On the sixth day of Megan’s careful avoidance, Justin could stand it no longer. He had to talk to her,
and he would, damn it! If she would not come to him, then he would go to her. For a moment he considered waiting until evening and confronting her in her bedchamber, then dismissed the notion as being too fraught with temptation. No, he needed to talk with her on neutral ground, and he was determined to do so. When, from his bedroom window, he saw her ride out from the stables, he made up his mind. He would be waiting for her when she returned.
Megan, mounted on Rufus, the same gray gelding she had been riding when she tried to run away, felt as despondent as she had every day since she had so disgraced herself. The soft-falling rain, really little more than a mist, exactly suited her mood. It cast a cool veil over everything, graying the lush hills and dales, lowering the usually limitless sky. Megan chose to ride cross-country, not wanting to bother with the muddy mess into which rain inevitably turned the road. Her thoughts, as she went, were not happy ones.
When at last she turned back, it was early afternoon. A slight rumbling in her stomach reminded her that she had just picked at her breakfast, to Mrs. Donovan’s displeasure, and had missed lunch. She had an apple in her pocket, which she would share with Rufus when they reached the stables. That should tide her over until dinner.
Riding into the barn, Megan looked around for Jem. He usually came running to take Rufus when she returned from her ride, but today he wasn’t there. Not that it mattered. She had fallen into the habit of unsaddling
and rubbing down the horse herself. It filled up the time she spent away from the house.
Kicking her foot free of the stirrup, she slid from the saddle, then turned to unfasten the girth. Rufus stood patiently while she lifted the sidesaddle from his back, glad that it was small and light as she lugged it toward its peg. It was dark inside the barn, the only light coming in from the large double doors that led to the stable yard. The corners of the huge barn were lost in shadows. As Megan returned to slip off Rufus’ bridle, he nickered suddenly, lifting his head to look in the direction of the stable door. Megan turned to look too, expecting to see Jem, or perhaps O’Bannon. But instead, to her profound dismay, she found herself staring at the tall figure of her guardian, leaning heavily on his crutch. A wry smile flickered across his mouth.
CHAPTER
6
“If Mohammed won’t come to the mountain… ” Justin said ironically, moving toward her, awkward on the unwieldy crutch.
Megan felt fiery color creep up her neck and face to her hairline. Jerking her eyes away from him, she busied herself with removing Rufus’ bridle. She was actually conscious of Justin not five feet away, his eyes quizzical as they rested on her averted face.
“I thought Dr. Ryan said that you weren’t to try to come downstairs,” she managed to say, knowing that she had to say something. The bridle slid off Rufus’ nose to dangle unnoticed from her hand. The horse immediately began to move away toward his open stall. Megan, looking after him with a feeling akin to despair, felt as if her last source of protection had been spirited away.
“If any harm comes of it, I shall have no hesitation in placing the blame squarely where it belongs. On you.”
She couldn’t look at him. She knew he was waiting for her reaction. “But as it happens, I was very careful.”
She nodded once in reply, then turned away with relief; the bridle she held gave her an excuse to do so. She took her time about hanging it on its peg, then went to close the stall door after Rufus. Finally, when she could not avoid doing so, she turned back toward Justin. He still stood squarely between her and the door, leaning heavily on his crutch as he watched her. Without volition, her eyes met his. Immediately she panicked, her lashes fluttering down to hide her eyes, red spots burning her cheeks. He inhaled sharply, then took a step forward. She backed away in embarrassed confusion. He stopped where he was, and from the corners of her downcast eyes Megan could see his knuckles whiten as he clenched his fist over the handpiece of the crutch.
“Megan, look at me,” he said after a moment. She hesitated, then unwillingly lifted her eyes in obedience to his command. Her hands came up to try to cool her burning cheeks. Justin’s jaw tightened, and his long mouth thinned as he observed her reaction.
