Forbidden Love (13 page)

Sexual frustration was how Justin diagnosed his own problem. If he could just get Megan into his bed once or twice, he thought that this craving he felt for her would be assuaged and die a natural death. But that was the crux of his problem: In all honor, he
could not follow this most sensible course of action. If he had been in town, he would have found someone else. But there were no other women available at Maam’s Cross Court except serving girls and local peasant wenches, and Justin drew the line at cold-bloodedly seducing one who was not up to the rules of the game. Therefore, he had no course but to restrain his baser impulses as best he could, and wait for the coming of the traveling coach to solve his difficulty for him. Knowing that Megan was so near was hell, but he was determined to grit his teeth and keep his distance. He knew he would be glad of his self-control when this madness had finally run its course.

The twelfth day since Justin had dispatched his letters came and went, and there was still no sign of the coach. Megan didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry. She hated to leave Maam’s Cross Court, to leave Justin, but in a way it would be a relief. The strain of loving him and knowing that he did not love her in return was beginning to wear her spirits down completely. She had barely eaten all day, and now, hours after she had gone to bed, she had not slept. Getting out of the bed, which was a smaller, more delicate version of the four-poster in Justin’s room, she disconsolately lit a candle. Maybe if she forced herself to eat something she would then be able to sleep.

Her room was near the end of the second floor hallway which bisected the right wing of the house. Justin’s room was some distance away, but on the same corridor. She knew he was asleep, knew he would not
even be aware of her presence and would be furious if he was, but still she walked past the hall leading to the stairs and along to Justin’s door. Her candle cast a flickering pool of light as she stood in the corridor outside his room. She made no sound, had no plans to enter his room. In fact, the very thought made her shudder. To do so would be to lose all sense of shame.

The house was dark and silent. The servants had been in bed for hours.

No sound came from Justin’s room; no tell-tale light showed beneath the door. Well, what did she expect? she asked herself. That he would be unable to sleep for love of her?

Biting her lip, Megan turned away from the door. How foolish, to stand mooning about out here in the cold darkness! He didn’t want her, and there was an end to it. The sooner she accepted that as fact, the better off she would be.

She had taken several steps away when a crashing sound reverberated from within Justin’s room. It was followed by a loud thud, a groan, then a string of muffled curses. Megan had no trouble at all in recognizing that voice. It was Justin, and he sounded as if he were in pain. Forgetting all her scruples in her concern for him, Megan fairly flew back along the hall to his door. She hesitated for one brief moment; then as the curses continued unabated, she took a deep breath, turned the knob, and went in.

CHAPTER
8

“Justin?”

She stopped just inside the door, lifting her candle high in an effort to penetrate the gloom.

“Damn it to bloody hell!”

The muttered exclamation made Megan turn in the direction from which it had come. Still holding the candle high, she advanced a couple of steps into the room. Frowning, she scanned the two big chairs near the fire, which had been allowed to die down to a few flickers amid glowing embers. The chairs were empty.

“Remind me to buy you a dressing gown. Those frilly things you wear to sleep in are damned indecent.”

This growled remark came from the floor.

“Justin?” she said again, and then she saw him. He was sprawled flat on his back on the floor midway between the fireplace and his bed. A stool lay overturned nearby, and Megan surmised that he must have tripped over it. That would account for the crash, the thud when he fell.

“Are you all right?” She hurried toward him. Her
movement made the candle flicker. Her thin nightdress billowed out behind her.

“I was a few moments ago.”

Megan ignored this as she sank to her knees beside him. She set the candle down on the carpet.

“What are you doing in here?” Justin, still flat on his back, scowled at her. Megan bent over him with some concern, thinking that he looked pale. As she did so, the unmistakable odor of whiskey assailed her nostrils.

“You’ve been drinking!” she said accusingly, straightening and giving him a look in which surprise and disapproval were mingled.

“What if I have?” Then, as she continued to eye him coldly, he was goaded into adding, “And what business of yours is it, anyway, miss? I’m a grown man, and I’m answerable to no one for my actions. Particularly not to a seventeen-year-old chit who is so lost to all sense of propriety that she repeatedly comes to my bedroom in the middle of the night!”

