Forbidden Love (33 page)

“My dear.” He took her hand, which she had automatically extended, and she saw that his eyes were not censorious, but kind. She smiled at him, a small tremulous smile, and he pressed her hand reassuringly before releasing it.

“This is Reverend Peake, Megan.” Justin was beside her, although she stubbornly refused to look at him. Charles was on her other side, and she turned
to him with a feeling of inevitability. Here was a man who had known her from childhood, who had really been more of a father-figure to her than Justin despite Justin’s role as her guardian. He had seen her as a little girl in pigtails and short skirts, as a schoolroom miss with a big bow in her hair and ink-stained fingers, as a budding young lady—and now like this. Her humiliation was complete as she looked into his face. It was only partially eased as she saw that his eyes, like the priest’s, were kind.

“You’re looking very lovely, Megan,” Charles said gently, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

“Thank you.” Megan had been afraid that she might not be able to speak around the lump in her throat, but her voice sounded amazingly clear. As Charles straightened away from her, Justin made a sudden impatient movement beside her, and Megan looked at him at last.

He was dressed in the same dark blue superfine coat and biscuit-colored pantaloons that he had been wearing earlier, but he was freshly shaved, and he had run a brush through his unruly hair. He was looking so handsome that he stole her breath, and Megan could not suppress the little pang of pure agony that shot through her as she met the familiar tawny gold of his eyes. If only he loved her.

“If you’re ready, Reverend, I’d like to get on with it.” He broke eye contact first, speaking to Reverend Peake with a respect that did little to camouflage his abruptness.

“Certainly, certainly,” the priest said, moving to stand before the window. “If you’ll come over here, my children.”

The actual ceremony passed in a blur for Megan. All she could remember of it was the coolness of her own voice as she made the traditional promises to Justin, and his own clipped responses. There was a vivid moment of clarity when Justin took her hand and slid an exquisite gold and diamond band on her finger. Megan felt the warmth and strength of his hand holding hers, and the cold slide of the metal on her finger as he staked permanent possession of her, all the way through to her soul. Then Reverend Peake pronounced them man and wife, and it was over. Justin didn’t even kiss her.

Megan pleaded a headache and fled upstairs to her room immediately after the ceremony. Justin made no demur at her retreat, and from the bleakness of his face Megan guessed that he, too, would have preferred to be alone. But hospitality dictated that he offer his guests a drink, and he did so with punctilious courtesy.

Janet came upstairs to see if she needed anything, but Megan pretended to be resting, and she went away again. But in truth, Megan was far too keyed up to even sit still. She paced restlessly around her room, turning her thoughts over and over again to the events of the afternoon. She was Justin’s wife now, Countess of Weston. Her child would be his legal heir. Had ever anyone’s circumstances changed so much in the
course of a few hours? This morning she had been a social outcast, virtually certain to be publicly shunned if she were foolish enough to show herself outside the confines of Windsmere. Now, by the simple yet profound act of making her his wife, Justin had restored her respectability. More, he had elevated her to the highest echelon of society by the mere bestowal of his name on her. No one would dare ostracize the Countess of Weston. Oh, they might talk behind her back, and she might meet with a few cold shoulders from the highest sticklers amongst the ladies, but for the most part people would be prepared to turn a blind eye to what had occurred before the wedding. The golden circlet on her finger had set all to rights, and Megan knew that she should be delirious with joy over this story-book ending. Instead she felt lonelier and more miserable than she ever had before in her life.

Watching the sun as it began its colorful descent behind the western horizon, Megan suddenly knew that she had to get out of the house. She would go for a short walk, and maybe by the time she returned she would have things sorted out in her head. There was no escaping Justin now, however much he might despise her, however much his open contempt might hurt. She and her child belonged to him as surely as if he had purchased them in a slave market.

She walked along the cliffs, instinctively going in the opposite direction to the one she had taken earlier. The sun was going down in a pinwheel of pinks and oranges, and the sea reflected the brilliant colors,
throwing them back at the sky. Megan stopped walking and concentrated on watching the ever-changing display, thinking that if she focused all her energy on the sunset she would not have to think or feel.

