Man of My Dreams

by Johanna Lindsey

Megan, not waiting for Devlin to help her dismount, jumped to the ground with only a little difficulty. Timmy had seen to Sir Ambrose’s unsaddling, which was fortunate, for all she wanted to do was get to her room to lick her wounds. Trading insults with Devlin was a hopeless endeavor. He went for blood every time, and she didn’t have much more to lose.

  But she couldn’t resist a parting shot. “The next time you think to protect me from thieves, don’t. I’d rather meet up with a highwayman than put up with your brand of abuse.”

  “And here I thought you adored me,” Devlin replied sarcastically.

  “As much as I adore snakes,” she retorted and headed for the door. But her curiosity wouldn’t let her leave without knowing what had caused this latest verbal skirmish. She stopped to demand, “What the devil did you drag me off my horse for back there?”

  Devlin shrugged before dismounting and sending Caesar toward the back of the stable. “You set off like a house on fire. I thought your animal had been spooked.”

  “So you were saving me?”

  “Something like that.”

  He looked so embarrassed over that admission, she couldn’t help laughing. “I’ll believe that like I will it’s raining outside.”

  A crack of thunder chose that devil-damned moment to announce a storm coming in from the east. So it was that Megan’s laughter was short-lived, while Devlin’s followed her out the door.

  Chapter 20

  Devlin spent the remainder of the day ruining his section of the stable extension, much to his master carpenter’s disgust, and Mortimer’s undisguised amusement. But he couldn’t concentrate on the correspondence that Mr. Pike had sent, and that left him little else to do with his time except interfere in the enlargement he had instigated. But he’d started it to keep himself busy, he reminded himself, so it didn’t particularly matter if he was mucking up his own contribution to the project, as long as the project was doing as originally intended, which it was.

  At least in part it was. He still couldn’t turn off his thoughts. And as he’d found with the hay-pitching fiasco, monotonous activities let his mind drift down its own paths, and nearly all paths today led to Megan.

  He was feeling a tad guilty where she was concerned. Well, perhaps a whole lot guilty.

  So maybe she wasn’t as greedy and heartless as he’d first thought. So maybe he ought to apologize to her for the dirty trick he’d played on her at the Leightons’ ball. So maybe he ought to tell her who he really was. And have her hate him even more? There was no reason for her to know. He’d be gone from here soon enough. So would she, for that matter, to her London Season. Bloody hell, what was it about that that irritated the hell out of him?

  For that matter, what was it about the girl herself that brought out such defenses in him? Was he unwittingly doing what she accused him of, but in the reverse, deliberately causing animosity to keep himself from falling under the spell of her unusual beauty?

  How absurd. He was the Duke of Wrothston. He’d like to think he had a little more control over his actions than that. So he desired her. So what? He had only to recall all of her irritating qualities to know that he would not care to spend any more time with her than it would take to make love, for he had no doubt a’tall that once passion was expended, she’d drive him crazy—just as she was doing now.

  Still, the attraction was powerful and undeniable, so much so that he hadn’t given her a chance to use that devastating smile of hers on him at the Leightons’ ball. Good God, but she had been exquisite that night in her green ball gown, with her matching domino adding a touch of mystery. He had been hard pressed to concentrate on what he was there to do, when all he’d wanted to do was take her in his arms and kiss her. Damn Freddy for showing up and preventing him from getting at least one kiss before Megan either exploded in her righteous fury or slapped him.

  Just his luck that Freddy would have to be her next dance partner that night. Had they danced after he hastily left, or had she been too angry just then to dance with anyone? Freddy, of course, knew how to charm a lady out of a pique. And he had been known to set his scruples aside and seduce an innocent if she was pretty enough. Bloody hypocrite, to get so killing mad just because his lying little sister claimed she was carrying Devlin’s child.

  He recalled that god-awful day with crystal clarity. He had done no more than he usually did, stopping by Freddy’s town house to collect him on the way to their club for dinner. It was typical of Freddy never to be ready on time, so Devlin had drifted into the study to wait. But in had come Sabrina Richardson, all of eighteen now and determined to try out her charms on him, or so he’d thought when she started flirting outrageously.

  He had actually been amused. Freddy had been his closest friend for more than ten years, so he’d known Freddy’s little sister since she’d been a child in pigtails. She and her many cohorts had been terrible pranksters in those days who had played one-too-many so-called jokes on Devlin for her to have endeared herself to him. Quite the opposite; he could barely tolerate the chit.

  But he was a fair man. She was grown now, a young lady, a beautiful young lady at that. He gave her the benefit of the doubt in assuming she had to have outgrown the bad habits of her youth that had made him take pains to avoid her. In fact, he hadn’t seen her for the several years that she had attended finishing school.

  She was much changed since then, in appearance as well as in manner, demure instead of boisterously loud, flirtatious instead of rudely sticking her tongue out at him every chance she got. Her giggling was still the same, however. There wasn’t much hope on improving giggling once a girl started making that irritating sound.

  But that day she’d only giggled once, so he hadn’t been irritated too much. He’d been more interested in wondering what she was about with her flirting.

