Megan was humming tunelessly to herself as she came downstairs the next morning. The rain had stopped during the night, and the soft September sunlight matched her mood. She felt as if she’d been reborn, as if the person she’d been last night had been replaced by someone altogether different. Justin had come for her at last, making her feel as though he had some personal interest in her for the first time in all the years he had served as her guardian. It seemed as if she had spent her life in an ever-changing procession of schools. She had craved Justin’s attention; for the smallest sign that he cared about her. It hadn’t happened. Gradually, she had learned to resent and fear him. His word, it seemed, was law, and must be obeyed absolutely whether she liked it or not. Her letters to Justin, written dutifully once a week under the watchful eyes of her teachers, were answered just as dutifully by Charles Stanton. Her sole contact with Justin was for a few minutes perhaps twice a year. As a little girl, she had been sick to her stomach for days before one of Justin’s visits, hoping against hope that
this time,
this
time, he would unbend a little, perhaps smile at her with more than the bare civility that was all he ever showed her. Perhaps he might even take her out for a macaroon and an ice as all the other fathers did when they visited their daughters.
But it never happened, and Megan had finally brought herself to accept the fact that it never would. She had told herself rather fiercely that she should be grateful to him for troubling himself about her at all, when she had no real claim on him. The other girls, with smug schoolgirl superiority, assured her that, if Justin hadn’t made her his ward, she would be lucky to work for one of them as a maid. Megan had blackened more than one eye in defense of her background, and had, in consequence, been disciplined for her unladylike behavior. Over the years, she had built Justin up into a combination of ogre and savior, while still convincing herself that one day, when she was a grown-up lady, he would be proud of her and tell her so. Comforting herself with this fantasy, she nevertheless deeply resented her guardian’s neglect. It was this resentment, coupled with her natural high spirits, which was constantly getting her into so much trouble at school.
Then, when Justin stopped coming at all, her first deep hurt had turned to anger. She vowed to make him take notice of her, and had exerted every ounce of her considerable ingenuity toward achieving that end. Last night, when she had seen him glaring at her from the door of the blue salon, her feelings were a mixture
of triumph and apprehension. At last, she had succeeded in attracting his attention.
Anger had prompted her impulsive visit to his bedroom; when she discovered him in his bath, she had almost run away. Instead, she had squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and vowed to make him listen to her for once. His attitude of icy command was just what she had expected; she had hated him so much she could have killed him. But then, when her overwrought sensibilities had betrayed her, and she had burst into tears like some ninny, she had gotten the shock of her life. The inaccessible Justin had actually been kind! When he held her, sobbing on his lap, she had felt more warmth and security than she had ever known in her life. It seemed that he did care about her, after all, and that knowledge had turned her world around.
“Morning, Miss Megan,” Mrs. Donovan called placidly from the breakfast room, where she was setting a place at the table. Megan blinked once, brought back to the present with a start, then leapt gaily down the remaining three steps, careless of the wide skirt of her girlish white muslin dress that billowed upward as she moved. Smiling, she crossed the hall to join Mrs. Donovan.
“Isn’t his lordship up yet?” Megan asked with some disappointment. There was only one place setting on the long, polished oak table.
Mrs. Donovan awarded her a warm smile. “You can rest easy, my lamb. He’s eaten and been out this hour
and more. Likely we won’t see him again until dinner.”
“Oh.” Megan sat down at the table, feeling that the morning had fallen flat. She had looked forward to sitting down to breakfast with her guardian for the first time. But then she remembered that he had had no dinner the night before, and must have been fairly starving this morning. Of course he had hurried down to breakfast. A small smile curved her mouth as she remembered how loudly his stomach had growled.
“I don’t think you have to worry overmuch, lamb,” Mrs. Donovan told her. “His lordship don’t seem to be in a temper. Why, he told Tom—Donovan, that is—that he was prepared to forget all about last night, so that probably means that he won’t be too hard on you neither.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Mrs. Donovan,” Megan answered with a smile. Apparently last night’s unorthodox call on her guardian was going to be every bit as successful as she had hoped! And with that cheering reflection, she bestowed another smile on Mrs. Donovan and allowed herself to be helped to sausages and eggs.