She was still standing rooted to the top of the cliff, staring out to sea, when Justin found her. It had grown quite dark, and the cooling breeze was gradually transformed into a stiff wind. Megan had unconsciously wrapped her arms around herself for warmth; she was so lost in her thoughts that she was not even aware of Justin’s presence until he dropped his coat over her shoulders.

“You shouldn’t be out here; you’ll catch a chill.” His voice was rough; his hands returned to his sides almost as soon as the coat’s bulk touched her flesh.

Megan said nothing. Her hands reached up to hold his coat closer as she turned back in the direction of the house. She could see it, a dense black shape in the gathering twilight made small by distance. She had not realized that she had walked so far. As she moved, Justin fell into step beside her. It was some time before he spoke.

“We have to talk,” he said harshly. Megan looked at him.

“Talk,” she said. He threw her a glance full of dislike, and jammed his fists into his pantaloon pockets.

“I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about taking up your duties as my wife. I’m returning to London tomorrow.”

“I see,” she said politely. Inwardly she felt relieved.
Maybe if he left, this horrible aching pain would go with him.

“You may draw upon my funds through the bank in Tenby. I’ll have Charles send them written authorization. And, of course, any bills you may incur should be sent to me in London. Buy whatever you like for yourself and the baby. Money is no object.”

“Thank you. You’re being very kind.”

Her politeness seemed to anger him. She saw his jaw clench as if to bite back whatever he would have said, and his nostrils flared in a way she had learned meant that he was on the verge of losing his temper.

“I suppose next you’re going to thank me for marrying you.” His tone was bitter. Megan thought that over for a second.

“I should, shouldn’t I? You’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to make me respectable again. But you really needn’t have done it, you know. If you hadn’t interfered… ”

“By God, if you mention Winspear’s name to me I won’t be responsible,” he broke in fiercely, his hands shooting out of his pockets to grasp her shoulders through the thickness of his coat. Megan stared up at him, feeling strangely triumphant. Although her words had not been premeditated, she was pleased that they had goaded him into such a response.

“Donald loved me,” she said softly, deliberately.

“If I’d had any sense, I would have let the fool have you,” he muttered thickly. Then he added, his voice louder, “And if you hadn’t been carrying my baby, I
would have. After I got tired of you in bed, of course.”

Megan’s face whitened, and her eyes blazed. She had known that the child was his sole reason for marrying her, but to have him tell her so brutally hurt nevertheless. And she hated him for hurting her.

“You swine,” she choked furiously, her eyes shooting venom at him. “At least Donald would have waited until we were decently wed before he took me to bed. You seduced an innocent schoolgirl whom you hadn’t the faintest notion in the world of marrying. Donald may be a fool, but believe me when I say that I’d rather be married to a fool than a blackguard like you!”

Before the words were entirely out of her mouth he drew back his hand and slapped her. Megan felt the sting of his palm against her cheek and gasped. Immediately her hand flew to cradle her abused cheek, and tears welled to fill her eyes. She stared at him, barely able to believe that he had struck her. He looked as stunned as she felt.

“I see now why Lady Alicia was so eager to be rid of you,” she spat, jerking herself free of his hands. “Did you beat her, too?”

“Megan!” He called after her, sounding anguished, but Megan was already running away from him along the cliffs. She was nearly blinded by tears, and her gait was clumsy, weighted down as she was with the child. She knew he was coming after her, and that he would certainly catch her. Sobbing, she refused to stop, refused to admit the inevitability of defeat.

“Megan!” He was closer, and she redoubled her efforts
at escape, running with her head down while her stomach heaved and her breath came in sobbing pants. For the sake of the child, she knew she should stop, but she couldn’t seem to do it. She wanted to run and run forever.

She stepped on a rock, invisible in the darkness, and her foot twisted. Megan felt herself falling, braced herself for the jarring encounter with the ground—then panic—it didn’t come. She was pitching sideways over the edge of the cliff.

The last things she heard were Justin’s frantic shouts, and the sound of her own scream.

CHAPTER
20

Pain dragged her back from the darkness she was lost in. She screamed as something tore at her belly, then screamed again.

“My God, send for a doctor!” A ragged voice bellowed near her ear, and she recognized Justin’s frenzied tones. She wanted to call his name, to beg him to help her, but that clawing agony came again and she could only scream helplessly.

