“On the contrary, my lady, I have been ill lately, and have not yet breakfasted. I assure you, when I have something to eat, my color will return.”
Lady Alicia’s eyes grew sharp, as if she had not expected Megan to speak. Behind her, Megan heard Justin take a deep breath, a harsh, ragged sound. Why hadn’t he told her, she asked herself? But she mustn’t give way to tears, to anger, to panic.
“Well, I’m very pleased to hear that you don’t have some dreadful Irish accent.” Lady Alicia addressed Megan for the first time. She eyed Megan speculatively, silently disparaging the childish, outmoded frock and untamed hairstyle. “I can see that I have my work cut out for me, but as Justin said, you’re very pretty. I’m sure that with a little effort on both our parts, we will succeed admirably.”
“But I haven’t the faintest idea of what you are talking about. Perhaps you had better enlighten me: Succeed at what, my lady?” Megan’s tones were cool,
and she lifted her chin and returned Lady Alicia’s haughty stare. She had no intention of allowing herself to be intimidated by this terrifyingly modish lady. For the first time in her life, she was thankful for the years she had spent at the various academies for young ladies: They had taught her well in spite of herself, and now, in this moment of crisis, she could face this condescending woman on equal terms, knowing that her own speech and manners were every bit as proper.
“Why, at finding you a husband, of course. My dear, I assume that is what Justin had in mind when he wrote suggesting that you be introduced to the
ton
immediately rather than wait for your eighteenth birthday.”
Megan turned to look at Justin. Anger was building inside her, and she knew that he could see it burning in her eyes. His expression was stony, but some indefinable emotion flickered in those golden depths as he returned her look steadily.
“Is that what you had in mind, my lord?” she asked him. Only her eyes told him of her rising fury and contempt.
“Yes.” The single word grated in her ears. Her heart felt as if it had turned to stone. She would never forgive him for this, she told herself, then firmly locked all thoughts of him away.
“It is very kind of you to go to so much trouble on my behalf,” Megan said civilly to Lady Alicia. She didn’t want to look at Justin.
Lady Alicia smiled at her. “Not at all,” she said
pleasantly. “Justin and I have wanted children for years.” Megan barely managed to conceal a grimace. Alicia, whether she knew it or not, had struck a blow clear through to her heart. “But so far we have not been blessed. Although I am not nearly old enough to be your mother”—here she smiled a little—“I quite expect to be as much a mother to you as Justin has been a father.”
“Thank you, my lady, but as you said you are not nearly old enough to be my mother,” Megan replied smoothly, deflecting the little dart that she suspected had been meant to emphasize Justin’s age and his position as guardian. “And as for me, I am too old to need mothering or fathering, though I thank you for the kind thought.”
Both women stood smiling at each other with patent falseness. Megan could read the hostility in Lady Alicia’s eyes. The woman clearly recognized Megan as a threat and was ready to fight to hold her man. Megan wondered why she bothered. She was Justin’s wife, after all, and no matter how many other women he took to his bed nothing could change her legal position.
“Alicia, I know you are dying to go upstairs and rid yourself of your travel dirt, so if you will excuse us I will take Megan off to the library. I have a few things to say to her.” Justin’s voice was still harsh, but other than that it was impossible to guess what he was feeling, if indeed he was feeling anything.
“Don’t be absurd, Justin,” Alicia said, smiling
archly. “You just heard the poor child say she hasn’t breakfasted. And she’s been ill lately! And I will confess that I could do with a tiny nibble of something myself. Do go on and do whatever it is that you do in the mornings, and let your ward come with me.”
“Alicia… ” Justin began impatiently. Megan could feel the restless movement of his big body behind her. She turned to smile sweetly at him; only he could see the daggers that shot from her eyes.
“Your wife is right, my lord. I would dearly like my breakfast. And surely there is no longer any need to discuss your plans for my future, when Lady Alicia is here with plans of her own.”
Justin stared down at her, his own eyes hooded.
“As you wish,” he said abruptly, then swung around on his crutch to disappear into the library, shutting the door behind him with what was almost, but not quite, a crash.
