Forbidden Love (7 page)

Megan turned back to the bed with the glass in her hand. Justin was watching her with an odd, hooded look that she supposed could be put down to the pain he must be feeling.

“Let me help you,” she said, when it became obvious that he couldn’t drink while lying flat on his back.

He waved her away. “Tuck another pillow under my head, and I’ll be fine.” He sounded irritable. Megan bit her lips, and did as he ordered, now he was able to drink and he drained the glass thirstily.

“How do you feel? Are you in much pain?” Megan asked hesitantly when he handed the empty glass back to her. He grimaced, his face looking very dark as he leaned wearily back against the pillow.

“Aside from my leg, which I assume from this damned uncomfortable thing around it must be broken, my head, which aches like the devil, not to mention various cuts and bruises, I feel wonderful.”

His dry humor, accompanied by a twisted smile, made Megan laugh again, but she sobered immediately. “I really am so very sorry,” she told him remorsefully. “My teachers are always telling me that I act first and think later, and it’s perfectly true. I do. But I never meant to hurt you. I just—didn’t consider the consequences.”

“If murder really wasn’t on your mind, then I suppose I must forgive you,” he said with a thoughtful air that was belied by the smile in his eyes. “Besides, you don’t have to explain to me about temper. I have a most inconvenient one myself.”

Megan smiled. “I’ve noticed.”

“I thought you might have.”

“Dr. Ryan left you a sleeping draught, if you should be in pain. Would you like it?” She was anxious to make up for what she had done by nursing him as best she could. A worried frown puckered her brow; her teeth nibbled thoughtfully on the rosy fullness of her lower lip. Justin was fascinated. She was truly lovely, he thought for what must have been the tenth time since he had seen her making such an exhibition of herself—was it only one night ago?—in the blue salon. Her face, with its small round chin and elegantly carved cheekbones, had a delicate perfection of feature that would not have been out of place on the most exquisite of Chevres’ porcelain ladies. Her skin was the color of smooth, heavy cream; against it, the darkness of her brows and lashes seemed almost startling. Her hair was drawn softly away from her face to hang in a braid over one shoulder. The curling tendrils that had worked themselves free formed an entrancing frame for the huge purple eyes which were regarding him so solemnly.

“Don’t you have a dressing gown?” he asked sharply as his eyes touched on the demure white nightgown with its high, ruffled neckline and rows of tucks that
did such an inadequate job of shielding her slender body from his gaze.

“I do, but I left it at school,” Megan answered, bewildered at the abrupt change of topic.

Justin stared at her. “For God’s sake, didn’t they teach you anything in those schools? I paid them enough money!” He sounded thoroughly annoyed, and Megan felt her bewilderment grow. What on earth did her education have to do with it?

“My lord?” The words were a soft question. Her eyes were puzzled as they searched his lean face.

Justin looked at her sharply, saw the uncomprehending innocence in her eyes, and sighed. “Never mind,” he said roughly. Then, taking a deep breath, he asked, “Where’s Mrs. Donovan?”

“I sent her to bed. She’s old, and she was tired.”

“So you thought you’d play the ministering angel for a while, did you?” Justin asked sardonically. Harsh lines of what Megan assumed to be pain appeared around the edges of his mouth. “Well, you can take yourself off to bed, too. I assure you that I won’t expire in the night if I’m left alone.”

“But what if you should want something? You can’t possibly get out of bed to get it yourself,” Megan pointed out. Justin, looking at her impatiently, saw that she was shivering, and that she had wrapped her arms over her breasts for warmth.

“You’re freezing. Go on to bed,” he ordered abruptly. Megan’s mouth took on the stubborn curve that he was beginning to know all too well.

“I have a quilt over there in the chair,” she said. “I’ll curl up and be very quiet, but I’m not leaving you alone.”

The spark in her eyes told him that she would not be persuaded, and he was in no condition to argue about it. Sighing, Justin gave it up.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered furiously, trying not to look at her. He closed his eyes. “Give me the damned sleeping draught!”

