Karen Robards - Forbidden Love

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.

It was a long time later before Megan's tears subsided, and she lay resting against his chest. She felt oddly healed.

"Justin," she said presently, pulling back a little so that she could look up at him. One arm stayed around her waist, but the other went to the pocket of his coat, from which he extracted a snowy handkerchief He used it to tenderly wipe the tears from her cheeks. Then he held it to her small nose.

"Blow," he instructed the beginnings of humor quirking about his mouth. Megan did as he told her; grimacing, he folded the handkerchief, and pocketed it.

"Now," he said. "You were saying?"

Megan smiled at him. Her lips were tremulous, but her eyes were at peace.

"I love you very much," she told him clearly.

He looked down at her for a long moment, his mouth straight and firm in his dark face. The look in his eyes made her want to cry again; it also made her want to laugh and sing and shout with joy.

"I love you, too," he said at last, his voice low. Touched to the heart, Megan reached up to lay a gentle hand against his cheek. He turned his head so that his lips burned into her palm.

"Let's go home, darling," she whispered lovingly. His arm was warm about her waist as she led him from the graveyard.

It was fifteen months later, and a gentle September rain was washing the second floor windows at Brant Hall. Megan was leaving the nursery, where she had just finished feeding her three-month-old daughter, Alexandra Justine. At Megan's insistence, the little girl had been named for both Justin and his mother. But if she had known that Justin would persist in calling the child Alex despite her protestations, she would have chosen something less prone to corruption. Megan had a strong suspicion that their daughter would object to being stuck with a boy's nickname when she had grown up sufficiently to recognize the difference, but by then it might well be too late. Even Janet had taken to calling the baby Missy Alex. And nicknames of that sort tended to stick.

Megan walked into the bedroom she shared with Justin, intent on washing her face and brushing her hair before going downstairs again to consult with Cook about dinner. Brant Hall was Justin's ancestral home, a beautiful estate in the middle of Worcestershire where Justin had grown up, and his wife Megan was very much the mistress of it. She had learned to be a capable, assured housekeeper, and her days were taken up with the hundred and one myriad tasks involved in running a house of such size. Deciding on a dinner menu was just another of those daily chores.

She had gotten halfway across the room before she registered the pungent odor of a cheroot drifting lazily through the air. Her hand flew to her throat in an instinctive reaction as she whirled. Justin was sitting in a chair beneath the window, his feet propped lazily on a small table, and smoke from the cheroot that dangled negligently from his fingers swirled about his head.

"You scared me to death," she gasped.

His eyes moved over her with casual possessiveness, taking note of the lovely picture she made. She was a woman now, not a girl, and a dazzlingly beautiful one. The simple chignon into which she had twisted the silken mass of her hair suited her, lending a sweet maturity to the porcelain-perfect features. Her breasts and hips had blossomed to a womanly fullness, while her waist retained its girlish slenderness. He felt a stabbing ache in the region of his groin, and his mouth twisted in a wry smile. The effect she consistently had on him never ceased to amaze him, and it seemed like years since he had been able to make love to her as he was dying to do.

During the last two months of her pregnancy, the doctor had advised him to abstain, and since the baby's birth he had been too fearful of hurting her to even suggest it. It was almost funny that he, who had never rated celibacy as worth any more than a passing sneer, should have been celibate for nearly half a year and made no attempt to do anything about it. He could have gone up to London and eased himself with any of the all too willing ladies there, or even tumbled a local maid as many a man in his position would have done. But he wanted no woman but his wife, which was the best justification for marital faithfulness he knew. She had cast a spell over him, his violet-eyed little witch, and she still held him hopelessly in her thrall. He was ruined for all other women, and the knowledge both piqued and amused him. But he knew that he would remain celibate until Megan was able to become uncelibate with him.

"Sorry," he replied to her accusing look with a glinting grin. Megan came to stand beside him, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his mouth. He caught her hand in his, and drew her down to his knees. She allowed him to pull her down willingly, resting comfortably back against his chest.

"What are you doing home at this time of day, anyway?" she asked, smiling up at him as he took a quick puff on his cheroot He had become vitally interested in agriculture, and spent most of his days supervising the care of various experimental crops that he had planted throughout the estate.

"It's raining, my love, in case it has somehow escaped your attention," Justin pointed out, his hand fondling her waist without his even being conscious that it did so. "Surely you wouldn't want me to get wet?"

"A little rain never brought you home before,"

Megan pointed out, her finger tracing idle circles up his shirt front. He had removed his coat and neck cloth, and was dressed only in a plain white cambric shirt, buff pantaloons, and boots. Her teasing finger reached the open collar of his shirt, sliding beneath it to twist little curls in the fine mat of hair just below his throat.

Justin grinned a little lopsidedly. "Maybe I just thought I'd check on my two beautiful girls."

Megan made a face at him. "Alexandra's taking a nap and I'm getting ready to decide what to have for dinner. Do you have any suggestions?"

Justin's eyes met hers, and he laughed. "None that you could serve up in the middle of the dining room table," he answered, leering at her.

Megan snuggled against him, feeling the sudden hardness of him beneath her thighs with a quick upsurge of excitement. He had been forbearing and patient for months, and she was more than grateful at the care he had taken of her. But now she was quite recovered from what had, admittedly, been a rather difficult birth and his body was warm and hard against hers.

"Justin?" she murmured, her fingers toying with the top button of his shirt.

"Ummm?"

"Aren't you going to kiss me hello?"

He looked down at her curled up on his lap. "I don't think so," he replied after a moment.

But he made no move to stop her as she slowly freed one button from its hole, and then another.

"Why not?" she sounded disappointed, but her eyes were smiling as they met his.

"Because right now I'm not in just the right mood for kisses."