“This is ridiculous.” He sounded annoyed. Megan was looking at the straw-covered ground. With the best will in the world, she could not keep her eyes on him for longer than a few seconds. He looked very handsome, with his rough black hair waving wildly from the dampness; and the chiseled hardness of his features seemed swarthier than ever against the stark white of his plain linen shirt. His shirt emphasized his broad shoulders and wide chest, the muscled strength of his arms and torso. He had not bothered with a neckcloth, and the shirt was open at the throat,
revealing the thick mat of hair she remembered all too clearly. His long legs were clad in well-worn buff-colored pantaloons that had been slit up one side and then pinned to allow for the bulk of his splint. One foot wore a Hessian boot, restored by dint of much hard work on Donovan’s part to something resembling its former glory, while the other one, the one that extended from the wrappings of his splint, was rather incongruously covered by a soft slipper. Megan would have smiled at the idea of his arrogant lordship wearing such a homely item out of doors if she had been in the mood for smiling. As it was, she could only remember how hard and strong his body had felt against hers. She blushed with renewed heat.
“If you get any redder, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone didn’t mistake you for a fire and throw a bucket of water over you.”
The sardonic voice won him another quick look. Justin released his breath on a long, drawn-out sigh when her eyes fluttered away from him again.
“For God’s sake, Megan, you’re making me feel like a first-class swine. Can’t you even look at me?” The roughness of his voice brought her eyes up to his at last. He read both defiance and shame in their violet depths. With her black hair tumbling down her back in wayward curls, her slender figure clad in the black riding habit, she was a study in black and white silhouetted against the weathered gray wood of the stalls. “I’ve said I’m sorry,” he continued in the same harsh tone. “What more do you want?”
The only sign of her agitation was the clenching of her hands. “Please don’t play the gentleman and apologize,” she said, so low that he had to strain to hear. “You know as well as I do that the blame is mine.”
Justin’s mouth tightened. “Don’t be absurd! The whole regrettable incident is entirely my fault. You are not to blame in any way. Do you understand?”
Her huge eyes were made even larger with shame. “Please—I don’t want to talk about it any more,” she said, hanging her head and turning slightly away from him. Justin choked back an impatient curse and moved cumbrously until he stood directly behind her.
“Megan.” His voice had gentled. “Megan, you’re a very beautiful girl, and when you kissed me—a very proper kiss from a very proper young lady to her not so proper guardian—I lost my head. It was my behavior that was at fault, not yours. You did absolutely nothing of which you need be ashamed.”
She looked very small and defenseless with her bowed head and her slim back turned to him. There was something about the erect way she held her spine, about the shamed yet gallant stance of her, that touched him profoundly. He clenched his teeth as he fought down the urge to stroke the thick profusion of curls that cascaded down her back.
“I kissed you back.”
Again he had to strain to hear her. “What?”
“I said, I kissed you back.” At last she turned around to face him, squaring her shoulders proudly
as she refused to allow him to claim responsibility for the fault which she knew was hers.
He shut his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, he reached for her, not able to help himself. Still, there was very little of the sexual in the way he pulled her resisting body against his, enfolding her with his free arm, tenderly stroking her silky hair. His intention was to comfort and protect; Megan, sensing this, gradually let her body relax against his until her face was hidden in his chest.
“Of course you kissed me back. All the ladies do. I’ll have you know that I’m held to be a very good kisser.”
The intentional lightness of his reply was calculated to still the convulsive shudders that ran lightly over her skin. Her arms found their way around his waist, and she clung to him. Justin, without in the least meaning to, bent his head so that his face was buried in the shining sweetness of her hair.
“You are,” he thought he heard her murmur.
“I am what?” he asked absently, absorbed in the tantalizing scent and feel of her. Against his will, he found himself caught up again in the mystical web of wanting, the physical attraction she held for him increased a hundredfold by the heart-shaking memory of her previous response. With one dim part of his mind he realized that touching her again had been a monumental mistake, but it was one that it was too late to do anything about. He couldn’t have released her now if he had tried.
