Man of My Dreams

by Johanna Lindsey

  “Miss Penworthy, if it’s all the same to you,” the chap replied disdainfully on his way out.

  Devlin stared at the reins in his hands, wondering if he looked like a bloody stableboy. “Timmy!” he bellowed.

  So she was having callers, was she? That was nothing to him—except, what the devil was she doing receiving callers when she’d already decided to marry him—the duke? He had a good mind to go over to the manor and let that chap know that she was almost spoken for…at least, in her mind she was.

  He was standing at the entrance to the stable, staring up at her empty window when another man rode up. This one was older, heavyset, but decked out in his Sunday best, his hair slicked down with Macassar oil. Again Devlin got tossed the reins to the horse.

  “The squire ain’t here,” he heard himself saying quite churlishly.

  “Ain’t here to see the squire,” was the fellow’s amiable reply.

  “You still might want to come back another time. Miss Megan already has a caller.”

  “Not surprised,” the man said. “She usually does. But I come in handy. Had to break up a fight once between two of her more jealous suitors. Also had to toss Aldrich Little out when he started bawling after she turned him down. Made quite a spectacle of himself. Upset the poor girl for months.”

  “If you’re still calling, then you haven’t proposed to her yourself?”

  “’Course I have. But I’m not easily dissuaded. I come ’round once every month to ask her again. It could be just a matter of mood, don’t you know. Catch her at the right time and I might get lucky.”

  The fellow was too likable to dislike, but that didn’t mean Devlin liked the situation one little bit. A matter of mood? Was she playing them all along? Did she thrive on the attention?

  When he remembered that incredible, highly inflaming conversation he’d had with her at the pond this morning, he couldn’t help wondering if she wasn’t as provocative with all her suitors. Was even her innocence a ruse? I believe I’ll have more sense than to get myself in that condition, she’d said. No, only an innocent could say something that ridiculous. And to be honest, he’d had a devil goading him this morning, because he hadn’t affected her the way she had him. She’d merely enjoyed the ride, while he’d suffered acute discomfort from it. So maybe he had instigated the whole improper situation. After all, what other innocent young miss would he have stripped naked in front of, daring her to watch, hoping she would so he’d have an excuse to behave even more improperly?

  Good God, had he really done that? He was twenty-nine years old and he’d never in his life behaved so irresponsibly. What was it about that girl that made him forget a lifetime of good breeding and turn into the cad, the bounder, the seducer of innocents that he’d accused himself of being—and to which she’d defended him? Bloody hell, she had actually defended him! ’Course, she had to, didn’t she, after she’d claimed she was going to marry him? Matter of principle, that. Nothing personal. How could it be personal, anyway, when she didn’t even know him?

  “I say, are you there?”

  Devlin turned to find another man had come into the stable leading his horse, only this one he recognized as the blond gent who had been with Megan the day he arrived. “Toss me those reins and I may deck you.”

  Tyler was taken aback, but after a moment he said hesitantly, “Well, then, I suppose I’ll keep them. Woolgathering, were you?”

  “Was I?”

  “You seemed miles away when I came in.”

  “Not so far as that,” Devlin grumbled.

  He might have been preoccupied enough not to have noticed the gent’s arrival, but that didn’t account for his unreasonable anger. He actually still felt like decking the man; would jump on the first excuse to do so. This one Megan didn’t just entertain in her parlor, she went riding with him. And what else did she do with him, he’d like to know?

  “I suppose you’re here to see the squire’s daughter?”

  “I’d just as soon not. See much too much of the girl as it is.”

  Devlin took a step forward, unaware that his fingers had curled into fists. “Just what does that mean?”

  “She’s my chaperon.” When that remark got only a blank stare from Devlin, Tyler explained. “I’m marrying her best friend, Tiffany Roberts, so Megan accompanies us everywhere—to my great misfortune. But Tiffany’s father is old-fashioned and insisted, so what’s a chap to do? It was either Megan or Tiffany’s mother. Thought I was getting the better bargain, but I would have preferred the mother, believe me, if I’d known what a shrew Megan could be.”

