She would have to marry. Megan came to this inescapable conclusion only after hours of careful thought. If she married immediately, she could pass the child off as her husband’s, contriving a fall or some
such accident to account for the fact that it would be born early. For her purposes, it would be best if she accepted the proposal of a boy not much older than herself, who would presumably be fairly innocent in the ways of the world. As she had been, Megan thought bitterly, before Justin had educated her so thoroughly. If such a course of action might be unfair to the prospective bridegroom and father, Megan didn’t care. She was prepared to be utterly ruthless, if that was what it took to protect her baby.
Accordingly, she encouraged the more callow of her swains, and within the week no less than three of them had asked Justin for her hand. To her horrified anger, he turned each one down, sending them about their business with a flea in their ear that made them reluctant to do much more than exchange common pleasantries with Megan. After the fourth and then the fifth boy was sent on his way by Justin, Megan knew that she had to have it out with him. At this rate, the baby would be born before she was even engaged, and then it would be too late.
Justin had been staying out of her way lately, and Megan had to bribe one of the footmen to tell her when he next entered the house so that she could speak to him. When the footman passed word to Mary that the Earl was in his study, Mary in turn told Megan. Megan lost no time in freshening herself and then proceeded downstairs as quickly as she could. Justin usually spent no more than an hour in the house before heading out again.
Conscious of Ames and a footman watching her with disapproval from the hall, Megan knocked on the study door and discreetly waited for Justin to call out “enter” before going in. The curtains were drawn back today, allowing the cold November light to flood the room. Justin, dressed in a pale blue coat and cream pantaloons, stood with his back to her, looking out the window into the garden at the rear of the house. His hands were clasped behind his back. Looking at those long, strong hands, so brown against the pale blue cloth, Megan felt a pang of love for him that stabbed clear through to her heart. Quickly she brought her feelings under control, reminding herself that she had to be strong for the sake of her baby. She was no longer a young girl in love but a woman fighting for her child’s very life.
By the time Justin turned to look at her, Megan had herself well in hand. She met his faintly inquiring gaze with a level look of her own. His eyes narrowed.
“Yes?” he said coolly.
“Several gentlemen have lately asked you for my hand; you have refused them all without even an appearance of politeness. I want to know just what you think you’re playing at,” Megan said baldly. Justin’s eyebrows rose; he was silent as he made a leisurely inspection of her indignant face, and then ran his eyes over her young body clothed in the soft pink dress. Except for the sparks emanating from her lovely eyes, the effect was one of angelic innocence.
“I’m playing at being your guardian,” Justin replied
finally with just a hint of mockery. “Why? Was there one particular gentleman that you wished to have as a husband?”
The wicked glint in his eyes told Megan that he was certain the answer to that was no. That last night in his bedroom had told him more clearly than words how she still felt about him, and she had merely reinforced his opinion of her affection for him when she had run to him the morning of the duel. But Megan raised a defiant chin, determined to do whatever she must to secure a respectable future for her baby.
“Yes, there is,” she answered. “Lord Donald Winspear.”
Justin’s eyes widened. “That puppy? Don’t be ridiculous. Why, he’s barely twenty!”
“I’m only seventeen myself. Or had you forgotten?” Megan smiled at him with pseudo-sweetness. He stared at her incredulously.
“Are you actually going to stand there and tell me that you’ve fallen in love with that—boy?”
Megan looked at him, saw the powerful body in the elegant clothes, the hard, handsome face with the straight mouth and the golden eyes gleaming at her, and she felt her courage falter. Then the thought of the child in her womb gave her the strength she needed.
“I have a considerable regard for him,” Megan answered with dignity, knowing that it would be useless to plead a deathless love for young Lord Winspear. Justin quite simply wouldn’t believe her. “And I believe
that he would make a good husband. I want to marry him.”
Justin frowned, looking suddenly pugnacious. “Well, you can forget it. I am your guardian, remember, and as your guardian it is my prerogative to approve your husband. And I don’t approve young Donny Winspear.”