  Actually, when Sabrina was fourteen, she’d told him she was going to marry him. He’d snorted, not taking her declaration at all seriously, and told her he’d already be married by the time she was ready to be. And he should have been, would have been, if he hadn’t caught his fiancée making love with her coachman, in her coach no less, but that was another story.

  He didn’t think Sabrina even remembered that childish declaration. But that day in Freddy’s study, she slowly worked her way closer to him until, unexpectedly, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. It was a bloody attack, was what it was, but after he thought about it later, he realized that the whole thing must have been planned, that she’d only waited until she heard Freddy approaching down the hall to make her move.

  Freddy got an eyeful of the kissing part when he entered the room. Sabrina, to give her her due, appeared embarrassed to be “caught”—for all of five seconds. Then she recalled her scheme and burst into tears.

  Freddy, as much a sucker for tears as Devlin was, tried to reassure her that she was making a big to-do over nothing. What was a little kiss? He was only a little shocked, and that because of whom she’d been kissing.

  At which point she clarified the reason for her tears, wailing, “He won’t marry me!”

  To give Freddy his due, his reaction to that was the same as Devlin’s. “Well, why should he?” he asked reasonably, if quite dryly. “Young misses like you are not exactly to his taste.”

  “That’s what you think!” she countered. “I was his type enough for him to get me pregnant, but now I’m not his type to marry? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “Pregnant?” was about all Freddy could get out at that point.

  Devlin, on the other hand, was more vocal. “The devil I did. Is this the level your pranks have risen to, Sabrina? Because this joke is in very bad taste.”

  She actually looked him right in the eye to reply, “How can you say it’s a joke? You know it’s not. You seduced me. You let me think you would marry me. And now you won’t. Freddy, do something!”

  Freddy did. He leapt across the space separating them and plowed his fist into Devlin’s jaw. While Devlin was on th
e floor trying to recover from that, Freddy demanded furiously, “How could you? With my own sister!”

  “I’ve never laid a hand on the girl.”

  “You were just kissing her!”

  “She was doing the kissing, you ass, and obviously for your benefit. I don’t even like the girl.”

  “You liked her well enough to seduce her. Well, now you can bloody well marry her!”

  “The devil I will!”

  “The devil you won’t, or you’ll hear from my seconds! I ought to call you out anyway, just on principle, family honor and all that.”

  “Oh, good God,” Devlin said in exasperation. “The girl’s lying. If she’s pregnant at all, and I doubt even that, it’s not mine.”

  “Is that your final word on it?”

  At which point Devlin got angry enough to say, “Yes, by God, it is.”

  “Then expect my seconds. You leave me no alternative but to kill you.”

  Devlin would have laughed then, except Freddy was much too angry to appreciate the irony of his statement: they both knew he was a lousy shot, while Devlin was not. Devlin left instead, confident that Freddy would calm down, see the absurdity of Sabrina’s accusation, and come around to apologize.

  But Freddy didn’t cool off, not one little bit. Sabrina had no doubt given him more details to reinforce her tale, and, hot-tempered as he was, he did in fact send his seconds over the very next day. Devlin, not about to agree to meet his best friend on the dueling field, was not “at home” to receive them, and hied himself off to Sherring Cross to give Freddy more time to come to his senses. But the bloody seconds followed him even there, and when he again wouldn’t receive them, they managed to get in to see his grandmother instead, forcing Devlin to explain the whole ridiculous affair to her.

  The Dowager Duchess of Wrothston didn’t find it quite so ridiculous. “Well, you can’t shoot the boy,” she said in her no-nonsense way. “I’m rather fond of him myself.”

  “I know that, Duchy. But am I supposed to let it make the rounds that I’m a bloody coward who won’t meet him? It will, you know, if those damned seconds of his find out that I’m actually here.”

  “So you won’t be here. If you’ll recall, I suggested you take some time off after you jilted Marianne, but you insisted you weren’t broken up by the incident and saw no need to abandon your work just because she had abandoned faith with you.”

  “I still maintain—”

  “Beside the point, dear boy,” she cut in with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I happen to know she’s letting it go the rounds that she’s the injured party.”

  “I suppose she feels that a little thing like infidelity wasn’t grounds to cancel the wedding.”

  “Don’t care what she feels, she hasn’t exactly been silent on the subject. And you haven’t exactly been correcting the matter with the truth.”

  “And ruin her good name?”

  “She did that herself, which is neither here nor there. The point is, she will probably stop defaming your good name if you aren’t around to hear about it. And now with our dear Freddy hankering to put holes in your body, you no longer have an excuse to ignore my advice. The House of Lords can get along without you for a while. You, on the other hand, can’t get along with your head blown off. So you’re going to disappear, my boy. I insist upon it.”

  “I will not leave the country, Duchy, not for any reason. I’m not about to put up with seasickness again that feels like dying, just to avoid dying at Freddy’s hand. I’ll bloody well shoot him before I—”

  “No, you won’t, and no one suggested you leave the country. All you need is a place where no one knows you, a change in identity, and an occupation that won’t draw notice to you. Give me an hour or so to think about it.”

  But that evening over dinner, when Duchy had announced the destination she felt would serve perfectly for him, Devlin had laughed his head off. “I thought I was to disappear, not bury myself.”