  “You mean I’m not the only one she’s singled out for hostility?”

  Tyler chuckled. “You too? Well, don’t take it to heart. She put me through hell making me wonder what I’d done to offend her when I hadn’t done anything. Could have sworn she despised me. And now to find out it was all deliberate.” Tyler shook his head bemusedly.

  Devlin held his breath, waiting to hear the rest. “Deliberate?” he finally had to prompt.

  “Every bit of it, all the derision and contempt. That girl’s got a way of making a man feel about three inches tall. Couldn’t understand it, but Tiffany finally confessed that it’s a defense Megan uses to keep men from falling in love with her. And they do, you know. I’ve seen it happen again and again. For myself, she did it for Tiffany’s sake, though it wasn’t necessary and she’s finally figured that out and ended the hostilities. I’m amazed to say she’s actually a sweet girl. Damned if I was aware of it before, but she is.”

  Devlin was damned if he agreed. But he no longer felt like clobbering the man. He did wonder, however, why the fellow had volunteered such personal information.

  Tyler was suddenly wondering the same thing as he recalled the fact of just whom he’d been speaking to. The Penworthy horse breeder. And yet there was something about the man that made Tyler feel he was in the presence of an equal rather than a servant. Servants didn’t usually threaten a lord, after all, as this one had done the moment Tyler entered the stable. They didn’t usually wear fine lawn shirts of a better quality than his own, either. And for someone of the servant class, the fellow wasn’t all that respectful, was more in the way of condescending. Strange behavior, to say the least, but possibly accountable for Tyler’s nervous chatter.

  “The squire ain’t home, if he’s the one you’re here to see,” Devlin said.

  “Actually, I’ve come by to have a look at his new stallion.”

  “Caesar?” Devlin suddenly smiled, clapping Tyler on the back and leading him toward the rear of the stable. “You should have said so. He’s right back here.”

  “He’s a racer, isn’t he? Or he was?”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “I’ve been to the track a time or two, and that stallion seems damned familiar.”

  “St. James may have raced him a few times.”

  “The Duke of Wrothston? Good God, he’s that Caesar? But that horse is famous! Never defeated. How on earth did Penworthy end up with him?”

  “A favor owed, I believe.”

  “Then you used to work for St. James?”

  “You could say that.”

  Tyler decided that explained the man’s haughtiness. The more toplofty the lord, the more toplofty the servants.

  “Wasn’t aware the squire even knew the duke.” Devlin just shrugged, but Tyler didn’t notice as they came upon Caesar’s stall. He whistled in admiration. “Now that’s a horse worth stealing. I hope he’s well protected.”

  “I protect what’s—” Devlin had started to say “mine,” but amended it to “in my charge.”

  “Glad to hear it, because there just happens to be a thief newly come to the area.”

  “A horse thief?”

  Tyler shook his head. “Highwayman. Two coaches were robbed just the other night—” He broke off to stare curiously at Devlin. “The night you arrived, actually.”

  Devlin grinned. “Are you implying—”


  “Not at all, not at all,” Tyler quickly assured him. “It’s obviously no more than a coincidence. But speculation will be making the rounds, so you’re sure to hear about it again. It’s been years since we’ve had a highwayman in our parish, after all, so he’s guaranteed to be the topic at every tea and gathering for a while.”

  Later, Devlin discussed the possibility of horse thieves with Mortimer. At Sherring Cross it wasn’t a problem, since he employed nearly as many grooms as he had horses. But this was country, there were no grooms, and the squire’s stable left much to be desired in the way of security. Short of sleeping at Caesar’s feet, which he had no inclination to do, Devlin ordered a bolt installed on the stable doors. There was no point in taking chances with a thief in the area.

