Forbidden Love (20 page)

“So I’ve heard,” Megan said softly. “But then, I’ve heard the same about you, my lord, and have good reason to know it for the truth. Besides, it’s a little late to be worried about my virtue, isn’t it? I have none left to lose.”

Justin’s face was suddenly etched in sharp lines of pain. Megan would have felt sorry for him if she had not hated him so much.

“Megan… ” he began, his voice faltering. Then his jaw clenched and all trace of expression was wiped from his face by a strong effort of will.

“I meant what I said about Ivor,” he said, his face and voice suddenly remote. “You’re not to see him again. If you do, I’ll find a means to stop it. If I have to call him out to do it.”

Megan wrenched her arm away, and at last he let her go.

“Do you know what’s the matter with you, my
lord?” She went to the french doors, opened them, then turned back to spit her words at him. “You’re not worried about Lord Ivor, or my reputation. You’re jealous!”

And with that she swept through to the ballroom, leaving Justin behind. When finally he did leave the balcony, he paused only long enough to collect his cloak. Then he went to his club, where he proceeded to get very, very drunk.

CHAPTER
12

Over the next few days, Megan tightened the screws as best she could. She flirted outrageously, encouraging her many admirers to ridiculous excesses. The house was positively aswarm with young men; they brought flowers and books and boxes of chocolates as a tribute to her beauty. She was out every night until long past midnight, and then rose very early to drive through the park with one or the other of her swains. Lady Alicia, in her element when partaking of the
ton
’s glittering pleasures, was as eager as Megan to gad about to soirees and parties and balls. An acknowledged beauty herself when she had come out some sixteen years before, Lady Alicia did not let her poorly disguised jealousy of her protégée’s success stop her from enjoying herself enormously. She was an established leader of London society, and her social position with its accompanying privileges meant all the world to her. After all, it was why she had married the distressingly earthy Earl of Weston. He had been the catch of the Season, rich and handsome and blessed with impeccable lineage. It had been quite a
feather in her cap to get him to propose, and she had made haste to accept with her family’s full blessing. And, from her point of view, the marriage was a success. Oh, it had taken her some few months to teach Justin that a highborn lady such as herself could not be expected to pander to his male appetites, but once he had learned that she had no intention of acting the whore for him he had left her alone. The last fourteen of their fifteen years of marriage had been ideal. She had all the advantages of being the Countess of Weston without having to suffer the disagreeable burden of her husband’s presence.

Unlike Lady Alicia, Justin had no stomach for the never-ending social round of London in November. Even at the best of times, he preferred the peace and quiet of Brant Hall, or even the independent bachelor life that he led in London without Lady Alicia. But now that it was Megan tormenting him, he could barely stand to enter his own house. The sight of so many young puppies slobbering over his ward set his teeth on edge. He wanted to kick them down the steps, and since he could not his anger built each day. In self-defense, he spent most of his time at his club, playing cards for high stakes and not coming home until dawn. He was drinking heavily, and it made his temper hair-trigger quick. More than one of his cronies refused to play with him in such a mood, for his skill with the pistols was well-known.

If Megan had known how well her punishment was working, she would have been delighted. But she
saw very little of him, just an occasional glimpse as he entered or left the house, and she had no idea that the torment she had devised for him was so effective. She began to encourage Lord Ivor, although she realized that she was playing with fire. Justin would be furious if he found out that she was openly defying bans on Ivor. But she wanted him furious, she told herself. She wanted him so furious he couldn’t see straight. She would not be sorry if he died of rage.

She had agreed to ride out with Lord Ivor at the fashionable hour of two o’clock. Justin was occasionally home at that time, and she hoped that he would see her leave. But if he did not, she could be fairly sure that some gossip would tell him. It was not proper for a young lady to be in the company of any man who was not related to her without a chaperone, and as Lady Alicia invariably spent the daylight hours in her room resting for the evening’s exertions, Megan would be riding out with Ivor alone. She was not even taking her maid, and that was intentional, too. She badly wanted to get a rise out of Justin, even if she had to create a tiny scandal to do it.

