the soft, well-rounded curves of girlhood. The elegant woman before him was strikingly thin, her generous bosom and gently curved hips the only softness in an otherwise willowy figure.
She’d been a beautiful girl, the quintessential English boy’s fantasy of a sweet country dairymaid with her lush curves, flaxen hair, milky skin, high pink blush and bowed red lips. She’d exuded sweetness and vulnerability. He’d fallen half in love with her the first time he’d seen her. He hadn’t been the only one, he remembered with a sharp stab of jealousy. He’d been forced to move quickly to stake his claim. Too quickly.
If she was beautiful then, she was exquisite now. No longer the sweet country dairymaid, rather she reminded him of a fragile porcelain doll. So delicately beautiful she could almost break. Her flaxen hair had darkened to a shimmering honey blond. Those incomparable cobalt eyes still seemed hauntingly overlarge in her tiny heart-shaped face. The high pink bloom of her cheeks had faded to a soft, dusty rose; her milky soft skin so fair it seemed translucent. Her mouth, no longer curved in a perpetual girlish smile, looked harder, but promised untold sensual delights. The woman exuded a sensuality that was so distinctly at odds with the sweet innocent girl that he remembered.
Of course, he’d taken that sweet innocence and trampled where he should have treasured.
Seeing Genie again brought back all the memories—and all the guilt.
The dull ache in his chest, a constant companion for the last five years, sharpened. Not a day passed that he did not blame himself for what had happened. That he did not regret what he’d done to her. In many ways, the mistakes he’d made with Genie had been the defining moment of his manhood. His failure, his conduct, in Thornbury had haunted him ever since.
He wished he could blame his actions on the idiocy of youth. But there was more to it than that. Meeting Genie when he had had been a test in character that he failed. Miserably.
As the second son, he’d largely sauntered through life without any real responsibility. He played the “fun one,” the “charming one,” to his brother’s stern fortress of duty and responsibility. Only twenty-two and fresh out of Oxford, he hadn’t been prepared to fall in love, defy his family, and take a wife.
He hadn’t intended to make love to her.
But with Genie his intentions and actions rarely meshed.
He still cringed when he recalled his ungentlemanly conduct. She’d been so soft and lush like a juicy, ripe summer peach just begging to be devoured. He’d had to taste her. It only took one kiss for him to lose control. He’d needed to possess her, with a gut-wrenching intensity that had never been replicated. To persuade her, he would have promised her the world. Instead he’d seduced her with an unspoken promise of marriage. It didn’t matter that he’d meant it. He’d asked her to trust him and he’d let her down.
He’d been so damned weak. He’d had every intention of marriage, but he’d allowed himself to be persuaded by the prejudice of his parents and the jealously of his brother. “You are young, you lack proper comparison,” they’d said. “She’s taking advantage of you, don’t be a fool.” Their universal condemnation of the match as both unsuitable and foolhardy worked on his youthful insecurities.
Trapped between duty and desire when Genie pushed him to declare himself, unknowingly she’d exacerbated his guilt and resentment. Building to the point that when the letter arrived, he’d lashed out in anger like a cornered dog. He whipped off a terse reply to her heartfelt entreaty, never considering the ramifications of his actions. He’d just wanted the problem to go away.
For a little while.
When he discovered that Genie had fled, initially he felt relieved. He didn’t realize then that a part of him had departed with her. Within days he knew he’d made a mistake.
It took far longer to
She’d been a beautiful girl, the quintessential English boy’s fantasy of a sweet country dairymaid with her lush curves, flaxen hair, milky skin, high pink blush and bowed red lips. She’d exuded sweetness and vulnerability. He’d fallen half in love with her the first time he’d seen her. He hadn’t been the only one, he remembered with a sharp stab of jealousy. He’d been forced to move quickly to stake his claim. Too quickly.
If she was beautiful then, she was exquisite now. No longer the sweet country dairymaid, rather she reminded him of a fragile porcelain doll. So delicately beautiful she could almost break. Her flaxen hair had darkened to a shimmering honey blond. Those incomparable cobalt eyes still seemed hauntingly overlarge in her tiny heart-shaped face. The high pink bloom of her cheeks had faded to a soft, dusty rose; her milky soft skin so fair it seemed translucent. Her mouth, no longer curved in a perpetual girlish smile, looked harder, but promised untold sensual delights. The woman exuded a sensuality that was so distinctly at odds with the sweet innocent girl that he remembered.
Of course, he’d taken that sweet innocence and trampled where he should have treasured.
Seeing Genie again brought back all the memories—and all the guilt.
The dull ache in his chest, a constant companion for the last five years, sharpened. Not a day passed that he did not blame himself for what had happened. That he did not regret what he’d done to her. In many ways, the mistakes he’d made with Genie had been the defining moment of his manhood. His failure, his conduct, in Thornbury had haunted him ever since.
He wished he could blame his actions on the idiocy of youth. But there was more to it than that. Meeting Genie when he had had been a test in character that he failed. Miserably.
As the second son, he’d largely sauntered through life without any real responsibility. He played the “fun one,” the “charming one,” to his brother’s stern fortress of duty and responsibility. Only twenty-two and fresh out of Oxford, he hadn’t been prepared to fall in love, defy his family, and take a wife.
He hadn’t intended to make love to her.
But with Genie his intentions and actions rarely meshed.
He still cringed when he recalled his ungentlemanly conduct. She’d been so soft and lush like a juicy, ripe summer peach just begging to be devoured. He’d had to taste her. It only took one kiss for him to lose control. He’d needed to possess her, with a gut-wrenching intensity that had never been replicated. To persuade her, he would have promised her the world. Instead he’d seduced her with an unspoken promise of marriage. It didn’t matter that he’d meant it. He’d asked her to trust him and he’d let her down.
He’d been so damned weak. He’d had every intention of marriage, but he’d allowed himself to be persuaded by the prejudice of his parents and the jealously of his brother. “You are young, you lack proper comparison,” they’d said. “She’s taking advantage of you, don’t be a fool.” Their universal condemnation of the match as both unsuitable and foolhardy worked on his youthful insecurities.
Trapped between duty and desire when Genie pushed him to declare himself, unknowingly she’d exacerbated his guilt and resentment. Building to the point that when the letter arrived, he’d lashed out in anger like a cornered dog. He whipped off a terse reply to her heartfelt entreaty, never considering the ramifications of his actions. He’d just wanted the problem to go away.
For a little while.
When he discovered that Genie had fled, initially he felt relieved. He didn’t realize then that a part of him had departed with her. Within days he knew he’d made a mistake.
It took far longer to
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