Forbidden Love (32 page)

She loved this small person inside her more with each day that passed. At night she would wrap herself around her womb, cradling the baby within, drawing comfort from its presence. From a horror and a disgrace, it had become the hub of her life. Justin had left her, but he had given her this child to take his place. She loved it with all the fierce emotion she would have showered on him if he had let her, and with a special sweet caring that was the child’s alone. In all her life,
she had never had anyone that was utterly hers to love. This baby was flesh of her flesh, bone of her bone, sheltered and nourished by her body. She would protect and cherish it with all her strength, and give her life for it if necessary.

The only communication she had from Justin was at Christmas, which she celebrated quietly with Janet and the servants. She had more than half expected Justin to come down from London, where she understood from Janet he had returned, but he did not. Even to herself she would not admit the depth of her disappointment, or her hurt when she opened the smallish square box he had sent to find that the lovely amethyst and diamond pendant was accompanied only by his engraved card. Not a word, not even a signature personalized the gift. After that one look, Megan had locked the pendant in a drawer, and did her best to never think of the lovely jewel.

By his absence she came to believe that he had finished with her. He had clearly not forgiven her for planning to marry Donald, whose face she could barely recall, and pass off their child as the issue of that marriage. At the time Megan had thought that it was the only possible solution, but now she was honestly glad that Justin had prevented it. In fact as long as she remained retired from the world, there was no one to shame her. What would happen after her child was born, after he or she became old enough to ask questions, she did not know. For now, she could only live one day at a time.

The first of May came and went, and Megan was now so big that she had difficulty getting out of overstuffed chairs. Her slender build and small stature made her bulging belly glaringly obvious even beneath the lightweight smock-like dresses that Janet had made for her. On this particular day, as she took her accustomed walk along the cliffs, she was dressed in one of her favorites: a deep blue dimity with a high, ruffled neck and no waist. The elbow-length sleeves and flowing skirt were edged in deep flounces. Her hair was arranged in a cool chignon on the top of her head, but the brisk breeze which blew endlessly from the sea had teased myriad curling tendrils loose to frame her face. Her feet, in accordance with Janet’s suggestion, were clad in simple flat-heeled sandals that minimized the swelling that her hands and feet had become prone to as her pregnancy advanced.

Windsmere was situated high above Carmarthen Bay, and Megan never tired of watching the ever-changing moods of the water far below. Today the sea was as blue as her dress, with rolling waves wearing peaked white caps ceaselessly throwing themselves at the rocky shore. Enormous gray rocks edged the tiny beach like giant sharks’ teeth, but today their somber warning was softened and beautified by the hundreds of bits of crystal imbedded in their steep slopes that sparkled like dewdrops in the sun. Grass grown soft and green with spring carpeted the ground to the very edge of the cliffs, and it was on this that Megan
walked, a faint smile on her face as she watched a fishing boat far out to sea.

The unmistakable sound of approaching carriage wheels made her turn, and shade her eyes with her hand. It was the only house along this road, and there was nowhere else in the vicinity to which anyone could conceivably travel. Apparently her privacy was at an end, and she put an instinctively protective hand over her rounded stomach as she contemplated facing strangers’ hostile or pitying stares.

There were two vehicles, and as they bowled toward the house Megan had no trouble recognizing either of them. The arms depicted on the carriage door told her that she had not made a mistake, but she didn’t really need to see the painted shield with its sword and sleeping tiger to identify the vehicles. Justin’s tall figure, as he tooled the curricle toward the house, was unmistakable. Her eyes fastened on him with hungry avidity. She could no more have stopped looking at him than she could have vanished on the spot.

He didn’t see her, she surmised as he drew his horses to a halt in front of the door and leapt down, throwing the reins carelessly to his small, wiry tiger who had been riding up behind him and had run around to the horses’ heads as soon as they stopped. As the second vehicle, the traveling carriage, lumbered up behind the curricle, it occurred to Megan to wonder who he had brought with him. Not, surely not, Alicia?

Her mind was set at rest on this point as two
men climbed out of the carriage. From this distance, Megan couldn’t be sure, but she thought one of them might be Charles. She could not hazard a guess as to the identity of the other.