Her maid, procurred for her by Charles Stanton after her arrival in London, was a positive genius when it came to styling hair, so Megan was feeling pleased as she looked at her reflection in the dressing table mirror before going downstairs to wait for Ivor. The maid had arranged a simple chignon at the back of her head, and the severe style emphasized the porcelain purity of her features. It was topped off with a shako
hat of soft white fur. Her riding habit was a deep burgundy wool, and a little matching muffet of white fur curled around her neck to frame her face. Black boots and warm black gloves completed the outfit; surveying these last additions to her toilette, Megan knew that she looked as well as she ever had.

Lord Ivor was punctual, as usual. Megan greeted him with a pretty smile, and allowed him to help her into the saddle of the black mare that had been provided for her use by Justin’s stables. Ivor himself was mounted on a big gray gelding; watching him as he jogged along beside her, Megan privately thought that riding was not one of the areas in which he excelled.

The park was deserted because of the weather, which was quite cold. Megan loved the crisp bite of the air, and if Ivor didn’t quite agree with her he didn’t say so. They chatted casually as they put their mounts through their paces, pausing now and then to exchange greetings with various friends who happened to pass by.

“Do you go to the Chetwoods’ soiree tonight, Miss Kinkead?” Lord Ivor inquired politely as they slowed their horses to a walk.

“Don’t tell me that you are planning to attend, Lord Ivor?” she murmured teasingly. “Somehow, an evening of operatic music doesn’t sound like your cup of tea.”

Ivor smiled disarmingly. “Only the prospect of your presence makes it bearable, Miss Kinkead.”

Megan laughed. “In that case, my lord, I shall certainly be there!”

“I would be honored if you would accept me as your escort,” Lord Ivor murmured, giving her a sidelong look.

Megan hesitated. Instinctively she knew that going to the soiree with Ivor would bring Justin’s rage to the boiling point. And yet… and yet…

Megan’s eyes widened as she watched the approach of an elegant black curricle. She knew those horses; she knew that carriage; and she undoubtedly knew the man holding the reins with such cool confidence. She didn’t know the woman sitting beside him. Megan stared at the lovely face with its crown of improbable red hair, watched the way she smiled at Justin from her nest of black sables.

Megan felt sick. “Who is that?” she whispered to Ivor.

“I presume you are referring to the lady with Weston?” Ivor drawled. “That, my dear Miss Kinkead, is someone you should pretend to be unaware of. She is not of your class, and you should not trouble yourself with thoughts of her.”

Megan could not take her eyes off the rapidly approaching curricle. “Never mind all that,” she said impatiently. “Who is she?”

“Her name is Clorinda Barclay. At least, that’s what she calls herself. She is—was—a singer at the opera house before Weston took her under his protection some eight months ago.”

“She is his—his mistress?” Megan could barely get the words out. She hurt so much, she wanted to die.

“If you would have plain speaking, yes.”

The curricle was almost even with them before Justin cast a casual glance at the two riders approaching on the edge of the road. His eyes blazed as he recognized Megan and then her escort; his mouth tightened ominously. Megan exchanged one look with him, then immediately averted her face, her nose in the air as she kicked the black mare into a canter and rode past. Justin and the woman drove on.

Megan was silent throughout the rest of the ride, and felt secretly relieved when Lord Ivor suggested cutting it short. As he escorted her back to the house, she responded politely to his attempts at conversation, but heard scarcely a third of what he said. Her thoughts were too occupied with pictures of Justin holding that woman in his arms, making love to her with the same tenderness he had shown to her.

“You never did tell me whether I might escort you to the Chetwoods’ tonight,” Lord Ivor reminded her as they drew rein outside her door. A footman immediately ran out to take hold of the mare’s head. Megan slid down without assistance. She looked up at Lord Ivor, really seeing him for the first time since she had caught sight of Justin with that creature.

“I would be very pleased to accept your escort, my lord.” Megan’s eyes flashed as she spoke. Her hurt was rapidly turning into rage, and she no longer felt the slightest compunction about making use of Lord Ivor to fan Justin’s anger.

“I will call for you at eight, Miss Kinkead,” Lord Ivor bowed, and took himself off.

