“Yes, my lord. If you will follow me, my lord.” Rogers’ continual scraping and bowing was beginning to grate on Megan’s nerves, but she followed him silently as he led the way up the stairs, Justin hard on her heels. She could feel his hand possessively in the small of her back, and tried to pull away from the contact. But he refused to let her.
“My best room, my lord,” Rogers said proudly, throwing open a door and standing back so that Justin could precede him. Justin barely glanced inside.
“And for the lady?” he asked impatiently.
“As you instructed, my lord,” he murmured, looking embarrassed. He moved to open the next door
along the hall, and when that was done handed Justin the key.
“Thank you.” Justin turned to look at Megan. “In with you, my girl. I warned you that I would not tolerate your running away from school a third time, and now you will see that I meant it.”
Megan gaped at him, totally taken aback, while he propelled her inexorably forward with his hand in the small of her back. When at last she stood inside the room, he bid her a curt good night, and shut the door in her face. She was still standing there, dumbfounded, when she heard the key turn in the lock. He had locked her in.
CHAPTER
17
Megan was left alone for some time. When finally she realized that Justin was not intending to come back—at least, not for a while—she shook herself out of the lethargy she had fallen into and looked around the room. It was a rather small chamber, not up to Weston House standards by any means, but then Megan supposed that Justin had taken good care to avoid one of the larger, more luxurious posting houses where they would be in danger of running into friends and acquaintances. In addition to the bed, an austere single with a spool headboard, there was a dressing table and a washstand. Megan dropped her cloak, shivering a little as the night air struck the bare skin of her arms and shoulders. The fire had not yet been lit, although wood and kindling bits had been laid in the hearth in readiness. Megan rubbed her hands up and down her arms in an effort to warm them as she made her way over to the washstand. First she would wash, and make use of the chamber pot which had so thoughtfully been provided.
Then she would see about lighting the fire, if no servant came in the meantime to do it.
Megan splashed her arms and face with the lukewarm water, and thought longingly of a bath. But there was none in evidence, and under the circumstances she didn’t care to request one even if there had been someone available to ask. So she contented herself with a quick sponge bath, not removing her clothes but washing under them as well as she could. She had not missed the door in the middle of one wall which more than likely connected her chamber to Justin’s. It was closed now, but if she were a gaming person she would wager that it would not long remain so. If she were to succeed in thwarting Justin’s probable plans for the night, and she had to admit that her chances of that were slim, it would not do for him to come in and find her undressed and tucked up in bed.
She was relieved that he apparently did not intend to make the role he intended for her to be public knowledge. She would have died of shame to be openly presented as his mistress, and she was reluctantly grateful to him for maintaining the outward appearance of their guardian-ward relationship. His voice when he had locked her in this chamber had been strictly authoritarian, and Megan had no doubt that the innkeeper thought them exactly what they seemed: a stern guardian pulling in the reins on his rebellious ward. Megan smiled mirthlessly to herself. If only their relationship was still that simple.
Her ablutions completed, she crossed to the hearth and sank to her knees beside it. Reaching for the box of matches kept nearby she proceeded to light the fire. Though it took several attempts the tiny flames provided scant heat. Megan realized that it might be some time before the fire emanated any appreciable warmth. She stood up, crossed to the bed and pulled the coverlet around herself for warmth. Then she sat down on the edge of the bed to await Justin.
For the sake of their child, he must be persuaded to let her go. Only by marrying Donald, as scheduled, could she hope to prevent a horrifying scandal.
Megan had been sitting in the same position for what seemed like hours when the door connecting the two rooms opened. She looked up to see Justin framed in the doorway. He was still dressed in his elegant evening clothes, but he had discarded his coat. His rough black hair was wildly untidy, and his dark face was guarded. As he saw her sitting there, he leaned negligently against the doorjamb, his arms crossing over his chest, a sardonic smile playing across his mouth.
“Waiting up for me? How touching.”
Megan flushed, but she tilted her chin at him, and her eyes sparked with defiance.
