Man of My Dreams

by Johanna Lindsey

  As soon as she realized that he was playing right into her hands because he thought he was teaching her a lesson but unbeknownst to him it was a lesson she wanted, Megan relaxed her stiffness and immediately experienced a swirl of giddy pleasure. He held her closer and the pleasure increased, as did her pulse, her breathing, and her sense of wonder. So nice, this contact with his body. Who would have thought? But this lesson wasn’t over. She decided she’d like it never to end.

  She thought he was finished when he stopped the kissing, but it was only to move his lips along her cheek to her ear. And there was another new sensation to savor, and goose bumps spreading down her back.

  “Teach me,” she said on a gasp as his lips started down her neck.

  “What?”

  “How to kiss.”

  Devlin groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder. “I don’t think I want you to know how.”

  Well, that was bloody unfair of him, she thought indignantly. “Why not?”

  “I’m having enough trouble as it is, controlling what you make me feel.”

  “Then let me go.”

  His head came up, his eyes fixing on hers with an intensity that made her shiver. “Not yet. This was a lesson in what can happen to girls who ride out alone at night, remember? I’m going to finish it if it kills me.”

  “I got the point.”

  “Not yet you haven’t.” And his hand came up to cup her breast.

  Megan sucked in her breath, never imagining that such a simple touch could evoke such a wealth of feeling. Of course, she knew he shouldn’t touch her there, that this was part of his lesson. But she also guessed that this was some of the “more” that she’d wanted to know about.

  He probably thought he was shocking her, or hoped he was, and she wouldn’t disabuse him of that notion or he might stop altogether. So she closed her eyes just in case he could see there what she was really feeling. But she wasn’t shocked, she was amazed that each movement of his gently kneading palm was sending sensations to other areas besides her breasts, which were already tingling beneath his caress.

  She was starting to get urges that she didn’t understand. She wanted his mouth back on hers. She wanted to touch him as he was her. She wanted him doing this because he wanted to, not because of a damn lesson he felt she deserved.

  And then his mouth was back, but with much more passion than before, and his hands gripped her hips to pull them in to his groin. She whimpered, half in startlement at the heat that shot into her own loins, and half in discomfort from the tight grip he had on her. But the sound took his hands away from her completely, and it took a moment for her to realize that she’d been released, lesson over.

  “Megan, I’m going to burn to a cinder in a moment,” he rasped out, and the man actually looked like he was in pain. “Get the hell out of here while you still can.”

  She didn’t want to. She wanted his arms back around her, his lips—but prudence and that “while you still can” let her common sense take over for the moment. Only she gave him one last look that was so full of yearning, it made him groan and reach for her again. Megan, startled out of her bemusement, ran like hell.

  Chapter 23

  Not until the next day, and only after careful examination, did Megan admit to herself that she might have been a little reckless last night and deserving of a scolding—not a spanking, but a scolding. She had acted impulsively to follow Devlin and to make assumptions about where he was going. The fact was, if Devlin hadn’t been after the thief himself, he wouldn’t have shown himself right before she was about to, wouldn’t even have been there. And she would have confronted a stranger who wouldn’t have been the least bit intimidated by her as he was by Devlin. She would also have been quite alone with him, on a dark road, with darker woods on either side of them.

  It was entirely possible that exactly what Devlin was predicting could happen could have happened. Just because the thief was an earl’s son and supposedly a gentleman wouldn’t have saved her. A lord acting as a highwayman left his principles at home, didn’t he? Confessing who she was probably wouldn’t have done any good either. After all, she was out late at night, and without an escort. Why should she be believed?

  It was galling to admit that Devlin was right. She had behaved carelessly, recklessly, without a thought to the danger and risk she was taking. Just the idea of a stranger doing to her what Devlin had done made her skin crawl. Aside from that, good God, she could have been seriously hurt.

  Maybe you ought to tell him you were wrong and won’t do it again.

  And feed his colossal arrogance? Besides, Devlin still had no right to abuse my backside. He should have brought my behavior to my father’s attention, not seen to it himself. I wouldn’t have liked it, but that would have been the proper thing to do.

  So tell him that.

  I think I will.

  Devlin hadn’t made an appearance this morning when she’d gone for her ride—at a perfectly decent hour. She’d even lingered over Sir Ambrose’s grooming after she returned, but he still hadn’t shown himself. Mortimer had, before she’d left the stable, and when asked, he’d informed her that Devlin was sleeping off a “powerful headache.” That probably sounded worse than it was, though she’d still spent more time than she ought to today worrying about it.

  She could always inquire about his headache if she lost her nerve about upbraiding him for last night. But when she entered the stable for the second time that day, he still wasn’t around, but again Mortimer was. The older man was just bringing out one of the new mares for exercising.

  Megan stopped to admire the horse, and to ask with what she hoped didn’t sound like concern, “Is Mr. Jefferys still sleeping off that headache?”

  The little man actually chuckled. “He’s starting on another one, is what he’s doing now.”

  Megan frowned. “Another one? How does one ‘start’ on a headache?”

  “By hitting the bottle, miss—two or three bottles, actually.”

