“I thank you for your very flattering offer, my lord,” Megan’s forced coquettishness sounded horrible even to her own ears. “But I find after all that I prefer to marry Donald.” She smiled as she said it, hoping that he could not read the pain in her eyes. Apparently he did not, for his face tightened until the hard bones were clearly visible, and a tiny muscle began jumping in the side of his jaw.
“You little bitch,” he grated harshly, and would have said more except the dance came to an end with a flourish of violins. Megan was able to pull away from him under the cover of the general exodus from the dance floor, and without causing a scene Justin had no way of reclaiming her from the circle of her friends to which she quickly fled for protection.
Megan’s refusal of his offer hit Justin in a vulnerable spot. His heart was damaged, but he refused to recognize it; instead he chose to focus on the blow to his pride. For the first time in his thirty-six years of
life, he knew what it was to be in love with a woman. No, not a woman, he corrected himself harshly, but a maddening chit of a girl who haunted his mind through waking and sleeping hours, never giving him a moment’s peace. He loved her, wanted her, and she had said she loved him—but that was when she was expecting him to offer her a marriage untainted by years of waiting. He told himself savagely that hers had been no more than puppy love, that she had been more interested in his title and fortune than in Justin Brant the man. When their romance had run into stormy waters, she had elected to jump ship rather than ride it out with him. A wise man once said that a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush, and Justin supposed that Megan considered Lord Winspear as the proverbial bird in the hand. Winspear could offer Megan a marriage with no taint of scandal to mar it, an assured place at the very pinnacle of society, and a fortune that was respectable, if not as large as Justin’s own. She would be secure with him, if not ecstatically happy. Justin knew that his love for Megan was such that he would have waited the rest of his life for her, if need be. If she could not wait a scant few years until he would be free, the love she had expressed for him must have been a paltry emotion, if indeed it had ever existed. Or perhaps it had not been love at all, as he had feared from the beginning. Perhaps it had been a case of her healthy young body responding of its own accord to the arousal she had sensed in his; or, worse, it might even have been a case of hero-worship for the
guardian who had served as a distant father figure for her for years. It was a well-known fact that young girls often got crushes on their fathers at a certain stage in their development. Justin was horribly afraid that this was how Megan had felt about him. She had had a crush, and it had passed. Now she had found another man, the one with whom she wanted to spend her life.
As Megan’s guardian, Justin would have been well within his rights to veto the proposed marriage, and send young Winspear on his way with a flea in his ear. But his pride wouldn’t let him. If Megan wanted to marry the young slow-top, then she was welcome to him. He made no demur even when Megan used the failing health of Lord Winspear’s father as an excuse for scheduling the ceremony a scant two weeks in the future. If she was that anxious to become the bride of another man, he thought with a fury that didn’t quite erase his pain, then let her. He would find himself another woman, one with a little experience to recommend her this time, and forget all about the violet-eyed little temptress. She was not worth another of his thoughts.
The two weeks passed with alarming swiftness. As frantic preparations for the wedding continued, Megan felt as if she was caught up in a dreadful nightmare. Every atom of her being rebelled at the idea of being Donald’s wife, of sharing with him the heart-shaking intimacies that belonged by right to Justin. Her heart bled whenever she saw that tall, powerful form, and it was all she could do not to call the whole
thing off. But for the sake of her unborn child, she could not. Her child’s future was the important thing.
The wedding was scheduled for a Thursday evening during the second week in December. Megan’s gown, in which she felt only a perfunctory interest, would be delivered the day before. Tonight, Tuesday of the same week, was the last social function she would be attending as Miss Kinkead. In less than forty-eight hours, she would be Lady Winspear, forever.
They were to attend the assembly at Almack’s. Megan did not particularly want to go, but on the other hand, there was no point in sitting at home brooding. What was done was done, and she must needs make the best of it. There could be no turning back now.