Megan had just finished eating when she heard the front door open and the sound of booted feet on the wide-planked hallway. Justin was back. She dabbed at her lips with a napkin and hurried out to greet him. It was only as she reached the doorway that she recalled being held on Justin’s lap while she cried into his shoulder. For a moment she was overcome by shyness.
Justin was handing his gloves and hat to Donovan.
Megan had a few minutes to study him while he was still unaware of her presence. Her eyes ran over him from his booted heels to the rough black disorder of his hair. Wide-shouldered, lean-hipped, and hard-muscled, he towered over Donovan’s rounded figure. His face, turned partly away from her, was all rough-hewn planes and harsh angles, the skin bronzed and toughened by exposure to sun and wind. He was clean-shaven this morning, which allowed her to get a clearer look at a determined jaw and a straight, beautifully formed mouth. Why, he’s handsome, Megan thought with some surprise, doing her best to reconcile her new impression of her guardian with the cold haughty autocrat whose affection she had schemed to win for so long. Why had she never noticed the way he looked, in all the years she had known him? Then he turned to face her. The golden gleam of his eyes met hers head-on. Megan was dazzled by his sheer physical appeal. Although her experience with men was so slight as to be nonexistent, she realized that he was magnificent. She found herself blushing.
Justin, noting her confusion, cocked an eyebrow at her. “Good morning, Megan,” he said coolly, moving down the hall toward her. “I trust you slept well?”
There was nothing in this civil inquiry to cause her embarrassment, yet Megan felt her blush deepen. She could have kicked herself. What a fool he must think her, she thought despairingly. Last night she had behaved like a ninny pot, and this morning she was blushing like a schoolgirl.
“Yes, thank you, m-my lord,” she stammered, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. “And—and you?”
“Like the dead,” he answered good-humoredly, running speculative eyes over her face. Megan, thrown into hopeless confusion by his openly questioning gaze, looked helplessly at the floor. She had no idea what a charming picture she made in her childish high-waisted white frock, with its blue sash emphasizing her blossoming curves. She had left her hair loose this morning, catching the sides back with a ribbon, and the night-black cloud fell past her waist in back while a few wayward tendrils curled enticingly over her shoulders. The sooty length of her lashes veiled her eyes as she stared at the floor, and Justin felt a grin tug at the corners of his mouth as he divined the reason for her shy refusal to look at him. Of course she was remembering all that had passed between them the night before, and he was inordinately pleased that the memory had the power to make her blush. It appeared that she was not lost to all sense of maidenly modesty after all.
“However, I must confess that my rest was not entirely undisturbed.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Circumstances forced me to do a little pantry-raiding in the middle of the night. I live in terror that Mrs. Donovan will discover that the better part of her roast beef is missing, and instigate an inquiry into the identity of the culprit.”
As he had intended, this nonsense made her laugh
and look up at him. Her incredible violet eyes, now bright with amusement, were enchanting. Justin had to warn himself to be on guard against their spell. He stood in place of a father to this beautiful creature, and it was as a daughter that he must think of her.
“Have you had breakfast?” he asked abruptly. Megan’s eyes flickered at his sudden change of tone, and the smile died slowly on her lips. She nodded.
“Then you will please come with me to the library. I think we have a few things to discuss.”
He moved off down the hall without waiting for an answer. Megan trailed behind him, bewildered at his quick change of mood. One moment he was charming, smiling at her, teasing her, and the next, for no apparent reason that she could see, he was coolly formal.
Justin opened the door to the library and then stood aside so that Megan could go in first. He closed the door behind them, then crossed to sit behind an ancient mahogany desk that had dominated the room for generations. He motioned Megan into a leather chair facing him.
Justin leaned back in his own chair, surveying her across the width of the desk. She looked up, meeting his eyes, her own unconsciously appealing. Justin experienced a sensation that he didn’t care to define; not for the first time, he wished that he had let Stanton undertake this mission.