“I do not! I heard you fall! It would serve you right if I left you to get up all by yourself!”

“I wish you would!”

“You can’t! Without your crutch, and drunk to boot!”

“I am not drunk!” He sounded indignant. “I have had one or two small glasses of whiskey! If you knew anything about anything, you would know it is not enough to make me even the slightest bit drunk!”

“Then why did you fall?” she asked, with the air of one holding a trump card.

“Because I tripped over the bloody stool!”

They glared at each other, golden eyes clashing with violet. Megan, looking at him properly for the first time since she entered the room, saw that his hair was wildly mussed, and he badly needed a shave. With that fierce scowl on his face she thought that he looked far more like some sort of brigand than a belted earl. And his manners were far closer to a brigand’s, too.

“If you were as much of a gentleman as you like to think, you’d know better than to swear in the presence of a lady!”

“If a
lady
was present, I might watch my language!”

“Why you… !” Angry color rose in her face; her eyes flashed violet fire. She was the most beautiful thing Justin had seen in his life. He ached with wanting her.

“What’s the matter, don’t you know the words? Remind me to teach you sometime!” Justin taunted, his mouth curling sardonically.

“I don’t need you to teach me anything, thank you very much!”

“Don’t you?” They were both silent a moment. “Anyway, how did you come to hear me fall? I couldn’t possibly have made enough noise to carry all the way to your bedroom.” Justin had started his inquiry at random, merely wanting to get his mind off how much he would enjoy teaching her to make love. But by the time he had finished speaking, his words were sharp with suspicion, and Megan had turned even pinker.

“I was on my way downstairs for something to eat,” she said defensively.

“Oh, were you now? Maybe I am drunk after all, because I don’t seem to remember that you have to go past my bedroom to get downstairs!”

“Maybe you are!” Defiance was all she could offer. She knew as well as he did that there was no reason why she should have had to pass his room.

“I don’t think so,” Justin said.

His eyes, as he stared at her, were opaque. Megan had to force herself to return that probing look without flinching. She felt vulnerable, with her deepest emotions exposed to view. She prayed that he wouldn’t see how she felt about him. That would be the ultimate humiliation.

“Go back to bed.” His words were abrupt, but the anger seemed to have died in him.

“But you… ”

“I don’t need your help. Go back to bed.”

“All right, I will. And I hope you have to lie on the floor all night and catch your death of cold!”

Megan jumped to her feet as she spoke. Struck by her shoulder, the door slammed shut. The sound reverberated through the house, making her start guiltily.

“Now you’ll have the whole household up here!” Justin muttered angrily, sitting up for the first time since Megan had entered the room. She turned back to look at him. He glared at her.

“Go on, go to bed!”

Annoyed by his tone, Megan gave him a haughty glance, and flounced around, meaning to leave him to his own devices. He richly deserved it. If he caught pneumonia, that was his lookout, not hers. She stalked toward the door; behind her, she heard the harsh intake of his breath.

“Christ, Megan! Stand still!” She turned back to look at him with some surprise, stunned to see him lurch to his feet with the aid of a nearby table and practically hurl himself toward her.

“Justin?” she said, terrified that he would injure himself. And then she felt the hot lick of flames as they shot up the back of her nightdress.

She didn’t even have time to scream. Justin was upon her almost instantly, moving with a speed that seemed impossible in view of his splinted leg, tearing her gown from her shoulders, smothering the flaming remnants in a corner of the rug. It was all over in a matter of seconds; Megan, shivering, wrapping her arms around herself as tremors began to rack her body. She wasn’t aware of her danger until it was safely past.

“My God, are you all right?” There was panic in Justin’s voice. His face was very white beneath its tan.

She was surprised to hear her teeth chattering. “I’m all right.”

“Come here and let me look at you.” The harsh tone brooked no disobedience. Moving like a sleepwalker, Megan took the few steps needed to bring her within arm’s reach of him.

“Turn around.”

Megan turned.

“You don’t hurt anywhere?” His voice was sharp. Megan shook her head, turning back to look at him. She was trembling from head to foot. She felt so cold.

