But he could, and did, doubt hers for him. Since the baby’s death she had been deliberately avoiding him, blind to his pain, too caught up in her own grief
to give a thought to his. She winced at the thought of him suffering alone with his grief, believing that she held him responsible for what had happened, mourning their child and her, too. It was too late to turn back the clock, as she would have given anything to be able to do. She could not undo what had been done.
But she could go to him now.
CHAPTER
21
The rose parlor was lit only by a pair of candles that flickered feebly from their brass holders atop the mantel. The hearth below was dark; there was no need for a fire in June. The elegant looped curtains of deep rose brocade with silver fringe framed a settee covered in matching fabric. It was on this that Justin sat, his long legs with their booted feet sprawled out across the patterned Oriental carpet. His head rested tiredly back against the ornately carved wooden trim that edged the top of the settee. One arm curved to balance a glass on his thigh; the other dangled out of her sight over the edge of the settee. He was dressed in severe black pantaloons and a plain white shirt that was open at the throat. The shirt was sadly rumpled, as was the rough darkness of his hair. His face was turned slightly away from her, and his eyes were closed, the short thick eyelashes standing out starkly black against skin that had lost much of its healthy sun-bronze over the last few weeks. He did not hear her come in.
Charles did. He was seated opposite Justin in a
little silver chair, looking slightly out of place against its daintiness. He, too, was dressed only in a shirt and pantaloons, and he, too, held a glass in his hand. But his eyes were open, focusing on Justin with concern. As Megan pushed open the door and glided quietly into the room, his head swung round and he looked at her. A variety of expressions chased themselves across his face.
He got to his feet immediately, and would have said something except that Megan signaled him to remain silent with her finger against her lips. But her warning was useless. Justin heard Charles stand up, and his eyes opened inquiringly. When he saw the reason for Charles’ abrupt rise, saw Megan standing there with her blue-sprigged wrapper held close around her throat, his whole face tightened. Dark spots of color rose to burn tellingly in his cheekbones as he stared at her without speaking. Then his inbred courtesy came to the fore. He set his glass down on the low table in front of him, and rose to his feet.
“What are you doing out of bed at this hour?” Justin’s voice was harsh. Megan looked at him for a moment without speaking, her heart contracting as she noted how his clothes hung on his large frame, and how gaunt his face had become. He was still her handsome Justin, but he looked as if he had been ill. And Megan knew that he had been, and still was. He was suffering from the same illness that had held her in its thrall until his tormented words had broken its grip: heartsickness.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she answered him quietly, then
looked at Charles. “Charles, would you excuse us? I want to talk to Justin.”
“Certainly.” Charles set his glass down on the table, too, and began to move toward the door. His eyes rested fleetingly on Megan’s face as she watched Justin, and he looked satisfied at what he saw there. As he reached the door, he turned back for a moment. “Tell Megan what you’ve just been telling me,” he said to Justin, his voice low, and then he went out, pulling the door closed behind him.
Justin stared at the closed door, then shifted his eyes to Megan. His expression was guarded. He didn’t say anything, but stood rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, his hands jammed deep in his pockets. After a moment it became obvious that he had no intention of saying anything. If the chasm between them was ever to be bridged, Megan saw that she would have to be the one to bridge it. There was no place for pride in love, as she had painfully come to realize. And looking at Justin standing there for all the world like a small boy dreading further punishment, she knew that she loved him so much she ached with it.
“Won’t you please sit down? We have to talk.” She moved forward as she spoke, and seated herself in the chair Charles had just vacated. Its delicacy exactly suited her small frame.
Justin gave a harsh crack of laughter.
“I seem to remember saying the same thing myself not too long ago,” he muttered, making no move to sit down. A momentary shadow crossed Megan’s face
as she remembered when he had used those words to her: the night she had fallen over the cliff. He winced at the sudden pain in her face, and suddenly sat down again on the settee.
“Say whatever you have to say,” he said wearily, his eyes tired as he looked at her. “I deserve it, I know. I caused it all, right from the beginning. Nothing you can possibly say to me can be worse than the things I’ve been saying to myself.”
