The Unthinkable Read Free Page B

temperature. It had taken until well past midnight, but the sweltering heat had finally dissipated. She closed her eyes, allowing the cool breeze to wash over her.
    A startled gasp drew her attention to the man coming up the walk. He stood perhaps ten feet in front of her, dressed in a black cape and tall beaver hat. She tilted her head to one side in question. There was something familiar…
    Their eyes met and her heart stopped.
    Time stopped.
    The music and dancing, the din of conversation around them slipped away. Unbidden, the memories rushed back in a chaotic montage: the first time she’d seen him, the first time he’d held her in his arms on the dance floor.
    The first time they’d made love.
    Heat stained her cheeks as if he could know her thoughts. The memories were so strong, so clear, as if five years of recrimination and tribulation had never happened.
    But it had.
    Other memories, much darker memories, blotted out the fond ones, breaking the spell. Her gaze shifted.
    He, however, continued to stare at her in shocked silence.
    She’d known it was bound to happen, seeing him again. And she’d realized that there was a good chance it would be tonight. Perhaps a small part of her had hoped it would be so, when she undoubtedly looked her best. She wanted him to see what he had forsaken. She wanted him to know regret. As she did.
    Genie studied him. He’d changed so much she was surprised that she recognized him. There was nothing left of the lean young man she remembered. His shoulders were unfashionably broad and muscular; his legs thick and powerful. Unusually tall, perhaps standing four inches above six feet, his frame with the added bulk seemed infinitely larger. He looked more like a blacksmith or common laborer than a vaunted peer of the realm. Even his elegant court attire did nothing to civilize his appearance.
    Undeniably he was still incredibly handsome, but he’d changed more than just from the passage of time. There was a hard edge to his face that had not been there before. As if chiseled from stone, his once softly sculpted features had sharpened from those of a boy to a man. The wide, arrogant mouth she recognized, but now it sat atop a cynical jaw that was both square and uncompromising. Where before there had been only dimples, now she noticed tiny cruel lines around his mouth. His hair was darker—no longer blond but golden brown—and longer, but still thick and straight with a slight wave that framed his face. His striking blue eyes shone as hard as glass, no longer sparkling like the sun upon the sea.
    Though changed, it was still the face that had launched hundreds of hours of tears and regret. Yes, she thought with relief, she could finally feel regret behind all the bitterness and recriminations. Behind the cold dull edge of hatred. Regret for the suffering, regret for the anger. But most of all, regret for the loss of love.
    When she looked at him and saw how changed he was, she felt something that she had not anticipated: a poignant longing for the innocence of youth.
    An innocence that he had taken from her.
    She was connected to this man by a past that should no longer matter. But it did. Perhaps it always would. He’d taken something from her that could never be returned. He’d forced her to open her eyes to the real world, where people are imperfect, where people break your heart and your trust.
    He’d once meant so much to her. Yet, oddly, Genie felt detached. She was not that same young ignorant country girl. He did not have the power to affect her any longer. That part of her life was gone forever. Seeing him again had finally solidified it.
    She might grieve for the innocence of youth, but she would never forget what had come after her cruel disillusionment. She would never forget what this man did to her.
    Lord Fitzwilliam Hastings.
    The man who’d nearly destroyed her.
    She’d given him her soul and he’d sent her into hell. Alone.
    The echo of her childhood ringing in