The gown which she had allowed Mary to choose for her was of white silk cut in a chemise style with gold thread glinting through the material and embroidered gold fleur-de-lis edging the neckline and hem. It clung closer to the body than most of her dresses, and the effect was both unusual and arresting. Mary had chosen to dress her hair with a simple gold cord woven through the piled black curls. Looking at her reflection, Megan knew that she was looking beautiful despite the pallor which had robbed her cheeks of their usual healthy color, but she could take no pleasure in the knowledge. The white dress reminded her forcibly of her wedding gown, and if there had been time she would have changed it. But she was already late, and of all things Lady Alicia disliked being kept waiting. Donald, who had volunteered to escort them,
was more patient, and Megan told herself quite fiercely that she should be pleased at this evidence of his thoughtful nature.
When she went downstairs, however, she was surprised to find only Justin waiting for her. He was correctly attired for an evening at Almack’s in black satin evening breeches and a swallow-tailed coat, but Megan barely managed to stop herself from gaping at him. He had avoided her assiduously since the disastrous evening of her coming out ball, and Megan had had no notion that he even knew of their intention to visit Almack’s that evening, much less that he meant to join them.
“Where is Lady Alicia? And Donald?” Megan asked quite sharply as she stepped down into the hallway where he awaited her. She hated to admit it, but being left alone with him set her nerves on edge in a way she could ill afford if she was to keep up this pose of indifference to him.
Justin merely smiled in reply. Ames hurried into view with Justin’s cloak and her own over his arm. Justin took Megan’s cloak from Ames and placed it carelessly around her shoulders, then fastened his own while she eyed him with some trepidation. He looked both determined and oddly pleased with himself, and Megan decided that she didn’t trust him an inch.
“I asked you where Lady Alicia and Donald are,” she said again. This time Justin shrugged his broad shoulders.
“You know how Alicia is. She refuses to wait for
anyone. And she prevailed upon your fiancé to escort her on to Almack’s. So you and I, my dear, are left to bring up the rear. As soon as you are ready.”
Somehow this didn’t seem terribly plausible to Megan, but with Ames’ interested gaze upon them she hesitated to say anything. After all, what could Justin say or do in the short ride to Almack’s that he hadn’t already said or done? So she allowed Justin to usher her out the door and into the waiting carriage without another word of protest.
He climbed into the carriage behind her, closing the door and sinking back into the luxuriously upholstered seat opposite where she sat. The coach began to move. Megan noticed with a slight frown that they were in the larger traveling carriage, the one which had conveyed her from Ireland, but she supposed that, if Alicia had taken the lighter vehicle, this must have been the only closed carriage available. And it was far too cold to make an open carriage practical.
To her surprise, Justin said nothing on the journey, just settled against his seat with his arms crossed over his chest and watched her with a sardonic look in his eye. By the light of the lanterns set into the curving walls on either side of the coach she saw that he looked almost amused. His straight mouth was twisted into what could have passed for a wry smile, and his golden eyes seemed to hold a wicked twinkle as they moved over her. He looked very large and dark in such close quarters, and Megan found herself growing absurdly apprehensive. Then she scolded herself.
He was trying to make her nervous, she thought, and she mustn’t allow him to even suspect that he was succeeding admirably.
Megan was so caught up in ignoring Justin that it was some time before she noticed that the brief ride to Almack’s was stretching to considerable length. With a sudden sharp frown at Justin, she leaned over to pull the pale blue velvet curtain from the window and look out. It was difficult to discern any landscape through the pitch blackness that greeted her gaze, but that very darkness told her that they were no longer in any part of London that she knew, where the streets were all lit with flaming torches.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded of Justin, lifting her astonished eyes from the unenlightening window to glare at him. He met her furious query with a lift of his brows.
“Oh, forgive me, did I forget to mention that there had been a, uh, slight change in plan?” He smiled grimly. “You’ve been called into the country to visit a dear relation who is even now on her death-bed asking for you.”
Megan stared at him. “You know I don’t have any relations.”
“You don’t, do you?” There was a wealth of satisfaction in the words. “But only you and I know that. The truth is, I’m offering you the not inconsiderable compliment of abducting you, my own.”