“Justin.” She wanted to fly to him, to put her arms around him and never let him go. He looked so alone. But she sensed that he was not yet ready to accept her love. There were a few points that had to be cleared up between them. “You are no more to blame for anything that happened than I am. Do you really think you seduced me, darling? If you did, let me tell you that there was never anyone more willing to be seduced. I used to lie awake at night, imagining what it would be like between us. And I never even got close: The reality was so much better. The memory of our first night together is something I’ll treasure all my life. You made it so wonderful for me, Justin! Do you think I don’t know that it wouldn’t have been like that with anyone else? When Lord Ivor kissed me—and Donald—” Something flashed warningly for a moment in Justin’s eyes at these recollections, but Megan resolutely went on; they had to have complete honesty between them now. “They made my skin crawl, Justin. You were the only one I ever wanted.”
“You were going to marry Winspear. You told me you loved him.”
Megan leaned forward in her eagerness to convince him.
“I only told you that because I thought it was the only way you’d let me marry him. And I wanted to marry him because of the baby. I loved our baby so much, Justin. I didn’t want it to have to be ashamed all its life, to grow up with the stigma of illegitimacy hanging over its head. It never even occurred to me that you might be able to marry me in time; it seemed like Donald was the only alternative I had. But even before you came back, I was glad that you hadn’t let me marry Donald. I realized almost as soon as you left me at Windsmere that I would have been miserable with him—without you.”
“Do you mean that?” His voice was very low, but his eyes began to gleam with what looked like hope as they met hers steadily.
“I swear it, Justin. I only wanted you. I still want you.”
“I never said I’m sorry I hit you. I could have cut off my hand as soon as I’d done it; I will cut off my hand before I’ll ever do it again. I’d rather slit my own throat than hurt so much as a hair on your head.” The words were a whisper, and Megan had to strain to hear them. But they were well worth straining for. She smiled at him, her mouth tremulous, her eyes misty with sudden tears.
“Darling… ” she began, but he interrupted her, talking fast, his voice husky.
“When—you lost the baby—I wanted to die. I caused it, and I knew you’d hate me for it. And when I thought of you hating me, I wanted to die.”
“Darling… ” This time she went to him, not caring whether he was ready for her or not. She bent over him, putting her arms around his broad shoulders, holding him tightly. He stiffened, and then his arms came around her waist, pulling her arms down onto his lap. He burrowed his head into the soft curve between her neck and shoulder. An enormous lump rose in her throat as she stroked his thick hair.
“Please don’t hate me for it,” he muttered against her skin. “I know I deserve it, but please don’t hate me.”
“Justin.” Megan had difficulty getting the words out past the lump in her throat, but she knew she had to. She had to do what she could to mitigate the awful burden of guilt he carried. “Justin, darling, listen to me. The way the baby died—you mustn’t blame yourself. You shouldn’t have slapped me, and I shouldn’t have run from you, but even if neither of us had done those things, we might still have lost him. Janet told me that there was no telling how long the cord had been around his neck. It could have been that way for weeks, and there was no guarantee that it would have been any different whenever I’d given birth. Even if I’d carried the baby the full nine months, Justin, he still could have died the same way. Do you hear what I’m telling you? It wasn’t your fault
any more than it was mine: We must simply accept it as the will of God, and go on from there.”
“I don’t deserve you,” he said thickly, lifting his head so that he could look into her face. Megan felt tears brim her eyes as she saw the suspicious brightness of his. With an unsteady finger she touched the single moist path that traversed the lean darkness of his cheek.
“Maybe not,” she said with a husky little sound that was part sob, part laugh. “But you’ve got me. Forever, if you want me.”
“If I want you… ” His voice broke, and he pulled her tightly against him, pillowing her head on his shoulder and holding her as if he would never let her go. “Oh, God, if I want you . . !”
And as he cradled her on his lap his muttered words gave her to understand that he wanted her very much indeed.
CHAPTER
22
Sometime during the night Justin picked her up and carried her up to his bed. He undressed, then came to join her in the soft warm darkness, his arms going around her to draw her close against his side.
“Go to sleep,” he muttered, pressing his lips against the silky moistness of her forehead. Megan, already drowsy, feeling as if she’d come home at last after a long journey, did.
