Man of My Dreams

by Johanna Lindsey

  Megan continued readying Sir Ambrose for her ride. “No, I don’t.”

  There was a moment of silence before he said, “Even after I’ve stood naked in your sight?”

  She gasped, swinging around to glare at him. “I didn’t look!”

  “You wanted to.”

  She didn’t answer that, again going back to what she was doing. He chuckled at her silence and the blush that accompanied it.

  “I’m sorry I had to disturb you, but you can return to your bed now.”

  It was the stiffness in her tone which put the disgruntlement back in his. “Which is where you ought to be—in your own bed, that is. You’ve got no business riding out this early.”

  “When I ride is none of your business, Mr. Jefferys,” she pointed out.

  “It is when you wake me to do it.” And then he sighed. “If you’re going to insist on this foolishness, I’ll go with you.”

  That gave her pause and she glanced at him with raised brows. “Whatever for?”

  “There’s a highwayman working these parts, or has no one told you?”

  “I’m not carrying a purse.”

  He grinned at that bit of lopsided logic. “You don’t think he’d find something on you to take? I know I would.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that insinuation. “The hour might be early, but the sun will be up by the time I ride out of here.”

  “Just barely.”

  She ignored that. “If I were taking one of my midnight rides, I might worry, but not in—”

  “Midnight rides?” he cut in incredulously. “Good God, have you got no sense a’tall, to risk your neck like that, not to mention your bloody virtue?”

  Megan was determined not to lose her temper, so she said calmly, “This is a very quiet parish.”

  “Don’t I know it,” he replied in disgust.

  “It’s perfectly safe for me to ride at night when the mood takes me, or it was, before this highwayman chose our area for his robberies. But I haven’t ridden at night since he showed up, because, contrary to your belief, I’m not stupid—and why the devil am I explaining myself to you, anyway? You aren’t my keeper, Mr. Jefferys.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  Her eyes narrowed. Keeping her temper around this man was next to impossible. She didn’t know why she’d bothered to try.

  “For all I know,” she said scathingly, “you might be the highwayman. His arrival in this area does coincide with your own, after all.”

  “I was wondering when you’d get around to making that accusation.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?” He suddenly laughed. “Are you expecting me to deny it?”

  “If you’re innocent, then yes, of course I expect you to deny it.”

  “And if I were guilty, I’d also deny it, so what’s the point of my answering either way? Or were you hoping for a confession?”

  His amusement was infuriating her. “I was hoping you’d go away,” she bit out caustically. “Since you haven’t, I will, on my horse, and without you along to further annoy me. I do not need a keeper!”

  “Is that your final word on it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well, here’s mine,” he said, and his expression was now implacable. “I’ve decided not to give you a choice. A spoiled brat like you most definitely does need a keeper. So don’t leave this stable until I return with Caesar, Megan. If you do, I’ll ride after you, but you won’t like what will happen when I catch up, I promise you.”

  Since he’d glanced down at the area of her derriere as he made that promise, Megan was left with a clear understanding of what it was he was promising to do to her. The last time he’d made that particular threat, he’d managed to intimidate her. Not this time. This time her temper didn’t cool, it was brushed to full heat. In fact, she was so furious she was rendered speechless, so he managed to walk away without hearing what she thought of his “promise.”

  He was bluffing, of course. He was a servant. He might not act like one, but he was, and a servant wouldn’t dare lay an abusive hand on his employer’s daughter. She could have him arrested, for God’s sake, if he so much as tried to spank her. The very idea.

  Fortified with her bristling indignation, Megan made quick work of securing Sir Ambrose’s saddle and led her horse over to the mounting block. Angrily she mounted and gathered the reins, and angrily she walked Sir Ambrose out of the stable. But, cautiously, she went no farther than to the side of the doors, so she couldn’t be seen from inside. And a few minutes later when Devlin, on Caesar’s back, came tearing out of the stable to give chase, she let out a trill of laughter that brought him up short and nearly unseated him when Caesar objected to such an abrupt halting.

  Seeing that was much better than calling Devlin’s bluff. Indeed it was, and Megan rode off grinning, despite the fact that Devlin was swearing a blue streak at her back—or because of it.

  Chapter 19

  As much as Megan would have loved to let Sir Ambrose gallop across the high meadows, she suspected Devlin would make a race of it, and she didn’t care to have her beloved Sir Ambrose shown up by the magnificent Caesar. So, as the sun came up to brighten the dawn sky, she kept to a steady trot. At least, she did until Devlin would ride up beside her. Then she would shoot ahead or fall back, thereby making the point silently that she did not care for his company.

  Getting rid of him altogether was a hopeless endeavor, so she didn’t try. Besides, her mood was much improved after the trick she’d played on him. She still wanted to laugh each time she pictured Caesar rearing up and nearly unseating Devlin. Too bad he hadn’t. A humbling experience wouldn’t hurt that man one little bit.

  As for Devlin’s bluff, it could wait to be called the next time he made it—if there was a next time. Though there shouldn’t be. She was fed up with his attempts to intimidate her, after all, and she’d proved that nicely, if subtly, with the little trick she’d pulled on him. But then she sighed to herself. Who was she kidding? The man was too full of himself to take note of subtle messages.