“Really, my dear, you must excuse my husband. Men can be such boors at times! But of course you wouldn’t know about that yet. Do come along and we’ll see what the housekeeper—what is her name?—can give us for breakfast.”
The day passed in a blur of pain for Megan. She found it hard to believe that this was the same world she had greeted with such rapture only that morning. Her newfound happiness had been shattered before she had had a chance to enjoy it. And her love? Shattered too, shown up as the pipedream it was. If Justin had loved her, he would never have done such a thing
to her. To take her love (to say nothing of her virgin body) when he was a married man was dastardly. She hadn’t known about his wife; how could she have? When he had paid her those duty visits at school, she had been a child, and all they had ever discussed was her progress in various subjects. Nothing personal had ever been mentioned. Charles Stanton, too, had never mentioned the existence of a Countess of Weston. Had it all been some huge conspiracy of silence? But as tempted as she was to believe it, Megan reluctantly dismissed that idea almost as soon as it had occurred to her. Despicable Justin might be, but she was sure that he had not planned her seduction since he had first taken her under his wing as a five-year-old child. No, she had to absolve him of that. But he had known, at any time over the past three weeks, that she was falling in love with him. Or if he hadn’t known, he should have. And he had certainly outstepped the bounds of propriety with her! Megan thought of the kisses they had exchanged, the caresses, and wanted to weep. She remembered the ecstasy she had found in his arms the night before, thinking herself loved, knowing that she loved him. She thought the sheer agony of remembering would tear her apart. He told her that what he wanted was sex, pure and simple; she had to admit that. He told her he loved her only when she had practically forced him into it. She saw now that he must have done it because he thought it was the easiest, shortest route to get him what he wanted. She couldn’t accuse him of forcing himself on her against her will:
She had wanted him as badly as he had wanted her, and even now the memory of his lovemaking could make her shiver through the haze of pain. But the difference was that she had loved him, adored him, worshipped him, in fact. She would have given him anything he wanted, never counting the cost. And in return for her love, he had used and abused her, robbed her of her virginity and her self-respect. Now what was she but soiled goods? If anyone ever found out what Justin had done to her she would be ruined, disgraced, cast out of decent society. No man would want to marry her.
As Megan considered these aspects of the situation, she hated Justin so much she could have killed him. He had done this to her, knowing the consequences far better than she did. She had loved him, and he had exploited her love for his own ends.
During the course of that day—Megan thought it the longest day in her life—Lady Alicia gave her to understand that she had only journeyed to Ireland (which she hated) to escort her back to London. She meant to stay no longer than she absolutely had to, and suggested that they start the journey back after only a day’s rest. This meant, of course, that Justin with his broken leg would have to stay behind, but that was all right: Justin would not expect them to wait for him, and must be getting rather tired of being forced to endure female companionship day in and day out. Justin didn’t much like women, Lady Alicia said, and would probably be glad to see the last
of his troublesome ward. Megan agreed coolly that it would probably be best to start for England at once. Inwardly, she told herself the sooner she got away from Justin, the sooner she could start getting over him. Stamping out her love for him was a matter of survival—and she meant to survive.
She escaped from Lady Alicia at last; by then it was after dinner. Justin had kept out of her way all day, and, although he had appeared for dinner, he had been silent and grim-faced, replying only when spoken to, and always briefly. He toyed with his food while downing glass after glass of wine. Lady Alicia seemed to find nothing odd in his behavior. Megan, thinking fleetingly of the laughing, teasing companion who had charmed her into loving him, could only suppose that such moroseness was normal for him. After all, Lady Alicia, his wife, would know far more about him than an ignorant little girl he had managed to lure into bed.
Hurt and rage combined to stifle down any compassion she might have felt for him. If he was suffering from guilt pangs, well, surely no one ever more richly deserved them.
