Island Flame

by ROBARDS, KAREN

  “May I ask what you think you’re doing in here?” His voice, now that he had recovered the use of it, was positively arctic. Megan eyed him in a calculating manner, no longer put out by his nakedness. She was beginning to perceive that she had gained an unlooked-for advantage by bursting in on him in such an unconventional way. He was clearly off-balance, and Megan suspected that it wasn’t a condition that afflicted him often.

  “I told you, I wanted to talk to you,” she replied with an insouciance that was far from feeling, and sat herself down on the corner of his bed as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Deliberately she let her eyes run over him, surprised at such muscular breadth of shoulders and smooth, bronzed skin in someone she had long considered an old man. He looked ridiculous sitting all scrunched up in that tiny tub, his face beet-red under the two days’ growth of stubbly black beard. His eyes, a curious tawny gold color, regarded her with sheer amazement; then the look became a frown.

  “You will please me by taking yourself out of this chamber, and waiting for me in the library, as I originally instructed!” The iciness of his tone was at variance with the glint in his eyes. Megan looked at him meditatively, deciding that strong men must tremble and scurry to do his bidding when he spoke to them like that. Well, her guardian had yet to learn that she was made of sterner stuff. She had embarked on this mission, and she would see it through.

  “But I don’t particularly want to please you, my lord,” she remarked, her eyes unwavering as they met his fierce gaze. For a moment, he looked as if he couldn’t believe his ears, and then, as his hands tightened on the rim of the tub, she was half afraid that he meant to rise and enforce his order physically. But concern for her modesty won out, as she decided it would; his sense of propriety made him her prisoner as surely as if she had somehow managed to chain him hand and foot.

  “Do you realize, you impudent girl, just what you’re inviting by coming into a gentleman’s bedchamber like this?” he demanded.

  Megan considered him thoughtfully, her head cocked to one side like an inquisitive bird’s. He looked furious, and dangerous, and Megan supposed she should be frightened to death of him. After all, as her guardian, he stood in place of her father, and had absolute authority over her. Yet, she was not afraid.

  “Of course not, my lord. As a gently brought-up young lady, how should I?” she answered demurely, a dimple quivering roguishly in her cheek. Her answer surprised him, she could see; for just a minute, she thought she glimpsed the spark of humor in his eyes. Then his mouth tightened ominously, and she knew he was reminding himself that she was his ward and not just any young girl.

  “If I were you, Miss, I would take myself out of this chamber this very instant. I promise you, you’ll be very, very sorry if you don’t.”

  There was no mistaking the threat under the cloak of politeness. Megan tilted her chin at him. “Then I will just have to be sorry, won’t I? Because I am not leaving until I’ve said what I came in here to say.”

  “Say it, then, and be damned,” Justin snapped, clearly at the end of his patience. He glowered at her from the scant protection of the small tub. His knees rose above the water and Megan noticed that they were taut with muscle and covered with fine dark hair. His chest was covered with hair, too, in a wide V-shape that was much thicker and softer looking than the hair on his legs. The curling mat was every bit as dark as the hair on his head, which was just a shade less black than her own. But its texture was much coarser, and it waved rather than curled. At the moment, tiny droplets of water beaded it like diamonds.

  “Well?” he barked. Megan jumped guiltily, realizing that he was waiting for her to state her reason for being in his bedroom.

  “I won’t have you blaming Donovan and Mrs. Donovan and the others for what happened tonight. It was my fault entirely.” Her former belligerence had returned in full force as she recalled the purpose behind her unconventional behavior.

  “Oh, you won’t have me blaming the servants, eh?” he questioned sardonically. “You will forgive me, I’m sure, if I have forgotten the occasion where you were given to understand that I regarded your words as my law?”

  Megan glowered at him; then, remembering the fear she had seen in the faces of Mrs. Donovan and the others when she had left them in the kitchen, she determined to try another tack. She could not bear it if they were to lose their places because of their kindness to her. Where would they go?