  She wasn’t quite sure how to take that startling news. Devlin was getting foxed? And he’d begun the effort last night, obviously, to have had a powerful headache early this morning. And Mortimer’s amused look when he’d said it implied it might be because of her. Because of her? That was a thrilling thought, that she could drive the man to drink. Did she really have that much of an effect on him?

  Don’t be so conceited. His drinking probably doesn’t have anything to do with you.

  I know, but it was nice to think so for a moment.

  At any rate, you don’t want to run into that particular man while he’s foxed.

  Don’t I know it. He’s nasty enough as it is when he’s sober.

  That, too, but I was referring to the lack of control intoxicated people have over their emotions. And since his emotions are usually volatile when you’re around—

  “I get the picture,” Megan mumbled irritably beneath her breath.

  “What was that, miss?”

  “Nothing, Mr. Browne.” Megan sighed. “I’ve just decided to visit my friend Tiffany. I’ll take the mare, if it’s all right with you.”

  “Certainly. Saves me putting her through her paces, and she’s gentle enough. I’ll just change the saddles for you.”

  Megan nodded, but while she waited, her eyes kept straying to the back of the stable.

  Don’t even think about it.

  Megan flushed guiltily. Well, aren’t you curious about what kind of a drunk he makes?

  Probably an ornery one.

  Or a silly one. That I’d love to witness.

  You’re asking for trouble to find out.

  Now you’re getting cautious? Must be because I’m going to visit Tiffany. She’s always a good influence on you.

  And on you. She’ll tell you to stay away from inebriated men.

  Good God, you don’t think I’m going to tell Tiffany about any of this, do you?

  You probably will.

  Megan had no intention of doing so,
not when her own feelings were so confused and, yes, shameful. But she hadn’t been with Tiffany for more than ten minutes before this question popped out: “What would you think if I married beneath myself?”

  Tiffany responded pragmatically. “How far beneath yourself are we talking about?”

  “This is just suppose, now,” Megan thought it prudent to point out. “I’m not actually contemplating doing anything so ridiculous—”

  “How far?”

  “Say he wasn’t even a gentleman. Would you be shocked? Would it cause a great scandal, do you think?”

  Tiffany stared at her for a long moment before she burst out, “Megan Penworthy, you haven’t fallen in love with that horse breeder, have you?”

  “Absolutely not,” Megan scoffed, though her cheeks were beginning to heat up. “All he and I do is fight. Why, we don’t even like each other.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Megan ignored that as she plopped down in a chair in Tiffany’s newly redecorated room, then let out a long sigh. “But I have to allow—I find him so exciting, Tiff. When I’m around him I feel so, oh, I don’t know, bubbly inside. I’m sure it’s just because our fights are so stimulating, and they are, you know. I actually shout at him.”

  Tiffany was starting to grin. “You don’t.”

  “Yes, I do,” Megan assured her. “And he gets just as furious at me.”

  “With reason?”

  “Usually. But I’m beginning to think I might enjoy fighting with him, though it certainly doesn’t seem like it at the time.”

  “You’re probably just bored, and he’s a handsome man, an incredibly handsome man. Perfectly understandable. But does he have any good qualities?”

  “Not a one—well, actually, he does seem to be overly concerned with my welfare. He gets positively livid when I do something he thinks might be a danger to me.”

  Tiffany’s eyes widened. “Megan, what have you been doing since we got back?”

  Megan shrugged and said offhandedly, “I merely thought Devlin might be our highwayman.”

  “But haven’t you heard? The man’s conscience got the better of him. He’s returned everything he stole and then some, swearing he’ll never succumb to wicked temptations again. It was all in a note he sent the magistrate.”

  “So he did do it.”

  Tiffany blinked. “What do you mean, he did do it? That sounds as if you knew—”

  “I did.”

  “Megan!”

  “Well, I can’t help it if I happened to be there when he was being ordered to return everything. I told you I suspected it was Devlin.”

  “You mean it was?” Tiffany asked incredulously.

  “No, more’s the pity,” Megan grumbled. “He was out to catch the thief himself and he did just that. I just happened to be following him.”

  “Hoping to catch him red-handed?”

  “Something like that.” And Megan briefly explained her late-night adventure, ending with, “He was positively furious when I returned, not that I told him where I’d really been. I can just imagine his reaction if he’d found that out.”

  “Megan, you have got to stop acting so impulsively. Do you have any idea what could have happened?”

  She did now, but she couldn’t bring herself to confess the rest of what had happened last night, even to her best friend. “I know, and I’m turning over a new leaf. I’ll even have one of your footmen escort me home tonight, which will avoid another argument with Devlin, since my going about unescorted is one of the things he objects to.”

  “You might as well get used to it. In London we don’t go anywhere without the proper escort. But guess what? Tyler’s mother has offered to sponsor us. She’s also offered to let us stay with her.”

  “But that’s wonderful!” Megan exclaimed. “I know the major and his wife are dears, and they’ve known my father forever or they wouldn’t have agreed to host us, but to be honest, they don’t know anyone. But Lady Whately knows everyone, doesn’t she?”