  He’s also got something on his mind, Megan, or he wouldn’t be sticking to your tail now that the sun has come up.

  I’ve already figured that out for myself, thank you.

  But you also know what it is he’s going to mention. So get rid of him before he does.

  And just how am I to do that?

  No answer, but she did finally give it a try, riding through the meadow where Tiffany would meet her, hoping against hope that her friend would be there so she’d have an excuse to send Devlin back to the manor. But she had known Tiffany wouldn’t be there this early, probably wasn’t even out of bed yet, and she was right.

  At that point she headed home herself, and urged Sir Ambrose into a gallop after all. If Timmy had arrived by the time she got to the stable, she would simply turn Sir Ambrose over to him and run back to the manor—and Devlin could sit on his I-told-you-sos and choke some.

  He had something to say about the new pace she had set, however. He actually shouted something at her, though she couldn’t hear what—probably to stop. She didn’t, urging her mare to even greater speed instead. But that only set him after her at a tearing pace. And she had known there would be no contest if it came to racing. He overtook her in a matter of moments, and to her incredible surprise, she found herself being yanked off her horse and onto Devlin’s lap.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” he shouted at her as he brought Caesar under control, then stopped altogether.

  Megan didn’t answer for a moment. Her landing had been bone-jarring as well as breath-stealing, and she was still amazed that he had resorted to such a dangerous method to get her attention. Good God, he could have dropped her! She told him so.

  “You could have dropped me, you dolt!”

  “Not on your life, brat!” he replied just as heatedly. “Now answer me!”

  She finally glanced at him to see how really angry he was and decided to lie. “No.”
>
  “No, you won’t answer? Or no—”

  “No, I didn’t hear you.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Prove it,” she said unwisely.

  “By God!” he exploded. “If you aren’t the most obstinate, willful, spoiled-rotten, foolish—”

  She cut in resentfully, “As long as we’re washing dirty laundry, let’s wash some of yours. Arrogant, high-handed, insolent, rude, overbearing, insulting—has the wash water turned black yet?”

  It took about five seconds of a totally incredulous look on Devlin’s face before he burst out laughing. Megan, needless to say, did not appreciate his reaction.

  “That was not meant to amuse you—and put me down,” she demanded.

  “Too late for that. Your horse has gone on without you—or did you want to walk?”

  “Anything would be preferable to this proximity to you.”

  “Did I forget to mention stubborn?” he said, shaking his head.

  “You had it covered with obstinate,” she returned waspishly. “But I know I forgot insufferable. Now put me down, Jefferys.”

  “I don’t think I will.”

  “What?!”

  “Give over, Megan. It’s more than a mile back. Besides, you like riding Caesar.”

  “Not at the moment I don’t. Now, if you don’t do as I say this second, I’ll—I’ll—”

  He gave her a moment to finish her threat, but she couldn’t come up with anything impressive enough to make him obey her, so he prompted, “You’ll what? Scream, maybe?” And then he shook his head in what had to be mock regret. “Afraid it won’t avail you much out here. No, that’s not quite true. It’d probably annoy the hell out of me, and I would either kiss you to shut you up or…”

  He didn’t finish himself, leaving the rest to her imagination. And there was nothing wrong with Megan’s imagination. But it wasn’t the word “or” that decided her. That she was ready to call him on. It was the “kiss you” part that turned her to face forward.

  Coward.

  So what?

  You liked his kissing.

  Not that first kiss I didn’t.

  It was the second one that counted, or have you forgotten how enjoyable it was?

  That’s beside the point, and you know it. He’s a bloody horse breeder.

  A bloody handsome horse breeder who could teach you a thing or two if you’d let him. You ought to take advantage of his experience, at least in the matter of kissing. I can’t believe you’re passing up this opportunity. All you had to do was scream a little.

  Let’s not forget that he’d prefer to abuse my backside, so I’d as soon not tempt him either way—and where is Tiffany when I need her? You’re no help a’tall.

  Megan took her annoyance with herself out on Devlin, snapping, “Well, what are you waiting for, Jefferys? Take me home—or did you plan to stay out here and trade insults all morning?”

  Having said it, she was a bit embarrassed at how shrewish she sounded. But more to the point, she should have recalled that Devlin had never let her get away with such behavior without retaliating in kind. He did that now.

  “Someone ought to kiss your pants off, brat,” he said outrageously as he started Caesar off at a mere walk. “Didn’t your duke?”

  His sneering tone was infuriating, but the subject made her groan inwardly. And she almost defended St. James, because it had become automatic for her to do so. But she caught herself in time, for she wasn’t about to defend that wretched bounder anymore.

  She had known this was coming. The only thing that amazed her was that Devlin hadn’t mentioned the Duke of Wrothston sooner.

  She wondered if she could drop the subject with a simple “No, he didn’t.” She tried it. She should have known better.

  “Could it be you played the haughty little brat with him as you do with me?”