•  •  •

When Justin awoke at last it was to find the bright autumn sunshine streaming in through the many-paned windows that gave him an excellent view of the Irish countryside even from his bed. He was relieved but a little sorry to see Mrs. Donovan sitting in the chair Megan had occupied the night before. When she saw that he was awake, she put down the mending she had been working on and bustled around making him comfortable in a way that was a great improvement over Megan’s inept ministrations of the night before. There wasn’t much she could do for him besides straightening his bed and settling his breakfast tray, but at least she presented no threat to his peace of mind. When he had eaten, he sent Mrs. Donovan away, preferring her husband’s assistance in performing his morning ablutions, and helping him into his dressing gown.

By the time Megan put in an appearance, Justin was sitting up against his pillows, a book of plays forgotten
on the bedspread beside him and a decidedly peevish look on his face. Dr. Ryan had been in to see him, and had ordered him to stay in bed for at least the next few days; with his leg out of commission—and it pained him damnably!—he had little choice but to obey. Without the aid of a crutch, which would take perhaps three days to make, he had no way of getting around. To add insult to injury, Mrs. Donovan seemed convinced that his injury relegated him to nursery status, and she addressed him in motherly tones that annoyed him unbearably. She called him Master Justin, which she hadn’t done since he had inherited the title at the age of sixteen, when she brought him his lunch she warned him to eat it all like a good boy! She had told him that he was feeling cross because he was tired, and that he should try to take a nap. And then, thankfully, she had left him alone. That had been perhaps three hours before; by the time Megan tapped on his door, he was facing the fact that he was utterly bored.

When she entered in response to his curt summons, she looked so young and unconsciously appealing in her jonquil-colored day dress that Justin glared at her. She came to stand at the foot of the bed, her hands curving around the ornately carved footboard.

“Shall I go away again?” she asked with a small smile. Justin’s scowl deepened. His dark hair was wildly mussed; his tawny-gold eyes snapped irritably. He looked very big and powerful propped up against the mound of fluffy white pillows.

“You got me in this shape, so you can damn well
entertain me,” he growled. Megan had to laugh; she couldn’t help it.

“Mrs. Donovan said you were as sore-headed as a hedgehog with its quills pulled. I see what she meant.”

“I wouldn’t get too saucy, miss. I won’t be tied to this bed forever, you know.” Despite his threatening words, Justin could not control the responsive quiver of his lips. Minx, he thought appreciatively. Then, unwilling to abandon his ill-humor, he added accusingly, “You’re loving every minute of this, aren’t you? As long as I’m laid up here, you don’t have to go back to school.”

The smile faded from Megan’s lips. “I admit it. I am glad not to be going back to school,” she told him, her eyes grave. “But I am truly sorry that you were injured. I would gladly undo it, if I could.”

She sounded so conscience-stricken that Justin immediately relented. He had not meant to remind her of the fact that she had caused his accident, and he was heartily ashamed of himself for having done so.

“Well, you can make it up to me by singing to me, or some such thing: I am as bored as be-damned.”

This made her smile again. “My lord, I am afraid that you took very little notice of my reports from school: As far as singing is concerned, I fear that I wouldn’t give the hoarsest frog any competition!”

Justin looked at her doubtfully, and saw, to his surprise, that she was serious. He had always assumed that well brought-up young ladies could sing at least passably.

“As bad as that, eh?” he asked, grinning. “Well, then, pray don’t deafen me as well as lame me! Look in that drawer over there, and bring me a pack of cards: If you don’t object, I’ll teach you to play baccarat.”

“I don’t object at all, my lord,” Megan answered calmly, and did as he told her.

At the end of two hours’ play, both were chuckling companionably, and Megan had lost the equivalent of two years’ pocket money to her ruthless guardian.

“Just think of it,” he said wickedly, his eyes laughing as they surveyed the untidy mound of Megan’s scribbled I.O.U.’s that were piled high before him. “No more ices or trinkets, or packets of ribbons or lace, or whatever else you females do with your money. In fact, you will probably have to hire out as a chambermaid or something to pay these off. After all,” he added virtuously, “you can’t expect me to permit you to use your allowance to redeem them: People might say that I was encouraging your unfortunate predilection for gaming!”

“Then I will just have to sell the ear-bobs you gave me for my birthday to pay them off!”

