“Get in the bath,” he said again, his voice telling her that he would not brook further delays. Megan stared at him mutely, held back by a ridiculous attack of shyness. After all, the man had seen—and more than seen—every square inch of her body, she told herself, but still she could not quite bring herself to disrobe in front of those cynical eyes. But, on the other hand, she could not quite bring herself to ask him to leave, or turn his back. He would be sarcastic, she knew, and she didn’t think she could bear any more nastiness tonight.
With uncanny perception, he seemed to know the cause of her reluctance, because he snorted derisively and left the room. Megan took quick advantage of his absence to shed the blanket and her petticoat and step into the tub. She sank down until the deliciously hot water covered her shoulders, and she rested with her head back against the rolled porcelain lip. Her long hair trailed down over the back of the tub to touch the floor. For several blissful moments she remained like that, letting her mind drift while her cold, tired body soaked up the warmth. She was feeling delightfully drowsy when the door opened and Justin came back into the room, a covered tray in his hands.
Instinctively she sat upright, then just as swiftly sank back down again. If Justin noticed the abortive movement, he didn’t say anything; he merely crossed
the room to set the tray on a table by the bed, then came back to stand towering over her, looking down at her with a brooding expression on his lean face. The firelight was reflected in his eyes, making them seem to glow with a strange golden fire. His black hair fell in a disordered swath across his forehead, and his broad shoulders and long body cast an awe-inspiring shadow back across the room. Megan looked up at him with a combination of hope and fear, and the gnawing attraction that he always inspired in her.
“Hurry up. The water’s bound to be turning cold by now. You don’t want to catch a chill.” His concern for her well-being should have cheered her, but his words were uttered in such a detached voice that she ached inwardly. Any hope she had nurtured that he might find the sight of her, naked in her bath, softening, died a quick death.
“Did you hear me?” His voice was sharp as she stared at him without moving.
“Yes, Justin,” she answered docilely, and as she began to soap her arms and legs with the small, well-worn cake of soap he had unearthed from somewhere, he left the room again. Megan washed her face and body, glad that her pregnancy had not yet brought any outward changes to her firm breasts and flat belly. She meant to make use of her body tonight in a way that would never have occurred to her before Justin had revealed its secrets.
She was scrubbing her face when he came back into the room with his arms full of bedding. As she
splashed her face with water, she watched with some amazement as he systematically stripped the Queen Anne–style canopied bed in the center of the room and remade it with fresh sheets and blankets. It was such a homely act, and one that she would never have expected from the mighty Earl of Weston. In fact, she would have doubted that he knew how.
He finished the bed and turned back to look at her. She was regarding him wide-eyed, her face pink and shining from the scrubbing she had just given it and the ends of her long hair trailing in the bath. In her surprise at his adroit handling of the bed, she had completely forgotten her modesty and her lovely breasts were almost totally exposed to his gaze. The sight did not appear to afford him any pleasure. He frowned, picking up a large piece of toweling from where he had dropped it on the hearth earlier, and held it in both hands, spreading it open for her to walk into.
“Out,” he ordered briefly. Megan looked at him, felt her cheeks warm, and shook her head. She could not, blatantly, flaunt her nakedness before him. It was one thing to plan, but another to follow through in cold blood.
“Out,” he said again, and this time his tone brooked no disobeying. Swallowing, knowing her cheeks must be as red as apples, she stood up and stepped from the tub. Immediately he wrapped the piece of toweling around her, but in the split second before her body was decently covered she had seen his eyes moving over her flesh. But not with desire; Megan
thought she read evaluation in that hooded gaze, and her flush deepened as she surmised that he was looking for some outward sign of her expectant state.
As soon as she was wrapped in the toweling, his hands fell away from her. Megan knew a moment’s disappointment. She had anticipated that he would dry her. He had turned away from her to stare broodingly into the fire. Megan, watching him, saw tiny droplets of moisture clinging to the rough black waves of his hair, and to the broad shoulders of his claret-colored wool coat. He would be just as wet as she was, and yet he had taken no thought for himself. All his attention had been focused on getting her warm and dry. Despite his anger, he had lavished care on her, as he had always done. Looking at him as he stood staring into the fire, the flames painting his dark face an orangey-bronze and casting his tall, muscular body into sharp relief, she felt a wave of tenderness for him.