  Bloody hell, it wasn’t something he’d ever worried about before, not until Tyler Whately—the fellow had finally got around to introducing himself—had mentioned it. The rest of what Tyler had mentioned, about Megan at least, was worth a good laugh. Imagine that girl being deliberately offensive to keep a man from falling in love with her. She’d even accused him of the same thing—because she was familiar with the ploy? She had been antagonistic toward him from the very first. But he didn’t think for a moment that she was pretending with him. He’d been too temper-provoking himself for her hostility to be anything but real.

  Yet it made him wonder how she’d behave with a man she didn’t want to ward off. How, for instance, would she act with a man she’d set her cap for?

  Chapter 14

  “They say he has a terrible temper.”

  “Where did you hear all this gossip, Tiff?” Megan asked while staring across the ballroom at the man Tiffany had pointed out. “We only just arrived here today.”

  “Yes, but while you were resting this afternoon, Lady Leighton’s daughter was talking my ear off.”

  “But how do you know who is who?”

  “Because Jane dragged me into her bedroom, which overlooks the front of the house, and I swear she had something to say about every single arrival.”

  “But people are still arriving.”

  “I didn’t say I know something about everyone, just the early—”

  “Was he an early arrival?”

  “I’m sorry, Meg, but they’re not even sure he’s going to come.”

  Megan stopped her avid perusal of the crowd to give Tiffany her full attention. Even behind the domino mask she was wearing, her distress was obvious.

  “But he has to come!” Megan insisted with more hope than conviction. “The Times said he would, and who can you believe if you can’t believe the Times?”

  “I know, and he did accept the invitation, but…apparently your duke is somewhat absentminded when it comes to his social calendar. He’ll agree to go to one affair, then promptly forget about it. Then he’ll accept another invite for the same day and forget that, too—then accept another. Are you getting the picture?”

  “Too many places to go on any given day?”

  “Exactly. And so he won’t end up offending one hostess in favor of another, he usually just skips every affair and stays home.”

  “How would Jane know that?”

  “Because of all the times her mother has invited him, and they’ve lost count of how many, he’s only shown up twice. She says it’s also a joke in the ton, not to count on St. James to make an appearance unless no one else is counting on him to do the same.”

  “I don’t think I like the ton making jokes about my future husband,” Megan said.

  Tiffany noted the stiffness in that response and quickly said, “Did I say joke? Joke is definitely not the correct word I wanted. It’s simply a recognized fact, Meg, and one that even St. James acknowledges with good humor.”

  “Then he’s not coming,” Megan replied with acute disappointment.

  “Now, how do we know that? This is a pre-Season ball, after all. How many invitations can be floating around?”

  “It’s all right, Tiffany. You don’t have to bolster my spirits.”

  Tiffany was looking at a girl who might as well be at a funeral for all the joy in her expression. “Don’t I?” she said in exasperation. “You aren’t going to enjoy yourself now, are you?”

  “Sure I will.”

  “Damn it, you won’t. I know you. I’ll wager you’re already thinking up some excuse to retire, when we haven’t even made our appearance yet.”

  Which was perfectly true. They had come downstairs, but had gone straight to the gallery that overlooked the ballroom, to spend a few moments observing everyone below without being observed in return. But it was still early. The orchestra that had been hired for the evening, and which was situated in the center of the gallery, was just starting its second set. And the room below contained only half the people that would be there later.

  Megan smiled ruefully. “You do know me too well, don’t you? But I can’t help it. Tiff. The disappointment is crushing me.”

  “But why?” Tiffany asked, genuinely perplexed. “If you don’t meet him here, you’ll have another chance when you go to London for your Season.”

  “That’s just it,” Megan replied. “I was hoping to avoid that altogether.”

  “Avoid it?” Tiffany repeated incredulously. “You’d been looking forward to it!”

  “I’d been looking forward to finding my own Tyler, which we both agreed could only be done in London. I wasn’t looking forward to going to London, however.”

  “But why not?”