At the thought of what Charles and the other man must think of her condition, Megan nearly groaned aloud. She knew that Justin must have apprised them of the state in which they would find her. He was not so insensitive as to expose her and them to the horrified embarrassment that her pregnancy would invoke, but still she dreaded having to meet them, to talk to them and watch them pretending that everything was as it should be. She was a fallen woman, no longer acceptable in polite company; she knew it, and they knew it.

She could not go back just yet, but continued her walk along the cliffs. Her arms curved in an instinctive, unconscious gesture around her belly.

Justin came after her, as she had half hoped and half dreaded he would. She had turned back toward the house, but was still some distance away, when she saw him walking toward her. His long legs had been eating up the distance between them, but as he saw her eyes on him his stride slowed. His hands were jammed firmly in the pockets of his biscuit-colored pantaloons as he approached with measured steps.

Megan’s feet faltered and stopped as he drew near. Blindly she turned to stare out to sea. From the corner of her eye she could see his eyes run swiftly over her burgeoning figure. Some nameless emotion seemed to
flicker through him as he took in her swollen belly, but it was gone before she could identify it.

“Megan.” His voice sounded oddly husky.

“Hello, Justin.” She risked a quick look at him, and as she met his eyes, her cheeks crimsoned. Inwardly, she cursed the betraying color, but there was nothing she could do about it.

“Janet tells me that you’ve been well.”

“Yes.”

“You look well.”

“Thank you.” This stilted conversation, which could have been exchanged between two strangers, made her want to scream. She gritted her teeth, tilted her chin in the old defiant gesture, and turned to face him. Her eyes glinted proudly.

“Why have you come, Justin?” she asked directly. His mouth twisted as he returned her stare steadily.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I hadn’t thought about it at all,” she replied with less than perfect truth. Not for anything would she grovel at his feet, giving him the satisfaction of knowing how many nights she had been unable to sleep for thinking about him, or how many lonely tears had wet her pillow. His eyes narrowed slightly at her response, and the bitter twist of his mouth deepened.

“I have a message for you. From Donald.” His tone bit.

“Yes?”

“He said to tell you that he’ll be waiting. Of course, he still imagines that you’re a sweet little virgin devotedly
nursing your dying aunt. No doubt, if he were to learn the truth, he’d be very quick to change his tune.”

Megan refused to let him see that the words which were intended to hurt had been right on target.

“Is that what you came to tell me, Justin?” Her voice was cool. Megan was proud of her unfaltering poise.

Justin hesitated a moment before replying. Megan was too preoccupied with maintaining her facade of calm unconcern to take note of his hands as they balled into fists in his pocket.

“No,” he said finally. “I came to marry you.”

At this statement Megan felt her breathing stop. She stared at him dumbfounded, afraid to believe her own ears. Justin threw her a quick, hooded look, then turned himself to stare out to sea.

“I was able to get an annulment,” he said as though she had asked him a question. “The grounds were lack of progeny and denial of conjugal rights, I believe. My lawyers handled it. Alicia is understandably upset, but the
ton
has rallied to her side, and she is playing to the hilt the part of the woman wronged. It is my guess that she is having the time of her life painting me as a depraved monster whose vicious assaults left her unable to face the thought of bearing children and all that it necessarily implies. And I made her a handsome financial settlement. She will never want for anything.”

Megan felt a pang of pity for Lady Alicia. In her place, Megan knew that her heart would be broken.

“Poor woman,” she murmured. Justin threw her another of those hooded looks.

“Don’t waste your pity on Alicia,” he said shortly. “Believe me, beneath all her posturing she is as glad to be rid of me as I am to be rid of her. She would rather lose my title than be forced to share my bed again.”

Megan turned to look at him. “Is that how you got her to agree?” she asked faintly. Justin nodded curtly.

“Yes.”

Megan said nothing for a long moment, inwardly shuddering at his ruthlessness. She had no doubt that he had terrified Lady Alicia until she was willing to agree to do anything.

