Forbidden Love (18 page)

“The hell I did! How could I? I’d never met your
wife.
” She fairly spat the word at him. “And neither you nor Charles nor anyone else ever mentioned her. Do you think I would have behaved as I did if I had known you were
married
?”

Justin looked stricken. “I’ve been married to Alicia for fifteen years. I thought you knew. We don’t live together. Alicia doesn’t love me, doesn’t even like me very much, and I don’t love her. I didn’t write to her. She happened to be visiting my Aunt Sophronsia when my letter arrived, the letter I wrote describing you and asking if she would let you stay with her, and bring you out. Something in the letter frightened Alicia and brought her running. She must have realized that her position was in real jeopardy for the first time. She knows I don’t love her. It’s never bothered her before, and it doesn’t bother her now. Just as long as I continue to keep up appearances and pay her bills, she’s happy. But I think she guessed how I feel about you. She’s made enough snide remarks. Oh, she doesn’t have any idea that I—that we—about how far it’s gone, but she is astute enough, and has known me long enough, to sense that you are a threat to her. That’s why she’s
here, why she’s so eager to take you to London and find you a husband. She wants to get you safely out of my way.”

“You must want that, too, or you would never have written that letter.” His explanation had in no way softened Megan’s bitter anger, and her words were as nasty as she could make them. Even if what he said about his wife was true—and she tended to believe him—it didn’t change what he had done to her. He had made her love him, taken her virginity, and broken her heart, all the time knowing that he could offer her nothing but disgrace. Talk of divorce was just a way of smoothing her down. No one got divorced. Once a couple got married, they remained husband and wife until death did they part.

“I wrote that letter before I came to love you. I wanted to protect you. I knew that if I didn’t send you away soon, I would make love to you. I wanted you so much. I still do.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true!” His eyes darkened with passion. “I want you so much I’m going out of my mind. I would marry you if I could, but I can’t! And I can’t ask you to stay with me without marriage, though I would cherish and protect you all the days of my life. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“How noble!” Megan sneered. “Then tell me something, my lord. If you can’t ask me to marry you, or to be your mistress, just what is your purpose in coming
to my room? Surely you’re not conceited enough to imagine that I’m going to let you get into bed with me again.”

“No!” His head flew back as if she’d struck him. “I wanted to apologize, to explain, and—something else. Megan, my darling… ”

“Don’t call me that!” Her voice rose angrily.

Justin held up his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “Hear me out. After what we did last night, there may be—results. If you should find that your monthly course doesn’t come as it should, I want you to tell me at once. Do you understand?”

Megan felt her face burn with humiliation. “How dare you speak of such things to me!” she gasped. She put her hands to her flaming cheeks, hoping to cool them. Even among women, such subjects were not discussed. For a man to bring it up was hideously embarrassing.

“Megan, do you understand what I’m telling you?” he asked fiercely. “The way I made love to you last night is the way people make babies: If your monthly course doesn’t come as it should, then it means that you are with child.”

“Oh, my God!” Megan felt herself go white. She had had no idea that such a thing could result from that single night of rapture. She stared at him, not really seeing him, sickened at the picture of herself in an unmentionable state, the object of scorn and, from the more charitable, pity—later bearing a bastard child. She would be better off dead.

“Megan, I want you to promise that you’ll tell me!” Seeing her turn pale with shock, he reached for her, but at the touch of his hand she became a tigress, launching herself at him with her fingers curled into claws, scratching him and hitting him, knocking him backward with the force of her assault. He regained his balance with some difficulty, dropping his crutch and falling to the bed with his arms around her to stop her struggles, holding her in an iron grip as she bit and kicked and writhed with all her strength, desperate to do him any injury.

“Darling, don’t! You’ll hurt yourself! Megan, be still!” He murmured to her anxiously, pinning her body with his to keep her quiet. Finally, Megan realized that she was not going to get away. She stopped struggling, and lay unmoving beneath him, her eyes glaring like a wild thing’s.

“Get away from me!” she hissed into the dark, strained face that was only inches away.