  “Let’s face it, Tiff, we’re country girls who aren’t the least bit sophisticated. I just know I’m going to make a fool of myself somehow. I’ve been so nervous about it and, well, I thought that since I’d made my choice, I wouldn’t have to go through with that. I would meet Ambrose here and he would then come to Devonshire to court me.”

  “Of all the unrealistic—where, I ask you, would a man of his consequence stay in our small parish? With our reigning hostess?”

  “He wouldn’t dare,” Megan said unreasonably.

  “But that would be the only logical place for him,” Tiffany said reasonably.

  “There’s the inn.”

  “You would put the Duke of Wrothston in Teadale’s tiny inn?”

  “He’s going to be in love,” Megan insisted. “He won’t care where he stays.”

  “Don’t count on it, Meg. He’s used to the very best accommodations. Are you forgetting he lives in a bloody mausoleum? He probably has a bedroom as big as that ballroom down there.”

  “Don’t exaggerate.”

  “Who’s exaggerating?”

  “You are. His bedroom is probably only half as big as the ballroom.”

  “Don’t skip the point, Meg. If he does follow you home, he won’t want to stay long at the inn, or in Devonshire, for that matter. You can’t expect him to suspend the business of his everyday life for a complete courtship. He’s got a dukedom to see to, after all. A week maybe, and that’s if he comes, and that’s not long enough—”

  “Sure it is.”

  “Megan! You can’t accept a proposal after only a week’s acquaintance!”

  “I can, too,” Megan replied stubbornly.

  “That would cause a bloody scandal, and you know it. Besides, he won’t be that impetuous. He might fall in love with you instantly. That’s a definite possibility. Tonight even. But he’ll still take the requisite amount of time to consider marriage. And that means that he’ll visit you every few weeks to continue the courtship, which is going to take a long time at that rate. Or you can go to London as planned, where he can see you more often and make up his mind the quicker. Either way, you end up going to London.”

  “Damn,” Megan said in disgust. “I’d actually convinced myself it was no longer necessary.”

  “What exactly has you so nervous?” Tiffany asked hesitantly.

  Megan sighed. “More treatment like I had from the Thackerays.”

  Tiffany frowned. “I should have known your misgivings were only recent.
You were excited about London before old hatchet-face gave you the snub. But that situation was unique, Meg. It’s not going to happen again.”

  Megan smiled bitterly. “You don’t think there will be mamas in London who won’t want me at the same parties their marriageable daughters attend?”

  “It won’t matter once it’s learned who’s courting you,” Tiffany said with complete confidence.

  “I don’t see what that will have to do with it,” Megan replied.

  “Don’t you? Mark my words, he’ll make sure you’re invited to every place he is, and he’s got the power and influence to open any door in London for you. You’ll end up invited to places that you wouldn’t have been otherwise.”

  “I don’t see why.”

  “Because your romance with the duke is bound to be the sensation of the Season, that’s why. Everyone who is anyone will want a hand in playing Cupid to further it along.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “That’s human nature and it stands to reason. You’re going to be the ton’s new darling, because you will have attracted the interest of their most eligible bachelor.”

  “If I ever get to meet him.”

  Tiffany grinned. “Don’t be so impatient. If he comes tonight, the romance begins or ends, depending on the impression he makes—and you’re not to forget your promise.”

  “I know, I know. Only if I think I can love him.”

  “Good. Now, on the other hand, if he doesn’t show up, then think of tonight as practice for all the balls you’ll have to attend later. This is our first, after all, or had you forgotten that in your preoccupation with Ambrose?”

  Megan laughed at the silly connotation Tiffany placed on the duke’s first name. “I know it’s a horrible name for a man, especially after we’re used to applying it to a horse. I’m stuck with it, however.”

  “He’s stuck with it. You can call him anything you like. ‘Your Grace’ for starters; ‘darling’ when the time’s right. Feeling better?”

  “Absolutely. Now, what were you saying about that fellow with the temper?”

  Chapter 15