Maid of Dishonour

PROLOGUE

Hillbrook College Campus, Upstate New York, ten years ago.

‘It sounds awesome, Marnie, but Carter and Missy shouldn’t get overwhelmed by all the glamour of their wedding and forget the important part—that they love each other.’

Reese’s words of whimsy drifted into Gina Carrington’s consciousness—through the cloying perfume of hyacinth blossoms that infused the back porch, and the haze of one too many glasses of vintage champagne—and didn’t improve her melancholy mood one iota.

Can we get off this topic now, please?

Her cheeks heated as a heartening flash of temper pierced through the hollow feeling of loss that had dogged her for days. Ever since she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. And in a life filled to bursting with mistakes of one sort or another that was quite an achievement.

‘That won’t be a problem. They’re devoted to each other and they have been for years. When Carter proposed, Missy and I stayed up all night talking about how wonderful it was that we’d be sisters for ever.’ Marnie laughed at her own observation, the high musical lilt clearing the fog from Gina’s head like a knife slicing through flesh.

Funny to think she’d once enjoyed the sound of Marnie’s laugh. Marnie had been so anxious and serious and unassertive when she’d first arrived at Hillbrook. It had taken them all a while to realise her perfect Southern manners had actually been a disguise for extreme terror. Gina had loved hearing that smoky laugh in the months that followed because it had come to symbolise Marnie’s emancipation from the people she herself had described as ‘the family that feminism forgot’.

But Gina wasn’t loving it much now.

‘So what’s Missy’s dress like?’ Reese asked, still humouring her.

‘Just so perfect,’ Marnie purred, her Southern accent thicker than molasses. ‘It’s ivory silk. She’s going to be a traditional bride.’ Marnie flashed a smile Gina’s way. ‘I know not everyone here approves, but I think it’s so romantic that her and Carter have decided to stay pure until their wedding night.’

Wasn’t it just.

Gina’s stomach heaved up towards her breastbone as she plopped her champagne flute on the porch table. ‘Is anyone getting another bottle? I’m not sure I can stand to hear any more about love’s young dream without alcoholic fortification.’

Cassie jumped up from her seat on the rail. ‘It’s gotta be my turn,’ she said in her broad Aussie accent. ‘I’ll go.’ She sent Gina a bland look that only made Gina feel more miserable.

Cassie knew what had happened a week ago when Marnie’s big brother Carter Price had come to visit. And in typical Cassie fashion had been completely pragmatic about it. ‘I don’t see why you should feel guilty—he’s the one that’s engaged to be married.’

But as Cassie headed off to the kitchen, obviously keen to escape from the tension that had been building all night and only Marnie seemed oblivious to, Gina knew Cassie the super nerd felt uncomfortable. And while Cassie would never judge her, Gina knew it took a lot to make Cassie uncomfortable in a social situation, because normally, unless a discussion involved gamma-ray bursts or cosmic radiation or some other esoteric astronomy principle, Cassie tended to disengage from social situations.

Gina turned to find Marnie watching her from her deck chair, the light blush on her cheeks a symptom of her confusion. She was probably wondering why Gina was being such a cow about the wedding of the century. Her brother Carter’s marriage to her best friend, Missy, had been Marnie’s hot topic of discussion for months—and Gina had enjoyed teasing her about the impending nuptials, but always in a good-humoured way.

But that was before last Saturday night, before she’d met the Sainted Carter, and set out to flirt him into a puddle of unrequited lust. Only to discover that Marnie’s big brother wasn’t the overbearing, self-righteous and boringly judgmental Southern gentleman he’d pretended to be, but a sweet, sensitive, and seriously intense Southern hottie who was as screwed up about his place in the world as she was.

The evening had started out as a joke, played at Carter’s expense, but in the end the joke had been on Gina. How could she have known the Sainted Carter would be the first man to show her that sex wasn’t always about physical gratification? That sometimes your feelings could actually become involved? And how could she have known that, when he looked at her the next day, with the disgust at what they had done together plain in his face, he’d also be the first man to make her feel ashamed of taking what she wanted? And force her to admit that trust and judgment and honour and duty weren’t just buzzwords for boring people?

Those had been harsh lessons to learn in the last week, ever since Carter had walked away, but as Marnie’s face flushed pink and she murmured: ‘Gina, admit it, even you think it’s romantic—that Carter and Missy are going to be each other’s first?’ it wasn’t a harsh lesson she had it in her to appreciate, especially after two glasses of Dom—and the knowledge that her period was now four days late.

‘It’s not romantic, Marnie, it’s certifiable. What exactly would your best friend do, if she got Carter into bed on their wedding night and discovered he was rubbish in the sack?’

‘I’d have to agree that good sex is important in a relationship, if it’s going to last.’ Reese flushed as she took a sip of her champagne—that enigmatic look of excitement and trepidation she’d been beaming out all night lighting her eyes.

Marnie let out a soft laugh, but the colour in her fair cheeks went from pink to a light rosé. ‘You think too much about sex—Missy and me both believe it’s not the most important thing.’

‘And how would you two little virgins know anything about that? Seeing as you’ve never actually had any?’ Gina felt her temperature rising, the twin tides of panic and anger going some way to stem the crushing feeling of rejection and inadequacy.

‘You don’t have to have sex with someone to know you love them,’ Marnie said, but her teeth had begun to chew on her bottom lip. ‘Missy’s not worried about how Carter will...’ she hesitated, obviously having difficulty talking about her brother and sex in the same sentence as the blush went from rosé to stoplight red ‘...perform at the marital act. They’ve talked about it.’