“When you promise me.” His words were final sounding. Megan, shuddering from his touch, which she could feel along the whole, barely covered length of her body, would have agreed to anything to get him off her. She loathed him so much that her skin actually crawled.

“I promise,” she spat at him. “Now get off me, you disgusting swine! I despise you! I feel sick at the very thought of having your baby! It makes me want to throw up!”

Justin got up with the help of his crutch. Megan
rose to her knees on the bed, still cursing him. Justin made no attempt to fend off the blow he knew was coming. Megan drew back her hand and slapped him full across the face. His head snapped back from the force of her blow. He said nothing. He just stared at her. There were red marks on his face.

“I hate you!” Megan told him, her voice trembling. “Get out of my room!”

Still Justin said nothing. He just looked at her steadily. Then he turned and went out.

CHAPTER
11

It was in mid-November, almost a month after Megan left Maam’s Cross Court, that Justin returned to London. The weather was cold and blustery as he drove himself along the cobbled streets of the town at a fast clip, anxious to get home to his own fireside, complete with a hot dinner and a bottle of his best port. He had been on the road for some days, traveling far slower than was his custom because of the necessity of pampering his healing leg, which had been liberated from its splint less than a week before. Dr. Ryan had strongly disapproved of Justin’s determination to drive himself back to town, recommending a closed coach with a driver, but Justin had turned a deaf ear to the good doctor’s protests. He was sick and tired of being mollycoddled, and besides, he hated being driven.

Weston House, an imposing four-storied brick house that had been the town residence of the Earls of Weston for the last hundred years, was located in the fashionable Grosvenor Square. As Justin drew close, he saw that the square was nearly deserted. It was after
nine o’clock in the evening, and the gas lamps sputtering at the street corners gave the park an almost menacing aspect. Justin scarcely noticed this as he reined his horses to a halt in front of number 14. All his thoughts were concentrated on the coming meeting with Megan.

The ornately carved door swung open as if by magic, and a liveried footman came hurrying down the steps as Justin descended from the curricle. Ames, the butler, stood framed in the open doorway, his imposing figure clad in sober black. The lamplight spilled out behind him.

“Take them around to the stables,” Justin instructed the footman, and didn’t even wait for the murmured “Yes, my lord” before ascending the steps to his house.

“Good evening, my lord,” Ames greeted him as he passed through the door, showing no more surprise than if he’d been absent for a quarter hour instead of nearly three months.

“I’ll have dinner served in my study immediately,” Justin said, handing his driving coat and hat to Ames. Ames received the garments impassively, and passed them on to a footman who had materialized behind him.

“Yes, my lord.”

“And send up a bottle of port.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Justin turned away, preparing to walk down the thickly carpeted hallway to his study, which was near the back of the house. Then, as if by afterthought,
he asked, “Are the ladies at home? I don’t expect the Countess, but perhaps my ward?”

“No, my lord,” Ames said. “Both ladies are out for the evening. I believe that they were planning to attend Lady Castlereagh’s ball.”

Justin’s lips compressed. “I see. Thank you, Ames. Oh, and what about Mr. Stanton?”

“I believe that he is still here, my lord. I will have one of the maids inquire. If Mr. Stanton is in the house should I send him along to your study?”

“Yes, thank you, Ames.” Justin bestowed a fleeting smile on his butler, then adjourned to his study.

When Charles Stanton arrived, knocking discreetly on the door before being bidden to enter, Justin was ensconced in a deep chair before the fire. His dinner sat half-eaten on a small table before him, but he was nearly three-quarters through his first bottle of port. He smiled at his secretary, who had been in his service for nearly twenty years. Stanton, a thick-set fellow with sandy hair who was some few years Justin’s senior, returned the smile. They shook hands.

“Have your supper, Charles?” Justin asked, gesturing to the meal before him.

Charles shook his head. “No, thanks, I ate two hours ago. But I will have a glass of that excellent port, if I may.”

Justin filled a glass and passed it to him, then took another large swallow from his own glass. Charles, used to Justin’s taciturnity from long years of association, waited to see what was wanted. When it
became apparent that Justin was more interested in the contents of his glass than in conversation, Charles Stanton spoke. “Leg paining you, Justin?”