  “I told Donovan that it was my birthday,” she confessed. “And asked if we could perhaps have a small celebration. I—I’ve never had a birthday party . . .”

  Although she didn’t know it, Megan’s voice took on a pathetic kind of dignity that touched Justin. He felt a stab of guilt as he remembered his punctilious birthday gift to her: a pair of pearl eardrops, if he remembered correctly, chosen by the excellent Stanton and posted to Megan at her school. All very correct and quite impersonal.

  Justin’s long silence and the frowning expression on his face made Megan swallow hard. Surely he would not vent his anger upon the servants, most of whom had been in his employ for years?

  “You mustn’t blame them!” she cried impetuously. His eyes came to lock with hers, and his mouth tightened.

  “One of the many things you apparently still have to learn, my girl, is that you never say ‘musn’t’ to me. I will do as I please, and you will do as I please. That is something I want perfectly understood.” The cutting words made Megan’s eyes flash. “The rest I will say to you later, in more suitable surroundings. Now, I am telling you to get the hell out of here!”

  Justin was beginning to lose control of his temper. The water was getting cold, his supper was getting cold; his sense of duty was under a severe strain. She appeared to find nothing particularly disturbing in his nakedness, concealed imperfectly by the soapy water. He had always thought, without really thinking much about it at all, that gently-reared young ladies were likely to faint away at their first sight of a naked man. Which led him to draw one of two unwelcome conclusions: either she was more familiar with the un-clothed male form than was proper, or she was a most unusual young lady. Either way, he could see nothing but trouble ahead.

  “You won’t even listen, will you?” she cried passionately. “You never listen! All you care about is giving orders!”

  And with that, to Justin’s horror, she flung herself across the bed, and burst into a torrent of tears.

  “Oh, for God’s sake . . . !” Justin muttered under his breath, looking at her recumbent form with exasperation. She continued to cry without restraint, her slight shoulders heaving with the force of her grief. Justin, cursing heartily, got out of the tub and pulled on his dressing gown without even bothering to dry himself. Then, ignoring the water that pooled on the floor, he crossed to the bed.

  “Megan,” he said, reaching out to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. “There’s no need for you to upset yourself. I have no intention of dismissing the servants.”

  She paid no heed to this remark, but continued to cry as if her heart was ready to break. Justin sighed again, feeling, against all reason, like some kind of monster. Hell, he hadn’t even laid a finger on the chit, and yet here he was feeling guilty as could be.

  “Megan,” he said, this time with more authority, “that’s enough. Stop crying.” And when she continued to sob he applied some slight pressure to her shoulder and rolled her over on to her back.

  “Let me alone!” she said fiercely, sitting up. “I’m not crying! I never cry!” Sobs punctuated her words, and tears hung like raindrops from the sooty fringe of her lashes and traced shining rivers down her pale cheeks. Those purple eyes looked like violets after a storm, all dewy and moist and glistening. Justin, watching the soft rose lips quiver pathetically, felt an unaccustomed pang of compassion.

  “I see,” he said gravely, tempted to smile but fighting the impulse heroically. Megan glared up at him as he towered over her; her eyes awash with tears that showed no sign of abating.

  “Don’t
you dare laugh at me!” She looked absurdly fierce, and Justin could not restrain a faint quiver of amusement. To his astonishment, her mouth contorted with rage, and she launched herself at him, hissing and clawing like an outraged kitten. Justin caught her wrists without any difficulty, holding her away from him so that her kicks and writhings did not the least damage.

  “Here, now,” he said with some surprise, amused by her furious struggle to break his hold. When at last she saw that it was impossible, she stood still, her slight wrists imprisoned in his hands, her head thrown back defiantly.

  “Let me go!” she raged, her eyes glittering. Justin stared at their deepening color with unconscious fascination. They were beautiful. “I hate you!” she added, and then there was a fresh outburst of sobbing.