“I was hoping that, now you’ve had time to consider a little, you would recognize the sheer idiocy of what you’re doing. You can’t force me to be your mistress, Justin.”
“Can’t I?”
Megan looked at him, correctly interpreting the glint in his eyes, and decided to try another tack.
“You are too much of a gentleman, Justin,” she said quietly, her eyes never leaving his. “If you force me to submit to you, it would be rape. And you are not a rapist.”
“Oh, I doubt I’ll have to resort to rape,” he responded, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets and smiling at her. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I have always labored under the impression that the term ‘rape’ implied the lady was unwilling.”
His meaning was unmistakable. Megan flushed angrily, and glared at him.
“Damn you, I am unwilling.”
“I’ve told you before not to swear. Little girls with dirty mouths usually end up getting them washed out with soap.”
The derisive glint in his eyes was infuriating.
“I am unwilling. I am, I am.”
He smiled brutally. “No, you’re not. We both know that. So why don’t you quit wasting your time and mine with these theatrics and come to bed.”
“If you mean to your bed, no, thank you. I prefer to sleep here.”
“And I prefer otherwise. Which one of us will get his own way, I wonder?”
Megan eyed him. He looked very tall and broad in his white dress shirt and black evening breeches; the silver brocade of his waistcoat hugged his muscled
chest like a second skin. His neckcloth was intricately arranged, and secured in place with a diamond pin. He looked handsome and a little dangerous, and she knew that if he chose to exert himself, there was little chance she could hold out against him. She realized her vulnerability to his masculine attraction with a sinking heart, and a renewed determination not to give in.
“What do I have to do to get it through to you, Justin? I don’t love you, and if you can make me want you it’s no more than any other man with your expertise could do. I love Donald, and I want to marry him. Surely you will not stand in the way of my happiness?”
His face hardened.
“Fickle little bitch, aren’t you?” he said quite pleasantly, then called her a name that brought the blood surging into her cheeks.
“How dare you?” she gasped, jumping to her feet and scarcely noticing as the coverlet slipped away from her shoulders to fall in a heap on the floor. She was left standing in the white silk evening dress she had donned for Almack’s; her beauty as she faced him breathing fire and defiance only served to fan Justin’s rising anger.
“Oh, I dare,” he remarked unpleasantly. “I dare quite a lot, as you may find to your cost.”
“I want you to let me go, Justin.”
“Presently, my love. When I tire of you.”
“Have you no shame?”
“Very little,” he drawled. “And none at all where you are concerned.” He straightened away from the
doorjamb, looking very formidable. “Now, enough talk. Come here.”
“No!”
“Don’t make me fetch you, my own.”
Megan backed away, keeping one eye warily on him. He made no move to come after her, but Megan did not fool herself that he would not. He would, if she continued to defy him, but this time the Earl might be in for quite a surprise. She had had enough of being humiliated at his hands, and she meant to fight.
“Go away, Justin!” Her fingers curled around the handle of the china pitcher that had earlier held the water for washing.
His only response to that was a harsh laugh. He strolled toward her as if he had all the time in the world, but the fierce glitter of his eyes belied his casual movements. She had aroused him, and she had no illusions as to what his intentions were.
“Stay back, Justin,” she said warningly, the pitcher held behind her back out of his sight, ready for use as a weapon if he drove her to it. She was backed into a corner already, and there was no place to run even if she somehow managed to slip past him.
He continued to advance on her. Megan had no idea of what a lovely picture she presented, with her black hair working loose from its pins to cascade down her back and her creamy skin flushed with color. Her slender body was alluring despite the belligerence of her stance, and her eyes had deepened to purple with
either fear, anger, or excitement, or some combination of the three. Watching her closely without giving that impression at all, Justin found himself wanting her so much he ached. And he meant to have her.
“I mean it, Justin,” Megan warned again, and when he continued to advance she hefted the pitcher threateningly. He looked at it with a little twitch of amusement on his face.
“And do you really think that will stop me?” he asked almost conversationally, and while Megan was considering how best to reply to that he pounced.