“You
are
a very good kisser,” she said distinctly, her head tilting back so that she could look up at him. Justin saw the uncertain smile that trembled on the rosy fullness of her lips, and knew that he was lost. He bent his head, moving with conscious slowness so that she could elude him if she tried. She merely closed her eyes. As her mouth parted sweetly beneath his, Justin knew one last moment of clarity, then he was conscious of nothing but the hot blood drumming through his veins and he kissed her with a fervor that set them shaking. She had learned the lessons of her first kiss well, and she responded to him without shyness or fear, her lips and tongue returning touch for touch, caress for caress. Her arms were tight around his waist; he could feel the whole perfect shape of her pressing against his body.
Megan, for her part, felt as if she were moving in a dream. This had been the biggest part of her shame—the secret wish that he would do it again. And now he was kissing her, and it was the most wonderful thing that she had ever known. She surrendered to him utterly, reveling in the sheer size and strength of him as his big body bent ardently over her; rejoicing in the feel of his mouth on hers and the harsh rasp of his beard against the softness of her cheek. His arms were locked around her now, with one large hand cradling her head through the thick fall of her hair. Vaguely Megan wondered how he was managing to stand, then the increasing urgency of his kisses drove every thought from her mind.
It was Justin who broke it off at last, pulling his mouth away from hers with obvious reluctance, steadying her when she sagged weakly against him.
“I should be shot for that,” he said ruefully to the top of her head. Tremors still coursed through Megan’s body, and her arms still hugged his waist for support, and she tilted her head back to look up at him with a tiny smile.
“I don’t think so,” she told him, feeling suddenly more at ease with him than she ever would have dreamed possible. The last vestiges of shame over their previous encounter had vanished with the renewed hunger of his kiss.
“You’re just a baby, my darling. You don’t know anything about it.” The curve of his mouth was tender as he looked down into her upturned face. Megan was very conscious of the intimate way that he continued to hold her. Against the softness of her breasts she could feel the rocklike fortress of his chest; and the muscles of his good thigh pressed with demanding strength against her own thigh and hip. There was also a pulsating hardness pressing against the yielding flesh of her belly. Its presence could not be accounted for by what little she knew of human anatomy. Puzzled, her hand slid around from his back to touch the odd protuberance. At the tentative brush of her hand against him, Justin sucked in his breath sharply. Megan snatched her hand away, and looked up at him.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked, puzzled.
Justin’s ragged laugh sounded more like a groan.
“No, you didn’t hurt me,” he replied, his mouth twisting wryly.
“Then what is it?” she demanded, totally bewildered by his odd reaction.
“You really are a baby, aren’t you?”
“Are you going to explain or not?” Megan practically stamped her foot. His superior smile was galling.
“Not.”
“But why?” Megan’s curiosity was thoroughly aroused. She moved her hand against him again, this time tracing a finger over the bulge through the soft cloth of his pantaloons. It was iron-hard and seemed to be pulsating with heat, and extended at a slant from just above his thighs to almost as high as his waist. Justin groaned at her action, and his hand flew to capture hers in an unbreakable grip, holding her hand away from him.
“Don’t do that,” he told her, his voice thick.
“But what is it?” Megan persisted, thoroughly mystified. She stepped back a pace and looked down at the object in question. She could clearly see the cylindrical object straining against the buff-colored material of his pantaloons.
“If you’re not careful, I may show you,” Justin threatened, sounding suddenly hoarse. But there was a wry tenderness in his face as well as he looked down into her questioning eyes; the hand holding hers was gentle for all its strength.
“All right.” She was willing. She had never wondered so much about anything in her life. To cause
such a reaction from Justin, this object must be quite out of the ordinary.
He laughed. “Don’t tempt me,” he muttered, bending forward to press a quick kiss to her lips. He straightened almost at once, his hand still gripping hers. “I am both relieved and sorry to have to tell you, my darling, that this very interesting discussion will have to be postponed. If I don’t sit down pretty soon, I may fall down.”
“Oh, Justin, of course!” Instantly, she was all concern. How could she have forgotten his leg, and allowed him to stand there for so long? He was not even supposed to come downstairs, and yet he had walked all the way to the stables, and then supported her weight as well as his own. “Can I help you?”