Karen Robards - Forbidden Love

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!

"Nevertheless, you will obey me," he added grimly, daring her to contradict him.

She could smell the faint scent of horses and cigars and what she vaguely recognized as pure man smell that emanated from him. The mixture was oddly pleasant, and soothing to the nerves, if she had been of a mind to be soothed. But she was not. She glared at him, her head tilted back. He loomed over her, far taller and bigger than she, but she refused to allow his physical size to intimidate her.

"If you make me go back to school, I'll only run away again," she warned him truculently.

He muttered an oath, and he gripped her arms again, crushing the puffed muslin sleeves but not really hurting. He gave her a slight shake. Megan met his black frown unflinchingly.

"You run away again, my girl, and I really will paddle you," he promised. From the set of his jaw, Megan knew that he meant what he said. The sheer hopelessness of her position infuriated her; her eyes glittered with all the reckless fury of her Irish ancestry.

"Why can't I come to London with you?" she demanded fiercely. "I'm too old for school! I'm not a child anymore. I'm a woman!"

His eyes, swiftly running the length of her, acknowledged the truth of that. She was a woman physically, at least. But her mind was that of a wayward child, determined to get her own way at any cost. And Justin knew he couldn't have that.

"I told you, it isn't possible," he answered, his voice harsh. "Next year, when you turn eighteen, will be time enough. In the meantime, you're going back to school. And that's all I intend to say on the subject!"

This autocratic pronouncement was like a match to the fuse of Megan's temper. "You can't make me!" she screamed, struggling against the hands that still gripped her.

He pulled her closer in an attempt to control her rebellion. For one brief moment Megan was conscious of the hard strength of his body against hers, the warmth of him, and the half painful, half-pleasurable sensation of his chest against the softness of her breasts. Then she jerked away from him, catching him by surprise; she was able to put perhaps a foot of space between them. Drawing back her foot, she kicked him squarely in the` shin.

The kick hurt her far more than it hurt him. He barely flinched while she felt like howling with pain. But it did serve to ignite his anger; she could see it blazing in his eyes.

"Why, you little…" he rasped, biting off the epithet.

Before Megan realized what he intended, he had swept her off her feet and was striding around the desk with her, sitting down and putting her across his knees. Megan fought like a wildcat, kicking and scratching with frantic strength, but he held her easily. Megan felt him lifting her skirt; she writhed furiously against the hard shelf of his knees, but there was no stopping him. He delivered three stinging slaps to her backside, which was protected from his blows only by her muslin pantalets, then stood up abruptly, setting her on her feet.

"Beast!" she cried, jerking free of his hold.

He merely looked at her, his eyes glinting in a way she found impossible to decipher. She saw that a deep red color had risen to stain his hard cheekbones, and put it down to his loss of temper.

"Get your things together," he ordered, turning away and striding across to the long window that overlooked the back lawn. It was as if he couldn't trust himself to keep his hands off her. "We'll be leaving right after luncheon."