“I brought a priest with me, and Charles procured a special license. We can be married this afternoon.”

He turned to look at her. Megan stared back at him silently, her eyes enormous in her small face. She had dreamed of marrying Justin for months, and had longed for this fairy-tale ending to their story. But when she had pictured marrying Justin, it was not to this man, a hard, cold stranger, who didn’t love her.

“Why are you doing this, Justin?” Her voice was expressionless as she battled with hope. Even now, if he would say just one word of love, she would fall into his arms. His eyes flickered down her body and back to her face.

“I should think that is obvious.”

The little flutter of hope died. “Yes,” she said, and moved past him, walking steadily in the direction
of the house. After a moment Justin fell into step beside her.

“I assume that means you’ll marry me?”

Megan flashed him a brittle smile. “Why not? At this point, any husband is better than none, and you do have the added advantage of being my baby’s father.”

He didn’t like that, she could see. As she saw his almost imperceptible flinch, she felt fiercely glad. His cold acceptance of his responsibilities had cut her to the quick. Even if his pride was all she had hurt, she needed to watch him suffer.

Megan prepared for her wedding like a sleepwalker. Janet met them at the door as they returned from their walk, showing as much emotion as Megan had ever seen her reveal. But the pleased excitement died out of her eyes as she observed the strained silence between the two of them. Megan’s face was cool and remote, while Justin’s was set in harsh lines. This wedding was clearly not the joyous occasion Janet had anticipated, and as she whisked Megan up the stairs to change her dress, she ached for what she knew the girl must be feeling beneath the hard shell of ice that seemed to encase her.

“What will you wear, dear?” Janet asked when they were alone in Megan’s room. The girl needed bucking up, not mollycoddling; if this wedding was not what she would have chosen—and Janet puzzled at that, because she would have wagered a month’s pay that Megan was in love with the Earl—it was still vitally necessary. Megan should be grateful that the Earl was
an honorable man and willing to stand by her at such a time. Many, nay most, in his position, with all he stood to lose, would not.

“You choose, Janet,” Megan said with an indifference that was not assumed. In truth, she thought one of Janet’s black dresses would have been most symbolic of the way she was feeling.

Janet did not cluck and fuss over her, as many another would have done, and Megan was grateful for the phlegmatic way she went about the business of helping her to dress. The gown she chose had of necessity to be waistless, but it was very pretty, a lavender organza strewn with posies of pristine white flowers. The neckline was square and just high enough to be demure, while the sleeves were short and puffed. A simple white ribbon was tied beneath her breasts, and its ends fell down over her rounded belly in a charmingly frivolous style. Janet threaded another white ribbon through the tumble of curls on the top of her head, and her toilette was complete.

“The pendant my lord sent you for Christmas would be a nice finishing touch,” Janet suggested in a neutral tone as Megan surveyed her reflection in the dressing table mirror.

“No!” Megan said fiercely, her eyes flashing with the first sign of emotion that she had shown since agreeing to marry Justin. Janet’s eyes flickered speculatively at her vehemence, but she wisely forbore to push the point. If Megan chose to go to her wedding unadorned by jewels, it was strictly her concern.

As a final touch, before the two women went downstairs to join the gentlemen waiting in the parlor, Janet thrust a white prayer book into Megan’s hands.

“Instead of flowers,” she said stolidly. Megan tried not to wince at the reminder that Justin had not cared enough about this wedding to provide her with the traditional bouquet.

Megan hesitated outside the parlor door, suddenly embarrassed at the thought of facing Charles and a priest with her protruding belly unmistakable proof of her depravity, but Janet would stand no nonsense. With a brief hummph, she pushed open the door, and Megan was left with no choice but to enter. She was thankful for Janet’s stalwart presence behind her as the eyes of all three men turned toward her.

She could not bring herself to look at Justin, and so missed the sudden flare in his eyes as he caught sight of her. She focused on the priest. Her cheeks flushed hotly as he moved forward to greet her, his eyes tactfully fixed on her face instead of her waist. Megan held her head high, although it cost her an effort. But she refused to lower her eyes. Her pride wouldn’t let her.