“That damned nightdress was almost the death of you! You little fool, what possessed you to set the candle on the floor? My God, you could have been killed!”

“You saved my life.” She had trouble speaking. The image of her nightdress going up like a torch with her still in it made her shake. She turned to look at the candle, lying on its side, its flame snuffed against the carpet.

“Yes.”

Megan continued to stare at the blackened wick of the candle while shudders rippled over her skin. Justin reached for her. Megan felt his hands on her shoulders, and turned into his arms with a little choking cry. Her hands clutched at the front of his dressing gown, and her face burrowed in between its lapels to rest in the soft nest of hair on his chest. He cradled her against him, leaning back against a bureau for support, murmuring soft words of comfort into her ear. It was only as his arms came around her, sliding over her skin, that Megan realized that she was totally naked.

At first it didn’t seem to matter. It felt so right to be held against him, to feel his hands stroking the satiny skin of her back and shoulders, to hear him speaking to her so soothingly. He held her protectively, possessively;
Megan, still shaken by convulsive shudders, was warmed by the heat and strength of him. Like a small animal blindly seeking warmth, her hands released their death grip on his dressing gown to creep beneath it, sliding about his waist and clinging to him. She felt the hardness of his muscles and the raspy softness of his body hair against her as she pressed herself to him.

“Megan… ” His voice was hoarse. His arms tightened around her.

“Hold me, Justin. Please. I feel so—so cold.” Megan’s voice, no more than a whisper to begin with, trailed off at the end.

“You should go back to your own room.” But his words lacked conviction, and his arms did not release their grip on her. Megan snuggled closer without answering, and shut her eyes. The musky scent of him, combined with the faintly sour odor of whiskey, rose in waves to envelop her. Against her cheek, she felt the tensing of his chest muscles.

“You scared me to death.” His breathing had slowed and deepened. His voice was even hoarser than it had been before. “I thought you were going to burn to death right before my eyes. I thought I wouldn’t be able to reach you in time to save you. This damned leg… ”

“But you did, Justin. You saved me.” The words were murmured into his chest. Her arms tightened their grip on his waist.

“Yes.” It sounded like a prayer of thanksgiving. Megan felt her heart speed up as he bent his head to kiss her.

“Justin?”

“Yes?”

His head was still bent, his lips resting against the side of her neck. He was merely holding her, not kissing her, but Megan felt the warmth of his breath against her skin.

“I’m cold,” Megan said.

He lifted his head to look at her. Megan felt the weight of that steady gaze, but refused to return it.

“You should be in bed. If you’ll help me find that blasted crutch, I’ll walk you back to your room.”

His voice was not quite steady. Megan heard that slight unevenness, and took heart.

“I don’t want to go back to my room. I want to stay here with you.” The words were muffled against his chest, but she knew he understood what she was saying.

“Megan… ”

“Please let me stay with you, Justin. I’ll probably have nightmares, if you leave me alone.”

“Megan… ”

“Please, Justin.” She lifted her head to look up at him; her eyes beseeched him to let her stay. On one level she knew that she was inviting his lovemaking, pleading for it in fact, but on another level, the level she allowed to show in her eyes and her voice, she truly needed the comfort of his presence. What she had said was perfectly true: If he took her back to her bedroom and left her alone, she would almost surely have nightmares. She had come so close to death.

“All right.” His voice was harsh as he capitulated. “You can stay here—for a little while. But when you’re warmer, and over your fright a little, you must go back to your own room. Understood?”

“Yes, Justin,” she said submissively, and allowed him to put her away from him for a moment.

“Good God.” His eyes were on her body; he was seeing her nakedness for the first time. His gaze raked over her, missing nothing from the quivering pink-crested breasts, to the tiny waist and flat abdomen with its shadowed navel, to the delicious curve of her hips and long, lissome lines of her thighs and calves. She made no attempt to shield herself from his eyes, but stood unmoving before him, a Mona Lisa smile curving her lips and a shy tenderness shining from her eyes. Her hair in its thick, childish plait hung over her shoulder. Tied at the end with an absurd bit of red ribbon, its ebony blackness contrasted sharply with the paleness of her skin.