CHAPTER
16
Justin had come to a decision only that morning. The night before he had gone to White’s as had become his custom, and had passed the hours before dawn drinking and gaming recklessly. As he drank, his anger at Megan, and himself for letting her reduce him to such a state, grew to nearly ungovernable heights. It was fueled by a tender scene he had witnessed earlier in the day in the parlor of his own house: He had come home to change clothes, and had found the parlor door, which usually was left ajar, closed. Naturally intrigued, he had pushed it open to find Megan caught close in her fiancé’s embrace. The sight riveted him to the spot. He had clenched his fists, conscious of an almost overwhelming urge to close his hands around the whippersnapper’s neck. But then he reminded himself forcibly that Megan had chosen to spend her life with this man. He had every right to kiss her as he was doing, and it was obvious that Megan was not struggling to escape. In fact, they were both so caught up in their mutual bliss that neither of them was aware of his presence. Acknowledging
this, the pain Justin felt was so great that he could have screamed. But he did not. He did nothing. Gritting his teeth, he managed with a truly heroic effort to turn on his heel and leave the two of them. And then he had taken himself off to White’s and gotten soddenly, numbingly drunk.
Always before, he had scorned and mocked those of his friends who were foolish enough to fancy themselves in love. Now he was in love, something which he had once thought impossible, and he was learning that it was no laughing matter. He had offered Megan his heart, and she had callously trampled it underfoot. It galled him unbearably to think that a seventeen-year-old schoolgirl, and his own ward to boot, should have the power to make such a fool of him. He had been one of the prizes of the marriage mart the year he had married Alicia, and he knew without conceit that, if he were to rid himself of his wife, he would be an even bigger prize today. He was older, richer, handsomer. Not even the stigma of divorce would deter most of Society’s females from scheming to become the next Countess of Weston. But Megan, whom he loved so much that it was threatening to drive him insane, had made it very clear that she wanted no part of him, except in her bed. By God, he had created a monster, introducing her to the pleasures of the flesh so well that she was prepared to take her fun where it was offered like a man, and then look elsewhere for a marriage partner. When she had turned down his proposal of marriage, saying blithely that she preferred
to wed that wet-behind-the-ears boy rather than wait the necessary time required for him to get a divorce, Justin had scarcely been able to believe his ears. The only interpretation he could put on her refusal was that she didn’t want him. At least, not for marriage and not enough to wait. She would have injured him less if she had taken a sword and stabbed him through the heart. This way she had left him to slowly bleed to death, and he was suffering agonies.
Along toward morning, it began to occur to him that he now despised Megan almost as much as he desired her. She had played him for a fool, and if she had been a man he would have blown a hole through her. But she was very much a woman, with a woman’s weapons against which those of a mere man were ineffectual. She had snared him in a silken web from which there was no escaping, baiting her trap with such sweet inducements that he had walked into it without a struggle. Now, like a female spider, she was intent on devouring him. The very thought of another man calling her wife, sleeping by her side at night, kissing her and bedding her and giving her children was enough for him to break out in a cold sweat. Then she very coolly chose to kick his love aside as if it were a thing of little value. The more Justin thought about that, the more furious it made him. She had made him love her, damn it, and she could damn well pay the consequences.
Justin told himself that he had been a fool to offer her marriage. He wouldn’t marry her now if she
begged him, but he still wanted her. As his mistress. He dwelled on the title, which previously he had refused to even think of in the same breath as her name, with vicious satisfaction. Yes, she was eminently suited for the role of his mistress, and he deserved some recompense for the time and trouble he had invested in her. Why, he had even taught her how to make love, and he would fry in hell before he would let her practice her newfound expertise on another man until he himself had tired of it. Oh, yes, he would make her his mistress. He would bed her until he had worked her out of his system, and then, if she wished and could persuade her precious Donald to it, she would be free to marry the man of her choice. But until then, she was his, his possession, his prisoner, to do with as he willed.