The marital act!

Gina’s temper ignited. From the little Carter had said to her—and the vast swathe of things he hadn’t said—Gina happened to know that Marnie’s best friend, Missy Wainwright, was a simpering, self-righteous little prude who’d rather sew up her vagina than let Carter so much as mention sex, let alone actually touch her.

The man had been literally starved of any kind of physical contact with his fiancée—so desperate to be touched it had almost made Gina cry the way he’d responded with such enthusiasm to a simple kiss and actually thanked her in that slow Southern drawl when she’d pulled down his zipper and placed her palm against the firm, resilient flesh of his erection. She hadn’t realised then that he’d been a virgin, but when he’d admitted the truth afterwards, as they’d been lying in the heady rush of afterglow, his voice embarrassed and reticent, it had made her heart squeeze tight in her chest.

To realise that a man so virile, so handsome and so sexually curious had denied himself the most basic of human connections because the woman who was supposed to be his soul mate had demanded it of him... What kind of woman could be that clueless about the man she was marrying? And how cold and judgmental and frigid did you have to be to even want to?

The harsh laugh that came out of her mouth didn’t sound like her, but somehow it fitted with who she was now: the Evil Sex Queen sent to split up the happy couple and then slink back into the dark forest of regrets and recriminations.

‘Actually your good friend Missy hasn’t talked to Carter about the marital act, but tell her not to worry.’ The two-hundred-dollar champagne soured in her belly. ‘As it happens her groom has a natural aptitude for bringing a woman to orgasm. Not only is he hung like a stallion, but he’s also exceptionally dexterous, remarkably flexible and really goal-orientated. I should know—I road-tested him myself.’

‘What?’ Marnie’s choked sob of distress was accompanied by Reese’s spurt of shocked laughter.

‘Gina, will you quit teasing her? It’s not funny.’

‘If that’s supposed to be a joke, it’s in really poor taste,’ Marnie said, sounding like a child having a temper tantrum—naïve and judgmental and impossibly young, the way Gina had never been. ‘Missy would be heartbroken if Carter broke his vow,’ Marnie finished and Gina could have sworn she heard the rest of the sentence reverberating in her head.

Especially with a tramp like you.

Gina suddenly felt painfully sober, the buzz of alcohol clearing to make her feel reckless and vindictive. Carter had walked away from her determined to throw himself on the mercy of the Virgin Queen—but she wasn’t going to keep his secret. Because she wasn’t ashamed of what they’d done. She wasn’t ashamed of the pleasure they’d shared, and she refused to regret the connection they’d made. It had been real and valid, even if it was only ever meant to be for one night.

‘Don’t upset yourself, Marnie.’ Reese patted Marnie’s back, as her mother hen tendencies came charging to the fore. ‘It’s just Gina’s British sense of humour.’ Reese sent her a quelling look, that held a trace of censure, but a much bigger trace of confusion. ‘Stop being so cynical, Gina, and tell her the truth. I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight.’

Gina heard the exasperation in Reese’s voice and knew exactly what had gotten into her friend, the Park Avenue Princess, because it was written all over Reese’s face, and had been ever since she’d returned from her trip to New York for their final night together. Reese had fallen head over designer heels for that marine she’d met in some diner. She’d seen Reese caressing the dog-tags under her shirt, when she thought no one was looking. And she’d announced earlier in the evening that Mason was ‘The One’... As if she were quoting a line from one of those fluffy chick flicks she often forced them to endure on movie nights.

Bitterness and something that felt uncomfortably like envy scoured Gina’s throat, making her want to hurt Reese too.

Reese the hopeless romantic, who actually believed in love at first sight. Thank goodness she’d never be daft enough to believe such an idiotic concept. Any more than she’d be dumb enough to fall for Marnie’s dictates on the ‘proper way to conduct a committed relationship’.

‘Actually, Reese, the only thing to have gotten into me is Carter Price’s stallion-like—’

‘Stop, don’t say any more,’ Marnie shouted, covering her ears like a child that didn’t want to hear the truth. ‘It’s not true. It can’t be.’ But Gina could tell the truth had sunk in as tears leaked out of Marnie’s eyes. ‘You’re lying. Carter wouldn’t do something like that. He has integrity. And he loves Missy.’

‘He may love Missy, but he made love to me.’

‘Gina, you didn’t,’ Reese whispered, hugging Marnie now, her confusion replaced with sadness and concern. ‘How could you do something like that? You knew he was engaged.’

Because I talked and he listened. And he talked and I listened. And we touched and kissed and held hands and it meant something. Because he was smart and funny and tender and when he looked at me I felt sexy and special, instead of sexy and shallow.

But she didn’t say any of those things, because they weren’t really true. It had just been an illusion conjured up by the sultry summer night and the heady pheromones that had intoxicated them both—and it had all disappeared by morning. So she said the thing that had been true all along—before she’d gotten tripped up by feelings that she now knew she should never have trusted.

‘I did it because he was hot and he was begging for it. Why do you think?’

Reese swore softly. While Marnie jumped to her feet, her face contorted with anger and disgust. ‘But he’s engaged to be married. Don’t you have any honour at all? How could you be such a...such a tramp?’

Gina forced herself not to flinch. She’d been called a tramp before; in fact, she’d been called a great deal worse than that by her own father. But it was the first time it had been said by someone who meant something to her.

‘She’s not the tramp,’ Cassie announced as they all turned to see her with the newly opened bottle of champagne frothing over her fingers. ‘She’s not the one who was engaged to be married. He is. Blaming Gina for his infidelity is just another example of the double standard that—’