When she awoke it was broad daylight, and Justin was gone. Megan blinked bewilderedly for a moment, wondering if she had dreamt the events of the night. The very fact that she was in Justin’s room, in his bed, convinced her that she had not. They had reconciled during the night, and he had left her in the morning. Staring down at the pillow next to her own, tracing the shape of the indention made in it by his beloved head, she had a sudden inkling of where he might have gone. Justin had been suffering the tortures of the damned for weeks. Intuitively she guessed that he had
gone to face a particular demon, and in the process try to come to terms with it.
She got out of bed hastily, grabbed her wrapper from the floor where Justin had dropped it, and hurried along the corridor to her rooms. As she approached she saw that Janet stood in the open doorway, a worried frown creasing her face. When she saw Megan coming toward her, her look of relief was almost comical.
“Did I worry you, Janet?” Megan asked contritely, approaching the door. Janet moved aside to let her enter the room, turning to watch her as she withdrew a dress from the wardrobe and then began to strip off her wrapper and nightdress.
“A little, my lady.” The wryness of Janet’s voice told Megan how very much of an understatement this was. Megan smiled at her, then registered that, for the first time since Justin had married her, it had not felt strange to hear herself addressed as “my lady.” With an inward grimace she guessed it was because she now felt she had earned the title. Last night she had become Justin’s wife in truth; oh, not in the legal sense, their marriage had yet to be consummated, as Megan just that moment realized, but in her heart and soul. He was no longer her guardian, the inaccessible Earl, or the experienced and charming man who had taught her the devastating pleasures of the flesh. He was simply Justin, the other half of herself: her husband, and her love.
“I’m sorry,” Megan answered, pulling a single white
petticoat over her head and then doing the same to a simple cambric daydress of palest lemon. No longer would she wear the dreary mourning that she had donned each day since the baby died; her life, and Justin’s, was starting anew. She meant to leave behind all reminders of the past. Janet came to help her, twitching the dress into place and fastening the hooks at the back while Megan fidgeted impatiently.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Janet asked quietly as she did up the last of the hooks. From her tone Megan knew that Janet somehow had divined a good part of what had taken place while she and most of the rest of the world had been sleeping. Megan turned to smile affectionately at her.
“No, thank you, Janet,” she said, and barely paused to splash her face with water and run a brush through the curling tangles of her hair before heading out the door.
Justin would have walked, she guessed, but she was in a hurry. She jogged impatiently from one foot to the other while Walter the stableboy harnessed a horse to the trap. She didn’t like to think of him facing his demon alone. Then the trap was ready and Megan was seated inside it, clucking to the bay horse who moved out in a brisk trot.
It was another beautiful summer day. The sky was a bright halcyon blue with fleecy white clouds scudding across its surface. A gentle, salt-tanged breeze blew in from the sea. The grass was green, and the road cutting through it was a light, sunbaked brown.
Small clouds of dust were churned up by the horse’s hooves, and by the wheels of the trap.
The small church with its attendant graveyard stood on the crest of a gentle hill. Megan slowed the horse to a walk as she approached, then stopped it altogether, dismounting and securing the reins to a post provided for that purpose. Her hunch had been correct, she could see. Justin stood, head bowed, over their son’s small grave.
Moving quietly, she opened the wrought-iron gate and passed through it, crossing the neat paths between the mounds until she stood behind him. Unlike herself, he still wore his mourning. The fine wool of his black coat was smooth across his broad shoulders, and his black pantaloons faithfully delineated every powerful muscle in his legs.
She said nothing, but came to stand beside him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. He opened his eyes then and looked at her steadily for a moment without speaking. Megan felt her love for him glowing like a lamp throughout her body. He must have read it in her eyes, because the tawny-gold depths of his own warmed as he looked down at her. Still wordlessly, his arm slid around her waist, and he pulled her toward him until she stood with her face pressed against his chest and her hands clutching the front of his coat. As he enfolded her in his strong arms next to the tiny mound that was all they had left of their son, for the first time since the child had died Megan was able to cry. Justin bent his head so that his face was pressed
against her hair, murmuring soft words of comfort and endearment as he rocked her back and forth as if she were a hurt child.