“Justin, you’re wet,” she said softly. Her hands had ceased their drying movements and she stood holding the overlapping part of the toweling together over her breasts. His eyes were hooded as he moved them down her slender body, which the damp toweling did more to emphasize than hide, before turning away again.
“I’ll survive,” he answered sparely, his attention once again focused on the crackling fire. “Your night gear is in the valise nearest you. Get it on, and get into bed. You can eat your supper there, then go to sleep.”
“What about you?”
His eyes flickered in her direction again.
“What about me?”
“Well, aren’t you going to undress, and have a bath, and come to bed? I’ll let you eat part of my supper.” She smiled coaxingly at him, her violet eyes alight with the love she felt for him. He stared back at her, his face stony.
“Trying to tempt me?” Megan had no trouble detecting the hostility in his tone. She realized that drastic measures were called for if she were to win him from his anger, and pushed all thoughts of modesty aside. She wanted, needed, his love, craved the warm affection he had always shown her. If she had to shed her maidenly scruples to get it back, she would, with scarcely a qualm.
“Yes,” she said softly, and moved toward him. Her hands were held out to him as she crossed to stand before him. Without her restraining grip, the toweling slipped to the floor, to be left behind. She was naked and lovely in the firelight, her long black hair rippling over her shoulders to her hips giving her body an innocent eroticism. Justin’s eyes moved over her flesh as if forced to do it; Megan rejoiced as she saw the tell-tale muscle beginning to jump in his cheek. He wanted her, and he wasn’t going to be able to deny it or her.
“More punishment, Megan?” His voice was very dry. Megan stood directly before him, her eyes glowing up into his, her flesh glowing too as the firelight played with it. She had expected that he would take her in his arms, but if he would not, then she would make the first move. Without answering, her hands
came up to caress his broad shoulders before sliding around his neck. Standing on tiptoe, she pressed herself against him, knowing that her behavior was shameless but wanting him too much to care.
“Hold me, Justin,” she whispered. He was rigid beneath her embrace, holding himself stiffly as she rubbed her body against his. Megan felt a flicker of unease as he made no move to do as she bade him. But then, finally, his arms came up, and she let out her breath on a little sigh. It was going to be all right.
But instead of embracing her, his hands were going behind his head to close about her wrists, holding them in a vise as he pulled them down. He held them captive against his chest, his expression bitter as he stared down at her while their locked hands forced a slight space between their bodies.
“Justin,” Megan protested piteously. She struggled to free her hands so that she could slide them back around his neck. He refused to release them, holding them with negligent strength against his chest.
“You really hate me, don’t you?” he asked almost conversationally. Only the leaping flames in his eyes told her that he was not as cool and in control as he sounded. “Well, my girl, if you think that I’m going to let you put me through a hundred kinds of hell with your little tricks, you can think again.”
“Justin, no!” she cried frantically as he released her hands and turned on his heel, striding from the room. He was gone before she could tell him how wrong he was. She didn’t hate him, how could he think it?
She loved him, and wanted him. Maybe she had been wrong to plan to marry Donald while she was carrying Justin’s child, but what other solution was there? Even now, loving Justin as she did, if Donald had appeared before her with a ring and a preacher she would have wed him. For her child. Justin was not thinking clearly, or he would realize that his child deserved better than to go through life bearing the stigma of bastard, just as she deserved better than to spend the rest of her days labeled whore. But if only she herself had been involved, she would have stayed with Justin happily, whether the world called her whore or no. Tomorrow she would have to spell her feelings out in words of one syllable, so that he would understand. Not that she cherished many illusions that he would let her return to Donald. She knew enough about the way his mind worked to realize that he considered her, and the child she carried, as his possessions. He would never willingly let them go. But if she could not persuade him to let her do what was best for their child, at least she could make him understand. She could not bear for him to go on thinking that she was bent on marrying Donald because she hated Justin, or because she wanted to punish him. She was simply thinking of the welfare of the child. Tomorrow she would tell him all this, she promised herself as she pulled on her nightdress and climbed forlornly into the wide bed. Tomorrow she would make him understand.