Justin looked up, a frown furrowing his brow as he stared at his old friend. The other man returned his look blandly.

“Not particularly. Why do you ask?”

Stanton’s mouth twisted into a wry smile.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go through a bottle so fast. And that’s your best port, too.”

Justin glanced from the nearly empty bottle to his glass, then tossed off what was left of the port. Charles looked faintly scandalized at this desecration of a fine wine, but wisely said nothing.

“What’s been going on in London since I’ve been away?”

Justin was forced to listen impatiently as Charles recited the latest gossip.

“And how has my ward been getting on? And my wife?” he tacked on hastily.

Charles grinned. “We were all very surprised when Lady Alicia took up residence here with Megan. Caught us all napping. Thought the lady was fixed in Bath for a while.”

“Until I left for Brant Hall, you mean,” Justin interjected dryly, referring to his country estate in Worcestershire. Charles was well aware of the unhappy state of his marriage, and Justin saw no reason to pretend for his benefit. “Believe me, she was quite a surprise to me, too.”

“You could have knocked me over with a feather when she arrived here demanding a carriage so that she could race to your bedside in Ireland. First time I’ve seen her in the role of the devoted wife.”

Justin grimaced. “It surprised me, too.”

Charles thought better of continuing this line of talk knowing that Lady Alicia was a sore subject with Justin. Instead, he sought to turn his employer’s attention in a less painful direction.

“And what did you think of your ward, Justin?”

Justin looked at him sharply. But Charles’ face was completely unconcerned. He relaxed.

“A beauty,” he said dispassionately, leaning back in his chair so that the curved wings cast a deep shadow over his face.

Charles chuckled. “She is that,” he agreed. “Since Lady Alicia has been taking her around, the house has been knee deep in her admirers. Made quite a hit, has our little Megan.”

“Has she?”

“Oh, yes. She’s got them all after her, I believe. Not just the puppies, but Resenick and Ivor, too, I hear.”

“Resenick and Ivor are paying court to Megan? They are not serious, surely.” Resenick and Ivor were two of London’s most notorious rakes. The Earl of Resenick was a childless widower of forty whose fortune was reputed to be nearly as great as Golden Ball’s; Lord Ivor was younger, in his early thirties, and had never been married. He, too, was very rich. Both were famed connoisseurs of beautiful women. Justin had
frequently done battle with one or the other of them for the favors of some beautiful woman. Justin’s good looks gave him an edge that the others lacked.

Charles shook his head. “As to that, who can say? But they have certainly been assiduous in their attentions. As a matter of fact, it is Lord Ivor who escorted Megan and Lady Alicia to the Castlereagh’s ball tonight.”

“The devil you say!” Justin shot to his feet, nearly oversetting the small table. “What were you thinking about, to permit such a thing, Charles?”

Charles looked up at him in lively surprise.

“I had nothing to say in the matter. The decision was Lady Alicia’s—and Megan’s.”

Justin swore viciously.

“Good God, Justin, don’t tell me you’re going to be a strict guardian?” Charles was about to laugh; the look on Justin’s face stopped him.

“Where are you going?” he asked in consternation. Justin looked angry enough to do a murder.

“To the Castlereagh’s,” Justin snapped. “Megan has no more sense than a baby, and Alicia would just love throwing her to the wolves. And Ivor’s the biggest damned wolf I know.”

“Really, Justin!” Charles expostulated, but he found himself talking to thin air. Justin had gone.

By the time Justin had summoned Manning from the nether regions of the house, got into evening dress, and made his way to the Castlereagh’s, it was nearing midnight. The ball was in full swing and would
continue until dawn, perhaps later than that. Justin handed his evening cloak to a liveried footman. He could hear the gay music floating down from the ballroom. It was mixed with the sound of laughter and voices exchanging the latest gossip. Justin glowered as he moved up the stairs to the ballroom, acknowledging the greetings of friends and acquaintances alike with a terse nod. The Castlereagh’s elegant townhouse seemed to be bursting at the seams; Justin reflected sardonically that the ball would probably be termed a “sad crush,” which was the ultimate in praise.