  “Christ!” Justin shook his head, feeling routed before the battle had even begun. He wasn’t quite certain what had brought on this deluge, but it didn’t matter. Whatever its cause, he couldn’t stand it. His mouth twisting in a wry grimace, he scooped her up into his arms as if she were seven instead of seventeen and, holding her cradled against his chest, walked with her to one of the two big chairs set before the fire. He sat down with her on his lap, his hands moving comfortingly over her heaving back. Megan offered no resistance. After an initial stiffening when he had first picked her up, she seemed content to be in his arms, burying her face in the curve between his shoulder and neck and weeping unrestrainedly.

  “Hush now,” he murmured into her hair, his hands coming up to smooth the tumbled tresses. Her hair felt like silk. “It’s all right, I promise you.”

  Megan responded to his gentleness; her arms crept up to encircle his neck, and she clung to him. Her mouth was hot and wet against the skin of his neck as she sobbed. Justin, becoming uncomfortably aware that this was no child he held in his lap, nevertheless reminded himself that she no doubt regarded him as a sort of father, and it was in this capacity that he set himself to soothing her, ignoring the instinctive stirrings of his body. He murmured to her, petting and stroking her as if she were a ruffled kitten, until finally, her arms loosened their hold on his neck, and she lay quietly against him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said presently, sitting up and looking at him hesitantly. Justin found himself smiling at her. Somewhat to his surprise, he found that he was beginning to like her very much; he supposed, with an inward grimace, that he felt like an uncle with a favorite niece.

  “I truly never cry,” she continued, her lashes flickering down to hide her eyes. Justin noticed with interest that a deep pink blush was staining her cheeks. Then she added, with a chuckle, “Usually I don’t.” She peeped up at him through those absurdly long lashes.

  Justin’s smile widened. “That’s all right,” he told her blandly. “I was wet anyway.”

  This won him another chuckle, not quite so damp as the first.

  “You were, weren’t you? I’m sorry about ruining your bath.”

  “I’ll forgive you—this time. But don’t let it happen again.” A stern note entered his voice, but he was smiling.

  Megan smiled back. “No, I won’t,” she promised. “I really don’t make a habit of invading gentlemen’s bedchambers. I was just—upset.”

  “Then it’s to be hoped that you don’t get upset too often.” This was said in an extremely dry tone that made Megan laugh.

  “You’re really very nice,” she said, as if she had made a surprising discovery. “Not at all as I remember. You always seemed so—so distant. As if you didn’t like me very much!”

  Justin felt another pang of conscience. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.” His eyes were steady on hers. “I suppose the only excuse I can offer you is that I haven’t had much experience with children.”

  “I’m not a child,” Megan pointed out. Looking at the slender yet temptingly curved shape of her as she perched so trustingly on his knees, Justin was forced to agree.

  “No,” he said. “But you were.”

  “Well, since I’m not now, maybe we can wipe the slate clean and start all over again. I’ll try my best to behave like a proper young lady—Miss Chevington always said I could if I tried—if you don’t stay so—so far away all the time. After all, even though I know we’re not really related, you’re the only family I’ve got.”

  This last was said with such simple sincerity that it had the effect of making Justin feel like a villain. It also helped him to keep a tight rein on his baser instincts, which were reacting automatically to the girl’s undeniable loveliness. Her eyelids were red and swollen from crying; a few tears still sparkled in the sooty blackness of her lashes. Her little nose was faintly red at the tip, and her mouth had a soft, smudged look that he found very appealing. Her hair swirled around her face and upper body in a wild profusion of gleaming ebony curls, having escaped the last of its pins during her emotional outburst. Her blue dress, with its demure, school-girl neckline and long sleeves, was damp on one side from where she had lain against him. It clung to her breasts enticingly. They were surprisingly full for so young a girl, he noted, and beneath them her waist seemed incredibly tiny. He looked up again, to find her smiling at him. His breath caught a little, and his hands clenched convulsively over the padded arms of the chair. His first impulse had been to draw her close again. Clearly she had no idea of the dangers inherent in her present position. Quite obviously, she regarded him as an ancient but surprisingly kind protector. Which was what he was to her, of course. Still, he could not help thinking of all the women who had had cause to regard him very differently, and a wry smile twisted his lips.