“Megan!” He sounded like he was going out of his mind. Megan could feel the strength of his arms around her, the heat of his chest against her side, and realized that he was carrying her. Her lashes fluttered up for a moment, and she saw that he was bounding up the long flight of stairs that led to Windsmere’s second floor. He was taking the steps two at a time, cradling her convulsing body against him. With her head hanging limply over his arm, the world was a bouncing kaleidoscope of shapes and motion. She shut her eyes again, moaning.

“Dear lord, what happened?” The voice was Janet’s.

“She fell about six feet over the cliff; thank God
there was a ledge to catch her. When I brought her up she was unconscious, then she started screaming. You heard her. I think she’s losing the baby, and God knows what else is wrong with her.” He was moving as he threw the words at Janet, and Megan heard the sound of doors opening. Then she was being lowered to a bed. Justin’s arms slid away from her, and she wanted to catch at him, to beg him not to leave her. But the thing was at her belly again, ripping into it. She screamed, clutching the precious burden that she carried. Something was trying to steal her baby, to wrest it from her body and carry it off where she would never see it, never hold it.

“No!” she screamed, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms over her belly as if to hold the child inside her. “No, no, no!”

“Megan!” She had never heard such raw emotion in anyone’s voice as she heard now in Justin’s. She wanted to respond to it, but she couldn’t. The clawing hands were reaching again for her baby.

“Can’t you do something for her?” At Megan’s scream Justin rounded on Janet. She was staring with horrified eyes down at the writhing body of the girl on the bed, but at Justin’s expression of frantic helplessness she quickly pulled herself together.

“Get out of the way, my lord. The baby’s coming,” she said authoritatively, and bent over Megan. Her hands were steady as she pressed them against the girl’s heaving belly.

“She needs a doctor.” Justin had never felt so
frightened in his life. Megan and their child might be dying before his eyes, and there was nothing he could do to help them. And he had caused it.

“Mr. Stanton has gone for one. Is she—may I be of help?” Reverend Peake’s soft, compassionate voice came from the doorway. Justin turned to stare at him, barely registering the group of servants that stood gaping behind his black-robed form. Slowly he realized that the priest was asking if he should administer the rites for the dying.

“No!” he roared, glaring at the man. His expression was demonic. The gathered servants backed a pace as one. Reverend Peake bowed slightly, and took himself off downstairs.

“I’ll need two of you girls to help me. The rest of you get back to your duties. Flora, put some water on to boil and bring it up to me the minute it does so. Ann, bring clean sheets, towels, whatever you can find. Immediately.” Janet’s brusque orders dispersed the servants at once. She bent again over Megan’s body, which had gone ominously limp. Quickly she checked the girl’s pulse, and then began to unbutton her dress. Justin stood watching at her side, his fists clenching impotently, his face pale.

“What can I do?” he asked. Janet looked at him, her eyes level.

“Nothing, my lord,” she said, her tone firm despite the sympathy she felt for him. “This is no place for a gentleman. It would be best if you went downstairs. There is nothing you can do but wait.”

Justin stared at his old nursemaid. “I’m not leaving her,” he said. Janet looked into his eyes for a long moment, then nodded curtly.

“Then stay out of the way,” she said. The words had no sooner left her mouth than Megan started to scream again.

All through the night and on into the next day Megan labored to bring her child into the world. The doctor arrived at last, dragged from his bed by Charles, and could only shake his head at the condition of his patient. He, too, tried to banish Justin from the room, but Justin refused to be dislodged. Megan was his wife, and he was staying. No one short of God himself could wrest him from her side.

It was toward morning of the second day. Megan’s screams had been growing progressively weaker until they were little more than rasping moans. Her face was ashen, drained of every vestige of blood as it tossed and turned on the pillow. Her nightdress was wringing wet with sweat, and her hair was soaking, too, as it lay in tangled knots against the bed linen. She lay on her back, with her knees drawn up; her body was bare to the waist. Justin sat on one corner of the bed near her head, rhythmically bathing her face with a cool, wet cloth. He had not eaten or slept, or left the room for any except the most urgent of nature’s necessities, since he had carried her upstairs. Janet and Dr. Lampeter worked frantically over Megan’s exhausted body. Finally the doctor shook his head, and looked up.