By the time she managed to get up to her room, she was exhausted from the effort of pretending everything was as it should be. If she had to smile one more time, she thought her jaw would drop off; if Lady Alicia made one more sweetly poisonous remark, Megan was sure nothing would be able to stop her from scratching out the lady’s eyes. She knew that it was ridiculous to hate Lady Alicia for being Justin’s wife,
but she couldn’t seem to help herself. The real object of her hatred and scorn should be Justin. Toward that end, she would have to stamp out this ridiculous affection she still felt for him. He had betrayed her, and she would be damned before she went mooning after him like a lovesick schoolgirl. He had taught her a brutal lesson, and she knew that she would never be so blindly trusting again.
Long after she had pulled on another of the filmy lawn nightdresses—the very sight of which made her want to cry—and climbed into bed, she lay awake, staring blindly up into the darkness. Her eyelids ached and burned, and her throat felt scratchy, but she would not, could not, allow herself the luxury of tears. If only Lady Alicia had arrived twenty-four hours earlier, before Justin had taken every scrap of love she had to offer. Futile, too, to torture herself by remembering the very different bed in which she had slept the night before. If she was to salvage anything from this debacle, she had to put the past behind her. From now on, her only concern had to be herself, and her own well-being. If she could not completely eradicate all thoughts of the black-hearted swine who had reduced her to this, it would not be for want of trying.
Megan listened to her heartbeat, hoping that the rhythmic sound would lull her off to sleep without allowing any troublesome thoughts to intrude. She was dozing when she heard the faint sound of her bedroom door being opened. Jolted from sleep, she opened her eyes and sat bolt upright in bed. Someone—or something—was
in her room. Maam’s Cross Court was said to be haunted, although Megan had never seen any trace of the ghost. Her nocturnal visitor had to be either spectral in origin—or it had to be Justin. She wasn’t sure she would not have preferred the ghost.
“Who is it?” she called out sharply, gathering the bedclothes around her.
There was a scraping sound, a brief flare of light, and then a candle flickered into life. By its sallow light, Megan had no trouble recognizing Justin’s muscular shape, large and menacing as the candlelight threw him into sharp relief.
“Get out of my room!” Megan’s voice quivered with outrage.
“Keep your voice down,” he growled, moving closer, the candle safely deposited on a nearby table. “Do you want the entire household to know I’m in here?”
“I don’t give a damn if the entire world knows you’re in here! I want you out of my room.”
“Don’t swear,” he said, frowning at her. He continued to approach the bed, not stopping until he stood beside it. “I want to talk to you. I want to explain.”
“What is there to explain, Justin? The situation seems perfectly obvious to me!” Megan’s voice was cool, but her eyes shot daggers at him. “And I’ll swear at you if I damned well please.”
Justin looked at her for a long time without speaking. His skin looked curiously gray, and the lines of strain around his mouth had deepened, making him look far older.
“Megan, I want you to know that—I mean what I said—last night.” His voice was low; his eyes were full of pain. But Megan refused to pity him.
“I don’t want to talk about last night!”
“Megan, my darling, we have to talk about it.”
“Don’t call me
that
!” Her voice rose shrilly on the last word. She rose to her knees in the bed, the covers still clutched to her breast, her eyes feral as she glared at him. Justin winced at the naked agony he heard in her cry.
“I’m so desperately sorry,” he said quietly, his eyes dropping to stare at the carpet as if it fascinated him. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“You never meant to hurt me!” She had to fight back an urge to laugh hysterically. “God, you never meant to hurt me! What did you think would happen? You seduced me and you were already married.”
“At that point, I was beyond thinking. I’ve never been in love before.”
Megan stared incredulously. “Love!” she gasped viciously. “Don’t you dare talk to me about love. If you loved me, you would never have laid a hand on me. I thought you wanted to marry me.”
He looked at her quickly.
“I did. I do! I would divorce Alicia if I could, but I have no grounds. And she’ll never divorce me. She likes being Countess of Weston too much.” Bitterness twisted his mouth.
“Well, isn’t that convenient! You would marry me, but you can’t divorce your wife, and she won’t divorce
you. How very sad. But at least your intentions were honorable! Which is why you never bothered to mention to me the little fact that you’re married.”
Justin winced under the harsh lash of her words, the lines around his mouth whitening. “You knew I was married.”