Was the beautiful dark-haired woman the chosen one?
The very thought turned her stomach.
The gorgeous couple sliding across the dance floor distracted her from Edmund. A third dance. Huntingdon was as good as declaring his intentions. Although Genie hadn’t been able to see the woman’s face, her exquisite profile was enough to attest to her great beauty.
His head fell back and he laughed.
A sharp stab sliced through Genie’s chest.
The indifference she’d brokered from him was peaceful, but surprisingly painful.
Stop it! she scolded herself, dragging her eyes away from the laughing couple. She was being ridiculous, allowing him to affect her. Even if she accepted that he’d once loved her, that he’d looked for her, that he’d changed from the feckless young man to the determined, hard man who attacked without pretense, too much had passed between them. Too much had happened to forgive and forget.
Why was she acting like a jealous, lovesick fool?
The truth unsettled her. She was not as immune to Huntingdon as she wanted to be. He still had the power to affect her. She must acknowledge it. Only by acknowledging her weakness could she find the strength to defeat it. And Genie would not be turned from her course.
It was time to look to the future. Paying no heed to the tightness in her chest, she tilted her chin and turned back to find Edmund fast approaching, looking more worried than he had only moments ago.
Genie pasted a lighthearted smile on her face. “I thought you’d forgotten all about me,” she said playfully.
Taken aback by her sudden change in attitude, Edmund nonetheless recovered quickly. A dazzling smile warmed his troubled features. “Unhappily delayed, but never forgotten. My mother waylaid me, claiming a surprise, and dragged me halfway across the ballroom before I could tell her of my important quest for refreshment. Reluctantly, she agreed that the surprise could wait.”
Genie laughed. “Well, apparently it couldn’t wait too long because here she comes now.” The countess plowed through the crowd, heading directly for them, an excited smile transforming her face to youthful mischief.
Genie stilled.
The countess was not alone. She led a very reluctant Huntingdon and his jubilant dark-haired dance partner along with her.
The time for Genie to confront her weakness had arrived.
The Countess of Hawkesbury should be a politician. The woman did not seem to comprehend the word no. Somehow, Huntingdon found himself being dragged across a ballroom to confront the person he should be trying to avoid.
It had only been a week, but Huntingdon already regretted his promise.
He realized, of course, that Genie had manipulated him into not interfering with her engagement to Hawk, but after learning about the dire circumstances he’d left her in, he’d felt guilty enough to accede to her emotional blackmail.
He owed her. For the life of their child. For the perfidy of his mother. For not keeping his word.
But staying away from her was the last thing he wanted to do. The disclosure of the fate of their child had only exacerbated his guilt. Every bone in his body cried out for the chance to do something about it.
And something else bothered him. The explanation of her past did not ring true. The timing of her marriage just didn’t make sense. He’d had one of his contacts in the foreign office looking into Mr. Preston and found no one matching his name in the army at that time.
Genie was hiding something. Before Huntingdon could accept her marriage to Hawk, he had to find out what it was. But he didn’t have much time. The announcement of their engagement could come at anytime.
Lady Hawkesbury quickened her pace. They were almost there.
He never should have come tonight. His attempts to put the past behind him this week had failed miserably. He knew he had a duty to marry, but for so many years he’d been unable to forget the one that he’d let get away.
Now that he’d found her, he didn’t want to let her go. Not yet at least.
She might have changed from the girl he once loved, but he still wanted her.
It was not often that Huntingdon willingly backed down from something he wanted. And Lord how he wanted her. The kiss had only increased his hunger.
Her tongue flicked out to nervously wet her pouty lips and a bolt of desire shot right to his groin.
He hoped he hadn’t made her another promise that he would be unable to keep.
Heart beating erratically, Genie watched the countess approach with her striking charges. Trepidation and jealousy churned uneasily in Genie’s stomach. She should be relieved that he’d moved on and found someone else to bestow his attention upon. So what if the woman was beautiful, elegant, and positively sparkled with life?
There was something familiar…
Recognition dawned when the woman, eyes fixed solely on Edmund, unable to contain her pleasure, burst out with exuberance, “Hawk, you’ve returned!”
The dark-haired beauty who’d inspired such jealousy by making Huntingdon laugh was none other than his sister, Lady Fanny Hastings. For the second time, Genie had nearly made a fool out of herself with misplaced jealousy over his sister. She’d laugh if she wasn’t so miserable.
In the five years since Genie had last seen her, Fanny had grown even more beau
tiful. Of age with Lizzie, Fanny was one and twenty and at the height of her bloom. The resemblance to her brother was marked, especially around the eyes and mouth. The same sea-blue eyes sparkled in a face almost Grecian in its sublime beauty. But the rest was pure Fanny: slim nose, tiny pointed chin, high cheekbones, and wide, sensuous lips set off by a creamy peach complexion and chestnut hair that shimmered with flecks of gold in the candlelight.
Her refined, classical beauty seemed at odds with the vivacious expression that transcended her features. Everything about Lady Fanny Hastings exuded warmth: her coloring, her smile, her animated personality. Like the countess she was frank in manner, but open rather than blunt. Every emotion portrayed vividly and candidly on her face. A face that stared at Edmund with unconcealed joy, admiration, and…
Genie’s heart sank. Adoration.
A moment was all it took for Genie to realize that Fanny loved Edmund—or at least thought she did.
Edmund was obviously happy to see her, but there was something unusual in his expression, almost quizzical. Carefully, he took in the elegant form fitting gown, the low curved neckline and high rounded bosom displayed to bounteous perfection. Fanny’s body was near perfection, and she wasn’t hiding much of it. He frowned rather severely, resembling a disapproving older brother.
“Fanny, you look different. That gown…” He paused, looking discomfited for having said too much. “You look older,” he finished brusquely.
Fanny blushed, but was saved from having to make a response to the odd observation by the countess’s timely intervention. “Of course she’s older,” she chided. “Lady Fanny has been out for two years. If you’d bothered attending a ball or two, you would know that.”
Edmund recovered his manners quickly. He grinned, taking Fanny’s hand and bowing. “Forgive me, it seems more time has passed since last I saw you than I realized. You’d just come home from that school.”
Fanny grimaced and finished for him. “Mrs. Peniwithe’s Academy for the Proper Education of Young Ladies in all Manner and Decorum. And that was three years ago. But my brother has kept me apprised of your travels. When did you return?” Fanny asked excitedly. She turned to her brother. “Why didn’t you tell me that he was back from America?” Then back to Edmund. “Did you find out anything about—”