But tomorrow he was gone.
CHAPTER
19
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and still Justin did not return to Windsmere. By the end of April, when she was nearly seven months along, Megan’s condition had grown very obvious. She bore her embarrassment as well as she could, thankful that Windsmere was so remote that she saw no one save the servants. Justin had left a letter instructing her to consider herself the mistress of Windsmere, and see to the hiring of servants and refurbishment of the household as she thought best. This kept her days occupied, and if at night her thoughts lingered achingly on Justin and an occasional bout of tears soaked her pillow, no one knew it save herself.
Two days after Justin had left, while Megan was still debating the wisdom of attempting to return to London despite his command that she stay at Windsmere for the duration of her confinement (she might actually have left, except that she had a sneaking suspicion that Justin had commissioned Pryor, who had remained behind, to forcibly restrain her from such an
act if necessary), an enormous war horse of a woman had appeared at the door, announcing that she had come to stay. She introduced herself as Janet Wibberley, said that she had been Justin’s old nurse, and said too that he had come himself to find her and dispatch her to look after Megan and the coming child. Megan was slightly comforted by this evidence of Justin’s concern for her well-being, but then she reflected that he was probably doing it more to ensure his child’s safe arrival than for her benefit, so the brief flare of warmth for him faded.
At first she did not know quite what to make of Janet, as the woman insisted on being called. She was nearly as tall and broad as Justin, with iron-gray hair that she wore in a severe bun at her nape, and dressed day in and day out in shapeless black dresses that looked like the very ultimate in mourning. The woman bullied her unmercifully, making her eat when she didn’t feel like eating and rest when she didn’t feel like resting, but Megan soon discovered that her heart was as kind as her manner was brusque, and she had quite a considerable knowledge of what was best for expectant females. She instituted a program of walks for Megan which she insisted be strictly adhered to regardless of the weather or the girl’s inclinations, telling her firmly that she would be glad of her strengthened muscles when it came time for her lying-in. She was also invaluable when it came to managing the household. Newly hired servants who might have been lax in their duties under Megan’s inexperienced eye
needed only a stern look from Janet to fall to work with a will.
By the time a month had passed, Megan had come to utterly rely on Janet, and had grown very fond of her. The woman gradually came to take the place of the mother she could barely remember. She never said anything to indicate that she was aware of any disgrace connected with the coming child, and indeed behaved as if Megan was Justin’s wife and the baby had been conceived in all honor. Megan was grateful for this, and grateful too that Janet made the necessary trips to the nearby town of Tenby. She didn’t think she could have borne being seen in public in such a state.
Justin had said in his letter that she was to do what she would with the house, and Megan took him at his word. After the place was thoroughly cleaned, she set about ordering new curtains and carpets, overseeing the repainting of rooms and the rearranging of furniture. Windsmere would never be a cozy family home, but at the end of three months’ time, it had a stately beauty that Megan grew to love. Every room bore a touch of her personality, and Megan considered the house her home. She refused to allow her thoughts to wonder if Justin would permit her to stay there after the birth of the child. It was, after all, one of his family estates and at some point in the future it was bound to prove an embarrassment to him to have his mistress and illegitimate child installed therein. She supposed, when she allowed herself to think about it, that he would in time buy a small house
near London for her and the baby. Or he might send her abroad, as she had some hazy idea that this was a common solution among men of Justin’s wealth and position for removing girls they had ruined. If only he would permit her to keep Janet, she would fall in with his wishes without demur. And, of course, she must be allowed to keep the baby, but she had no real fear that Justin would try to take it from her. Despite the disgust he had shown toward her, he was not a monster, and only a monster would try to separate mother and child. Besides, what would he do with it? The only thing that worried her was that he might confess the whole story to Alicia, and somehow browbeat or persuade her into taking the child and passing it off as their own. Just picturing cold, haughty Alicia mothering her child was enough to make Megan ill with fear, but she told herself that the possibility was so remote as to be unworthy of a second’s consideration. Justin would not do such a thing to her, and if he tried, she would flee to the ends of the earth to protect her baby.