Throughout the rest of the day, Megan’s temper remained at boiling point. She refused to recognize the emotion she felt as jealousy, telling herself that her anger sprang from being made a fool of. And Justin had made a fool of her very capably, with his charming smiles and teasing remarks, his tender kisses, the final humiliation of his lovemaking. Just remembering the way they had been that night still had the power to make her shiver. So she refused to think about it. She also refused to calculate the days that had passed since her last monthly time. It would come, she knew it would come. Fate would not be so cruel as to force her to bear his child.

Anger was very becoming, she thought as she watched her maid put the finishing touches to her toilette that night. It brought a rosy flush to her high cheekbones and added sparkle to her eyes. Dressed in a deep rose pink taffeta gown with a heart-shaped neckline that exposed most of her shoulders and quite a bit of her breasts, Megan thought she looked ready for battle. With her hair caught up high at the crown of her head, to fall in a cascade of dusky ringlets down her back, her only ornament a single rose, Megan was well satisfied with her arsenal of weapons. She had declared all-out war on Justin, and she meant to win.

“You look a real picture, miss,” the maid said shyly as Megan gathered up her spangled shawl before going downstairs. Megan smiled at the girl.

“Thank you, Mary,” she said, and with her shawl draped negligently over her elbows she went down to join Lady Alicia and Lord Ivor, who were waiting for her.

The soiree was held in the Chetwoods’ first floor salon, and it was crowded. It seemed as if everyone had turned out to hear Madame Minerva Diaz, the famous Spanish diva. Lady Alicia, elegantly turned out in her favorite ice-blue, abandoned Megan immediately to chat with some of her particular friends. Megan was left to entertain Lord Ivor, which she did with enthusiasm. Ivor, watching her determined efforts to flirt with him, began to get a gleam in his eyes that should have given her pause, but she was too caught up in what she was doing to see it. She meant to set all of London talking about her relationship with Lord Ivor by the end of this night!

Madame Diaz sang. Megan listened with genuine appreciation. The lady had a fine, unusual soprano, and it was a pleasure to hear her perform. But when their hosts’ eldest daughter took the lady’s place after Madame Diaz retired to her seat, Megan was not the only one to become restless. Madame Diaz’s voice was a true gift of the gods; Miss Chetwood’s was a penance.

“Let us get some refreshments,” Lord Ivor whispered into her ear when Miss Chetwood paused for breath. Megan nodded. She felt Lady Alicia’s eyes on her as she left the room on Ivor’s arm, and knew that nearly every other lady in the room was watching, too. She smiled
inwardly. If Justin didn’t find out about this night’s work, he would have to be deaf and dumb and blind.

“And how are you enjoying the soiree?” Lord Ivor asked blandly, steering her toward the room where the refreshment table had been set up.

“Very well. And you?” Megan smiled up at him, thinking that he was not nearly so black as he had been painted. He had never once stepped beyond the line of what was proper in all the weeks she had known him, and that despite some pretty blatant provocation on her part. Despite his rakish reputation, and the absurdity of his clothes, which she had come to suspect he affected for amusement, Megan found herself quite liking him.

“I think the best is yet to come,” he replied cryptically, and before Megan realized what he was about he had whisked her through a pair of heavy velvet curtains that concealed a small alcove where they were quite alone.

“My lord… ?” Megan turned to look at him, confused, when she saw where they were. He smiled at her, his hands behind him holding the curtain shut. The expression in his eyes made her uneasy.

“Time to pay the piper, my dear,” he said pleasantly, but his eyes were very far from being pleasant. “You’ve been making use of me quite shamelessly, and I intend to collect my reward.”

“What do you mean?” Megan was afraid she knew very well, but surely she could talk him out of the intention she read so clearly in his eyes.

“Come, my dear Miss Kinkead, you’re not so naive as all that,” he said dryly, moving away from the curtains toward her. “You know very well what I mean.”

Megan backed away from him. “Lord Ivor, if you touch me, I’ll scream,” she warned, beginning to feel frightened. Her common sense told her that there wasn’t much he could do to her in a house full of people, but perhaps she was wrong. Her experience with Justin had taught her how to recognize the signs of a man’s arousal. Lord Ivor was unmistakably aroused.