Justin grinned at her. “Oh, will you? In that case, I suppose I shall have to forgive the debt. The gossip would be never-ending if it should get out that you had to sell your jewelry to pay your gaming debts! And all the dragon-mothers would warn their sons against you. It would never do to ally themselves with a hardened gamester!”

Megan wrinkled her nose impishly.

“Then you would be stuck with me forever, so I wouldn’t laugh so hard, if I were you!”

“That aspect of the situation didn’t occur to me. I can see that I really have no choice but to forgive the debt. To be forever fated to bear-lead a naughty, impertinent chit would be a penance too heavy to be borne!”

He was grinning crookedly at her, so Megan had no trouble accepting this sally in the spirit in which it had clearly been meant.

“You’re funny!” she said, smiling warmly at him. His eyes twinkled at her.

“What makes you think I’m not serious?”

For a moment she looked uncertain. “You’re not, are you?” she asked, sounding worried.

He looked at her, his expression softening. “I’m not,” he assured her, and might have said more if a brief knock on the door had not distracted them.

It was Mrs. Donovan.

“I brought you your supper, Master Justin,” she told him as she entered. “It’s a bit early, but I thought you might be feeling hungry since you ate so little of your luncheon.” Her faded blue eyes sharpened at the sight of Megan perched comfortably on the side of Justin’s bed. The girl’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled with laughter, and the Earl himself looked much more cheerful than he had earlier. The cards that littered the coverlet between them told their own story.

“You don’t want to be playing them devil’s games
with the likes of him, now, lamb,” Mrs. Donovan said to Megan with the merest suggestion of a smile. “The Brants have always had the devil’s own luck with cards. It’s in their blood.” She put the tray on the small table beside the bed.

“I always heard it said that the devil takes care of his own, Mrs. Donovan,” Megan said with such an angelic air that Justin burst out laughing.

“That’s right, my lamb, and you remember it, too,” Mrs. Donovan said, glancing at Justin. He was still chuckling.

“Thank you for bringing up my dinner, Mrs. Donovan,” Justin said.

Mrs. Donovan eyed the steaming tray complacently. “You can best thank me by eating it all up, Master Justin,” she told him with a stern look. “It’s good food, and it will do you good. You need to keep up your strength.”

With a nod and a wink at Megan, she left the room. As Justin lifted the cover off the tray, Megan stood up, smoothing her skirts rather self-consciously. She remembered how he had warned her that first night about letting the Donovans find out that she had visited him in his bedroom, and wondered what that good lady might be thinking.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your meal,” Megan said, feeling a surge of color creep up her face. Justin paused to look up at her. Faint rays of light were still wandering in through the windows, but her face was in
shadow, and he could not read her expression. Something in her stance, however, told him that she was uncomfortable.

“Why don’t you draw the curtains, light a couple of candles, and join me?” he suggested casually, wondering what he might have said to disturb her. She hesitated before answering. Justin peered at her closely. “Is something the matter, Megan? You’re not still worried about these damned I.O.U.’s are you? I was only joking. I wouldn’t take your money.”

“I know that, my lord,” she answered quietly.

“Then what’s wrong?” he demanded, impatience plain in his voice. “And don’t tell me, nothing! You’ve gone as quiet as a bird when a hawk flies over!”

Megan smiled a little at that.

“It’s only—the first night I was in here—you remember,” she hesitated, then finished in a rush, “you were afraid that if the Donovans found me in your bedroom, they might think it wasn’t perfectly respectable. But last night, and just now, Mrs. Donovan didn’t appear to mind at all. I was wondering what the difference is.”

Justin looked at her, his mouth slanting wryly.

“The difference, my child, is quite simple. On the occasion of your first visit I was in perfect health. Now I am incapacitated, to all intents and purposes, which puts quite a different light on the matter. It’s perfectly respectable for you to visit your guardian in his chamber when he is ill; in fact, it
wouldn’t
be proper if you
didn’t. The servants would think you unfeeling. And if you want it in plainer terms, now that I am a broken man, the consensus will be that I won’t be thinking in terms of making improper advances to you.”

Megan looked both amused and faintly incredulous.

“You wouldn’t anyway,” she stated positively.