“I see no need to rake over the matters we discussed last night,” he began at last, his eyes on the ornately
carved ceiling. “What I want to discuss is your future: I am fairly certain that I can get Miss Chevington to take you back—or, if you prefer, we can find another school that is more to your liking. I am sure that Stanton will be more than equal to the task.” A glimmer of a smile lit his eyes as he looked at her.
Megan felt as if he had kicked her in the stomach. Her eyes sought to engage his. “But I thought you said I would go to London and have a come-out!”
“And so you shall, my dear. When you turn eighteen. But in the meantime, I think it would be best if you returned to school. As I said, I am prepared to consider your wishes in the matter: You may choose whichever school you prefer, within reason.”
“No!” Megan sat abruptly upright, her eyes catching fire.
Justin stared at her. “I beg your pardon?” he asked at last, with careful civility.
“I said, no!” Megan reiterated, looking militant.
“Perhaps you would care to elaborate on that statement?” Justin was keeping a careful hold on his own temper; defiance was something he hadn’t expected; it was beyond his experience. Usually, when he made a decision, his dictates were obeyed without question.
“I won’t go back to school!” The light of battle gleamed in her eyes. She felt betrayed. Last night she had thought that he understood at last, that he had recognized her loneliness and need. But it was now clear that he had merely been humoring her, getting through a difficult situation as easily as he could, all
the while meaning to banish her from his life as soon as he was able. The knowledge hurt unbearably; glaring at him, Megan fought the urge to cry.
“Do you have some other suggestion to put forward instead?” Justin congratulated himself on his control. His first impulse had been to roar out that she would do as he said and be done with it, but the memory of the woebegone little creature who had sobbed in his arms the night before stayed him. He was prepared to admit that perhaps he had neglected her in the past; that could be remedied in the future. But he was not prepared to put up with insolent disregard of his wishes.
“You could take me back to London with you!”
Justin thought of his bachelor existence in London, and slowly shook his head. It would not do. If Alicia were a proper wife to him, living in his house instead of taking herself off to stay with friends whenever he came up to town, then it might have been possible. But as it was…
“I’m sorry, but that’s not possible,” he said, looking at her steadily. Megan’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears; her mouth set mutinously.
“Admit it, you just don’t want me!” she cried, jumping up from her chair. “You’ve never wanted me! I thought last night that you were different—kind, even—that I might have misjudged you all these years! But I hadn’t! You’re cold and cruel and hateful!”
“Sit down!” Justin did not raise his voice, but it bit like a whip for all its civilized softness. Megan, used
to causing a furor when she allowed her Irish temper free rein, was stopped in mid-tirade.
“I have put up with quite a bit from you, my child.” He was speaking through his teeth; Megan found the effect strangely intimidating. “I am prepared to overlook your recent behavior—which has been that of a self-willed hoyden in need of a good paddling—but I will not tolerate insolence or disobedience. Is that perfectly understood?”
Megan had never allowed anyone to dominate her, and she was not about to start with her impossible guardian. She returned his look with a fiery one of her own, and lifted her chin in instinctive challenge.
“I won’t go back to school,” she said stubbornly. His eyes flashed; it was all Megan could do not to cower away from him.
“By God, you’ll do as I say!”
“I
won’t
go back to school,” Megan said. Justin jumped up from his chair and was around the desk before she could move. His hands bit into the tender flesh of her upper arms as he jerked her from her chair. Megan gave a cry of pain and alarm, but he ignored it, his hands continuing to grip her cruelly. He glared down at her but her eyes continued to defy him.
“You’re hurting me,” she said in a cold, clear voice, then winced as his grip tightened. He looked furious, angry enough to enjoy causing her pain. Megan felt a little stab of fear. After all, there was really nothing to prevent him from beating her, or punishing her in any way he wished.
“I’m sorry,” he said stiffly after a moment. His hands eased away from her, dropping to his sides. Megan realized, with an exquisite sensation of relief, that however much he might threaten, he was not a man who would use physical violence against a woman. With that realization came a sudden sense of power. He would not beat her, or harm her in any way, she was almost sure. And in any contest of wills, she was his equal!