“Would you approve of anyone?” Megan cried, incensed. Her hands clenched at her sides, and her eyes warred with his. She knew as well as he did the reason he would not approve any of her suitors.
“No,” he answered brutally, turning away from her. “At least, not for a couple of years. You are too young to marry.”
“You are too dog in the manger to let me, you mean.”
Justin flashed her a brief look over his shoulder. “Oh, not dog in the manger, my darling,” he said softly, mockery in his tone. “You see, I do want you.”
Megan glared at him, and opened her mouth to tell him, untruthfully, that that was just too bad, because she didn’t want him. The words were never uttered. A brief rap on the door interrupted.
“Come in,” Justin said, with a taunting smile at Megan. As Charles came in, looking from Megan to Justin with some embarrassment, Megan threw a fulminating look and flounced from the room.
The week passed slowly, as Megan helped Ames and Mrs. Lamb, the housekeeper, with the preparations for her very own coming out ball, which was
to be held at Weston House on Wednesday next. As the lady of the house, Alicia should more properly have been in charge of the arrangements, but Alicia said that she was far too fatigued by the rigors of the Season to even contemplate so much as drawing up a guest list. Charles proved invaluable at this chore, and Ames and Mrs. Lamb between them took care of most of the other things that needed to be done. Megan was left mainly to approve or disapprove of their suggestions, and to select a gown to wear to the ball.
Wednesday was greeted with the first snow of the season. Just a few large flakes drifted down, but it sent Mrs. Lamb into a tizzy as she worried that it might keep many of the guests from attending. Her fretting so enraged Anatole the cook that he threatened to walk out, and as the Earl was from home and Lady Alicia was abed, it was left to Megan to soothe Anatole’s ruffled feathers. This required considerable time and ingenuity, and it was past four o’clock before Megan felt able to retire to her chamber and begin her preparations for the ball.
She took a leisurely bath, then ate a light supper. Finally, she sat down before her dressing table and allowed Mary to do her hair. The style Mary had suggested was a charming one. She piled Megan’s hair high atop her head in a shining swirl of curls, allowing a single fat curl to spiral down to caress one bare white shoulder. Looking at her reflection in the glass, Megan agreed with Mary that the effect was extremely becoming.
The dress she had chosen for the evening was of mauve satin. The color would have been a trying one for most young women, but on Megan it was magnificent. Her shoulders and the tops of her breasts rose creamy smooth from the folds of gleaming satin, and the pointed waistband and yards of flounced skirt reduced her waist to nothingness. A simple necklet of pearls—Justin’s gift to her for some long ago birthday—was her only ornament. The long cheval glass in the corner of her bedroom told her that she looked lovelier than she ever had in her life.
Justin was waiting for her when she went downstairs. Megan paused halfway down to stare at him. In his formal evening clothes with his hair brushed severely away from his face, he was the handsomest man she had ever seen. Then she heard Alicia coming down the stairs behind her, and hurriedly resumed her own descent. It would never do for Alicia to guess that Megan had been standing there frozen in admiration of her husband.
The evening passed in a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. Megan stood in the receiving line with Justin on one side of her and Alicia on the other until nearly midnight. She was so nervous that she was barely conscious of what she said to anyone, although from the nods and smiles that greeted her words she supposed she must have made sense. Only Justin cast her a sharp look once or twice. But Megan couldn’t help it. She had planned a surprise for the company at precisely midnight. Justin in particular would be stunned—and
furious. It had taken all her considerable ingenuity to arrange it, to say nothing of her feminine wiles. Her only hope was that Lord Donald would remember his part in the conspiracy. She had discovered to her satisfaction that he was not particularly bright.
When finally the last guest had arrived and been duly greeted, Megan escaped from Justin’s side as quickly as she could. For her plan to work, she had to be far away from Justin, but close to Lord Donald, else he might forget what he was supposed to do.
It was just before the stroke of midnight when she spied Lord Donald. He was a thin young man, fair-haired and moderately handsome, clad in neat brown evening clothes of no particular style. He was obediently stationed just beside the musicians, and she hurried to join him.