  “Well?” she said impatiently, and he realized that she was waiting for him to reply to her proposal.

  “No more wild dancing. I’m sure you know that it’s not done for ladies to show their legs.”

  “Limbs,” Megan corrected, smiling mischievously. Justin smiled back, but continued his lecture in the same chiding tone.

  “No more joining up with gypsies, and no more running away from school—or anything else improper, which I may have overlooked for the moment. Agreed?”

  She gave him a dimpled smile. “Agreed,” she said, laughing a little. “I just did those things—well, most of them—because I wanted you to notice me. It’s not very nice, always being palmed off on someone’s secretary. Although I must say ‘that Charles has always been very kind to me.”

  “He’s fond of you, I think.”

  “Yes.” She was smiling. Justin leaned back in the chair, his expression indecipherable as he watched her. She was a bewitching little creature, quite apart from her physical beauty. Why had he not noticed it before? And then he realized, with a twinge of shame, that this was the first time he had ever really talked to her. Their previous meetings had all been conducted in the parlor of whatever school she happened to be attending, with either the headmistress or Stanton in attendance. Usually he had inquired about her progress at school, and if there was anything she required. Her replies were just as formal; always she ended up by thanking him, by telling him that she had everything she needed. Looking back, Justin could see that her eyes had, upon several occasions, beseeched him for something, but at the time he had simply been too preoccupied to notice.

  “I sincerely apologize, my dear,” he said quietly. Her eyes widened, and she looked at him with some surprise.

  “Whatever for?” she asked, wondering.

  “I haven’t been much of a guardian to you, have I?” His mouth curled with self-derision. “But I’ll make it up to you, I promise. When you turn eighteen, I’ll bring you up to London and give you the finest come-out a girl could wish for. You’ll go to lots of parties and learn to dance and flirt, and most likely break the hearts of all the young men.”

  Megan cocked her head at him. “Do you think so? It seems very unlikely—that I should break hearts, I mean.”

  Something flickered for a moment in Justin’s eyes. “I don’t think it’s unlikely at all,” he said a little abruptly, then shifted his legs beneat
h her slight weight. “And while we’re on the subject of things that are improper for a young lady to do, I think I should mention that sitting on a gentleman’s lap would definitely fall into that category.”

  Megan’s face flushed a deep rose; she appeared to be aware of her position for the first time. She slid off his knees at once and stood rather awkwardly by his chair, looking at her hands which she had clasped in front of her. She looked like the innocent schoolgirl she was. Justin felt a stab of irritation at himself. In his sudden need to get her off his lap, he hadn’t meant to embarrass her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a stifled voice. “I didn’t think . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Justin got to his feet and looked down at her bent head. The top of her head did not quite reach his shoulder. Suddenly, he felt very impatient with himself. Despite her maturing body, she was a child, after all, and he was the closest thing to a parent she possessed. He vowed to keep that fixed firmly in his mind. In his own defense, he supposed that it would take a while to become accustomed to the fact that he—he, Justin Brant, noted connoisseur of beautiful females—had so unexpectedly acquired yet another beautiful female as his ward.

  “I put you there, after all,” he said easily, tilting her chin with a careless hand and smiling into her upturned face. “So if anyone was improper, it was I.”

  After a moment, she smiled back at him. They were smiling rather foolishly at each other when Justin’s stomach interrupted with a loud rumble.

  “Oh, I’m keeping you from your dinner,” she said politely. “I’ll go.”

  Justin dropped his hand from her chin. He was conscious of an impulse to ask her to stay and share his supper, but the impropriety of her being alone with him in such intimate circumstances held him back. A young lady’s reputation was her most precious asset, and if it became known, even among the servants, that she had been alone with him in his bedroom—to say nothing of the fact that she had seen him in his bath—their relationship would inevitably become suspect.