  Was that how Devlin really saw her? She had been rather curt to Ambrose St. James to begin with. What if he had merely been paying her back for that, as Devlin so frequently did? And what difference did it make? Pay-back or normal behavior on the duke’s part, either way she had been gravely insulted, which had ended her aspirations to be a duchess most effectively.

  To Devlin, she said, “What happened is none of your business.”

  “Isn’t it? After you shoved your duke down my throat? You didn’t even meet him, did you?”

  “I met him,” she bit out.

  “Then he wasn’t interested, was he? It’s no wonder, with that god-awful hair of yours.”

  Megan stiffened. “There’s nothing wrong with my hair, Devlin Jefferys!”

  “’Course there is. It’s red.”

  “I haven’t noticed that preventing you from desiring me,” she retorted.

  “I’m only an ignorant horse breeder, remember, so I don’t count. But did you really think a duke, who is constantly in the public eye, would marry a woman with the most unfashionable hair in creation? His friends would never let him live it down, brat.”

  She said nothing to that. She said nothing more at all. And her stiff back didn’t unbend even a little.

  After nearly five minutes of silence, Devlin finally asked hesitantly, “Have I hurt your feelings?”

  “Would it matter if you did?”

  “It might.” She merely snorted at that, so he added, “I wouldn’t care to make you cry, Megan.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “Nonsense. You were good and mad. What happened to change that? Good God, you aren’t really that sensitive about your bloody hair, are you? Or did your duke remark upon it, too? Is that why you’re so touchy on—”

  “I’m not touchy, and he didn’t remark upon my hair. Only you are ill-mannered enough to do that.”

  “Definitely touchy, and also incorrect. My manners are impeccable.”

  “Your manners are atrocious.”

  “I’m keeping my hands off you, aren’t I?” he replied in the most reasonable tone.

  “Does that imply you wouldn’t keep your hands to yourself if you were ill-mannered?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then let me point out all the times you haven’t been so impeccable.”

  “Don’t,” he warned her, “or this might be one of those times. Now about your duke—”

  “Good God, you’re not going to quit until you hear it, are you? All right, Devlin, Ambrose St. James was exactly what you said he was, and I hope I never see him again. Are you happy now?”

  “Never see him again?” he almost sputtered in his surprise. “Just because he was a bit of a bounder? What does that matter to you? It was the title you were after, not the man. And let’s not forget his stable. You’re bloody well in love with his stable.”

  Megan turned around again to stare at him incredulously. His tone had been chock-full with resentment, too, which made no sense.

  “The title would have been nice,” she said dispassionately. “But it wasn’t as important as you’re suggesting, not by any means. I intend to be in love with the man I marry, or at least extremely fond of him, and assured that love will grow from that.”

  “That isn’t the impression you gave,” he replied in a tone that was definitely accusatory.

  She shrugged unconcernedly. “Whatever impressions I give you, Jefferys, are usually provoked. At any rate, St. James won’t do. I’ve never met anyone as insulting as he was—aside from you.”

  His disgruntled expression prompted a grin, so Megan quickly turned back around so he wouldn’t see it. Damned man should have left well enough alone. She hoped he was choking on his I-told-you-sos.

  “So you don’t think you could love him?” he had the audacity to ask next.

  Why wouldn’t he leave the subject go? “Absolutely not,” she almost growled.

  “Then who have you set your cap for now?”

  “No one.”

  After a few silent moments he declared, “Bloody hell, you’re upset about it, aren’t you?”

  Mega
n’s eyes widened and she swung around again. “What, may I ask, has brought you to that conclusion?”

  “You had your hopes set on St. James. You even saw yourself married to him by year’s end. You can’t be pleased that you’re not getting what you wanted.”

  “Because I’m a spoiled brat?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why don’t you go to hell, Devlin, and stay out of my business on the way?”

  “And why don’t you admit that you were disappointed?” he shot back.

  “So you can gloat over it?”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Like hell you wouldn’t. What the devil do you think you’ve been doing? And I wasn’t disappointed. I might have been, but I was too furious to notice it.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Why?” she asked warily.

  He shrugged. “Can’t abide melancholy females. They’re always bursting into tears for no apparent reason. So you didn’t enjoy your ball a’tall?”

  “On the contrary, I had a wonderful time—aside from my brief encounter with St. James. I even received two new proposals of marriage.”

  “How many does that make now, or have you lost count?” he said derisively.

  “Quite a few, though I would have to think about it to come up with an exact figure, since I haven’t been counting. But it would seem that some men must find my hair attractive, wouldn’t it?”

  “It’s your little body they find attractive, brat, not your hair.”

  “Are you going to be crude again?”

  “Why not? It goes well with your bragging.”

  “So I’m a braggart now, too, when all I did was answer your bloody question?”

  “Why hasn’t your father done something about that foul mouth of yours?”

  “Because he’s not a hypocrite like you are. And if you say another word to me, I think I will scream.”

  He must have taken her at her word, for he was silent after that, and his increasing Caesar’s speed managed to bring them into the stable just a few minutes later. Sir Ambrose had returned on her own, but then Megan hadn’t doubted she would. The mare knew every inch of the surrounding neighborhood, but especially the way home.