Megan screamed instinctively, jumping back, and swung the pitcher in a wide arc that just missed his black head. Instead it slammed into his shoulder as he caught her in his arms, shattering into fragments as it hit the floor. Justin barely flinched. Megan’s eyes were huge as she stared at him, held fast in the prison of his arms, one hand pressed between their bodies and the other trapped by one of his hands. She had hit him with the pitcher, and she knew it must have hurt for all his lack of outcry. As she waited the punishment he was sure to inflict upon her, her mouth was dry and her heart was beating like a frightened rabbit’s.
“Hellcat,” he said without heat, scooping her up and bearing her back through the opened door to his bedroom. Megan’s eyes fastened on the bed, and her mouth went dry. To her shame, she realized that she wanted him fiercely. Remembering the things he did to her in bed, her cheeks flushed a wild rose color and her bones seemed to turn to water.
“No, Justin,” she cried desperately. To her amazement, he stopped his slow advance toward the bed, and set her gently on her feet. He stood a little away from her, his arms folded across his chest and his head cocked a little to one side.
“It would be a shame to tear that beautiful dress,” he said, his eyes glinting over it. Then, as Megan stared up at him wordlessly, he added, “Take it off.”
Megan blinked at him in disbelief. “N-no.”
He smiled. “You have precisely one minute to take it off. If you don’t, I’ll rip it off myself, and while I will enjoy it you might not. Besides, you will be left with nothing to wear tomorrow. But if it doesn’t matter to you to appear in public in your shift, it doesn’t bother me.”
“You can’t be serious.” Megan wished she was as confident of that as she sounded. She had a horrible feeling that he meant precisely what he said. She had a choice: She could remove her dress, or he would do it for her.
“I am completely serious. And you have forty seconds left.” He pulled a gold watch from his waistcoat pocket and stood watching her while it dangled tauntingly from his brown fingers.
“Ohh!” With a little exclamation of furious capitulation, she reached behind her back and tried to undo the fastenings of her dress. She managed to work one or two tiny hooks loose at the very top of the dress, but the ones farther down defeated her.
“Having trouble?” he asked as she struggled with the recalcitrant hooks.
“Yes,” she hissed, glaring at him. She felt very tempted to hit him, and if it wasn’t for the awful certainty that he would wreak some terrible vengeance on her she would have done it.
“Turn around,” he said, surprising her, and pocketed the watch. “I have no objection to acting as lady’s maid.”
Megan stopped reaching for the hooks, letting her aching arms drop to her sides while she glared at him.
“No, thank you.”
“Turn around,” he said, his hand reaching out to catch her by the shoulder and turn her so that her back was presented to him. Megan stood stiffly while he worked the hooks loose with practiced ease. The touch of his warm fingers against the skin of her back sent shivers coursing up and down her spine. She bit her lip, doing her best to control her treacherous body so that her reaction would not betray her. He slipped the dress from her shoulders at last, and Megan caught at it for a moment before allowing it to fall in a heap on the floor at her feet. Her eyes closed in mute response as he lifted aside the heavy fall of her hair to touch his lips to her nape.
“No stays?” he asked with a mocking inflection as he straightened, his hands on her shoulders turning her back to face him. Megan was dressed only in her chemise and the single narrow silk petticoat that went with her dress. The tops of her breasts swelled above the low, rounded top of her chemise, and Justin’s eyes rested on their creamy flesh with blatant desire.
“I don’t like to wear them.” The look in his eyes
was doing funny things to her voice. She knew he had to hear the husky note in it, and guess at the havoc he was wreaking on her system.
“You don’t need them.” His hands came out to measure her small waist, spanning its circumference between them. “You have the most incredibly tiny waist I’ve ever seen.”
“And I suppose you’ve seen hundreds.” Her voice was waspish as the face of Clorinda Barclay swam before her mind’s eye. She was glad of the little spurt of anger that accompanied it. It prevented her from melting like butter under his hands.
His eyes glinted down at her with a spark of humor in their tawny-gold depths. “I would say that is an exaggeration,” he drawled, his hands tightening around her waist. “More like dozens.”