“Oh, there you are, Miss Kinkead,” he said as she touched his arm. His formality under the circumstances was a trifle absurd, but Megan refused to allow herself to become irritated with him. He would be a kind husband and a good father, and she was lucky he wanted to marry her. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper, looking at her worriedly.
“Yes.” Megan barely stopped herself from snapping. At all costs, she had to keep him sweet. She smiled meltingly at him. “Don’t you want to marry me, Donald? You know this is the only way.”
“More than anything in the world, Miss Kinkead,” he replied, looking dazzled, as he usually did when
he looked at her. Megan stifled another stab of impatience. Total adoration could be very wearing, she had found—and this after only three weeks of Lord Donald’s acquaintance. But for the baby’s sake, she could not back out now.
As she had arranged, the musicians sounded a fanfare hard on the stroke of midnight. All attention focused on herself and Donald, standing as they were directly before the musician’s stand. Lord Donald seemed momentarily dumbstruck.
“Go ahead,” she hissed, poking him in the ribs in a most unladylike way. Lord Donald looked unhappy, but as a sea of curious faces stared at him he could see nothing for it but to comply.
“A-hem,” he cleared his throat, then turned beet-red. Megan, swallowing her exasperation, nudged him again. “Ahem. L-ladies and gentlemen, I, uh, I have an a-announcement. Miss Kinkead has done me the very great honor of consenting to become my wife.”
He finished the last in a rush, and then as a babble of talk arose he turned to look proudly at Megan. He had done it, by Jove, he had done it. After such a public declaration, not all the stuffy guardians in the world could refuse to allow Megan to marry Donald. Megan didn’t even see the look he bent on her. Across the oncoming tide of faces, her eyes met and locked with Justin’s burning gold ones. In an unguarded moment, she saw agony flare in their glittering depths.
CHAPTER
15
Megan saw Justin making his way across the crowded room to her side, the pain in his eyes changing in the space of a few instants into smoldering anger. But he was waylaid on all sides by well-wishers and the merely curious who were anxious to know all the details of this surprising engagement. He had to stop, to respond politely, and this gave Megan a chance to escape. Clutching at Lord Donald’s arm, she practically dragged him toward the dance floor.
“Dance with me, Donald,” she ordered, masking the command with a saccharine smile.
“Of course, Miss—Megan,” he beamed down at her fondly. It was plain from his expression that he considered her the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and himself the luckiest man.
Megan managed to smile and blush demurely in answer to the joshing comments and questions that were addressed to her; Donald, both pleased and embarrassed at the sudden attention accorded him because of the surprising, unorthodox announcement of
his engagement to the Season’s reigning beauty, could manage no better than a blush and a stammer himself. Megan watched him impatiently as he turned beet-red in response to some of the jocular comments thrown his way by the more dashing of his male contemporaries, and redoubled her efforts to drag him off to the dance floor. He might not have been the husband she would have chosen if she had been free to choose with no restrictions, but she was not. The very bumbling innocence that so annoyed her was exactly what made him ideal for her purposes. An experienced man of the world would no doubt recognize her lack of virginity within hours of their marriage, and would undoubtedly, therefore, question the birth of a child seven months later. With Donald, she was almost certain that she need have no such qualms. She told herself fiercely, as her conscience pricked at her, that it was not as if she meant to cheat him. She would be a good wife to him if it killed her. Indeed, if he were a good father to her baby, she would do anything humanly possible to please him.
Lady Alicia was waiting for them on the edge of the dance floor. A tiny smile curved her lips, and she seemed both pleased and secretly amused.
“You sly boots, you,” she greeted Megan, her pale blue eyes warmer than Megan had ever seen them. “I had no idea that you were contemplating getting engaged to Lord Donald.” The slight emphasis she put on the young man’s name told Megan, if not Donald, exactly how negligible she felt him to be. “But I must
tell you I am delighted. I hope you’re very happy, my dear.”
She presented her powdered and perfumed cheek for Megan to kiss. Megan complied with an inward grimace, just brushing her lips against the cool, dry skin.