  “It won’t hurt you to rusticate for a time. Do you good, actually, since you’re due for a rest.”

  “A matter of opinion, that.”

  “So we’re going by mine, not yours,” she replied. “And it will only be for a few months. By then Marianne will have—hopefully—got over her grudge against you, and Freddy will have married off his sister—or found out that she was lying, not just about you, but also about carrying a child, which would be my guess.”

  “But a stableboy, Duchy?”

  “When’s the last time you actually noticed one?” she countered. “They’re almost invisible, they’re so taken for granted.”

  Devlin had gone along with everything but the occupation. Mucking out stables was just too much for his dignity to stomach for the sake of friendship. But he did allow that he wouldn’t mind working with horses, as long as it was in a position of some authority.

  Never could he have imagined, however, that his sojourn in the country would lead to such frustration and aggravation that had nothing to do with his being there. But then he never could have imagined a girl quite like Megan, either.

  Chapter 21

  Devlin had put Megan in the most horrid mood for the rest of the day. She hadn’t enjoyed her morning ride, which she had so been looking forward to. She hadn’t given back as good as she got in their verbal battle. She hadn’t even been kissed. No doubt about it, that round went to Devlin hands down.

  So you did want him to kiss you?

  What do you think?

  Then why’d you put up such a fuss about it?

  If he’s going to do it, I don’t want to provoke him into doing it.

  What do you think the first time was all about?

  That was different. I didn’t know I was provoking him then. But if I had screamed this morning, after he’d already told me what would happen, that would’ve been asking for it, wouldn’t it? And I certainly don’t want him to know I want him to kiss me.

  I don’t see why not. That would be the quickest way to have it happen.

  When the man probably stays up late at night thinking of new ways to insult me? I can just imagine what he’d do with the knowledge that I might want his kisses.

  Not “might.” You said you did.

  Well, I’m starting to rethink the matter.

  As usual lately, Megan’s discussions with her conscience were more annoying than helpful. Ever since her curiosity had been aroused by Devlin and his sexual innuendos, her common sense started losing the battle. Now, her supposed-to-be cautious inner voice was being anything but cautious, and her curiosity was thrilled that she was going to let it have its way—at least in part.

  She did want to experience again the pleasant feeling that had occurred while kissing Devlin, that and a whole lot more. The “more” was wrapped in vagueness, unknown, yet she was nothing if not daring—some of the time. Of course, common sense had not lost the battle completely. She knew where the kind of kissing she was contemplating could lead to. To lovemaking and the ruination of a girl. It was exasperating to know the beginning and the end of a thing, but nothing at all about the middle, and not that much, to tell the truth, about the end either. Still, she would have to place limits on what she was willing to learn from Devlin. Actually, she would have to stop him before she learned too much.

  I think they have a name for that, and it’s not a very nice name.

  If they do, I don’t know what it is.

  You do; you’re just ashamed to admit it.

  Don’t start changing your tune at this late date.

  I’m not, but you’re not exactly taking Devlin’s feelings into account. You ought to be willing to explore every avenue that he has a mind to lead you down. Instead you’re already deciding at what point to call a halt to it.

  That’s because I’m waiting until I’m married to be that adventurous, and that’s final.

  Megan was in that same divided state of mind when she went out to the stable that night. One part of her was still having second thoughts abou
t the wisdom of having Devlin teach her more about kissing—and other things—while the other part was looking forward to it with much too much eagerness. The first part had dragged her feet, waiting until it was late enough that Devlin just might have locked the stable by now and gone to bed, thereby putting an end to her plan—at least for today. The other part was rushing now, hoping she wasn’t too late. Neither part expected to see Devlin ride out of the stable on Caesar as soon as she got there.

  Well, what the devil, she thought, staring after him because he hadn’t stopped, apparently preoccupied enough not to have even noticed her. After the battle she’d had with her conscience just to get her there, it was utterly deflating for Megan to see her quarry disappear into the night. And where could he be going this late, anyway?

  A number of answers came immediately to mind. He had an assignation with another woman. Megan had finally annoyed him enough so that he was sneaking off to find employment elsewhere. He was the highwayman on his way to rob more unsuspecting late-night travelers.

  Megan pounced on the third answer simply because the first two didn’t suit her a’tall. And it made sense. There really hadn’t been any robberies until he’d arrived in the area. The hour was ideal right now for such illicit purposes. And for once he wasn’t wearing one of those finely made white shirts that he favored and could ill afford—except through illicit means, obviously. And that white shirt could easily be seen at night. His present dark attire could not.

  It took her only a few seconds to decide to go after him, a few more to realize that if she was going to catch up with him, she wouldn’t have time to saddle Sir Ambrose. The thought of riding bareback was daunting and almost kept her there to confront Devlin when he returned instead. Of course, when he returned, there might not be any evidence of his criminal activities to confront him with, since he could and most likely would hide it elsewhere before returning. And that decided her, since she would very much like to have something like this to hold over that man’s head. The thought of it was too tempting by half. She could demand anything of him, put him in his place, make him squirm, make him end his insults.