  “Just about. I’d say we’ll have you married before the end of the year after all.”

  “I hope so, because my curiosity has really been driving me crazy lately about lovemaking. I can’t wait to get married and finally find out what’s the big to-do about it.”

  “As long as you do plan on waiting for the one before the other.”

  “Absolutely. I might be thinking about it a lot lately”—an understatement—“but that’s all I’m doing.”

  “Maybe you’d better stay away from your horse breeder altogether,” Tiffany suggested cautiously.

  Megan laughed. “Now that’s the kind of advice I’m used to. But you needn’t worry in this case. I’m not about to ruin my chances for an excellent match by dallying with a lowborn rogue, no matter how handsome he is.”

  “And exciting.”

  “No matter how exciting, either.”

  “And stimulating.”

  “You’ve made your point, Tiffany. I’ll never go near him again.”

  Chapter 24

  She’d said it, but Megan knew she’d never stick to it. Staying away from Devlin was an impossibility. Not that she couldn’t arrange it. It would be a simple matter to avoid the stable altogether. She need only have her horse brought to her when she wanted to ride, and returned when she was through. Any one of the footmen would be happy to oblige her in that. That she had always done the fetching and grooming herself was actually an abnormal habit, though one she could break if necessary.

  The impossibility was that she didn’t want to stay away from Devlin.

  ’Bout time you admitted it.

  But tell me why it’s so?

  Maybe you’re falling in love with him after all.

  Don’t be absurd. There’s not a thing about him worth loving.

  What about his concern for you?

  Not a good enough reason.

  His kisses? You can’t say you don’t adore them.

  He can’t be the only good kisser around.

  What about his unique charm?

  What charm? He hasn’t any. He’s a damned grouch, is what he is.

  That’s just it. He’s not a happy man. He needs a woman to soften him.

  I’m not a reformer.

  What about what he makes you feel?

  I don’t know what that is any more than you do. Now forget it. I am not falling in love with that man. Do you think I want to live in a stable the rest of my life?

  With someone like him to share it, I doubt you’d mind all that much. What do you love more than horses anyway—besides his kisses?

  That doesn’t mean I want to live among horses. Good God, do you know what you’re suggesting?

  Yes.

  Megan looked around almost guiltily, but the footman escorting her home wasn’t paying the least attention to her, wouldn’t know that she was having an argument with herself anyway.

  I don’t know why I still talk to you. Tiffany puts me in a good mood, and you put me right back into a rotten one. Just because I’ve agreed to let Devlin teach me how to kiss—

  He didn’t offer to.

  But he will—doesn’t mean I would consider marrying the man. I won’t consider it. I’m going to marry an earl at the very least.

  Stepping down already, are we?

  Just being a little more realistic. There aren’t that many dukes to chose from, at least not young ones.

  Is that grand house to outdo Lady O’s still all that important?

  Yes.

  Stubborn. He hit it on the nose. Too stubborn for your own good.

  So now you’re agreeing with him, too? I suppose you also think I’m spoiled.

  Well, aren’t you?

  Megan didn’t say another word, simmering silently the rest of the way home. When she reached the manor, she thanked her escort and waved him off before dismounting and walking Sir Ambrose back to the stable. Amazingly, considering the conversation she’d just had with herself, she wasn’t thinking about Devl
in or possibly encountering him.

  But he was there, and he wasn’t alone.

  “…but my mum got worried when you didn’t come for your dinner,” Cora was saying, “so I brung you this basket. Big man like yourself has to eat, don’t he?”

  “So sweet of you, but food isn’t what I need right now.” Cora giggled at that, causing Devlin to exclaim, “Good God, when’d you start doing that?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. C’mere.”

  Megan stood rooted to the spot just inside the doors. She couldn’t see them, but she knew both voices well enough, and if she thought she’d been angry with herself earlier, that was nothing compared with what she felt right then, imagining Devlin kissing the kitchen maid.

  “Cora Lamb,” Megan intoned sternly, “just what do you think you’re doing?”

  There was a muffled shriek, then Cora came stumbling out from behind the hayrick, trying hastily to right her uniform as well as herself.

  “Oh, it’s you, miss,” she said breathlessly. “I swear you sounded like me mum.”

  “Perhaps your mum ought to be apprised of what you’re doing out here.”

  “No need to do that, Miss Megan. I only brung Mr. Jefferys a bite to eat, is all. And I’ll be getting back to the house now.”

  “You do that, and next time remember that your duties don’t extend to the stable. If Mr. Jefferys wants to eat, he can find his way to the kitchen. Don’t let me catch you waiting on him again, Cora.”

  With a bob and a hasty “No, miss, I won’t,” Cora all but ran out of the stable.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Devlin said at Megan’s back.

  She swung around to glare at him. “Is that so? I’m supposed to turn a blind eye while you seduce the servants? I don’t think so.”

  “If they want to be seduced, it’s none of your bloody business, is it?”

  She finally noted the slight slur in his words, as well as his appalling condition. Hay clung to his clothes and hair. His white shirt was open to the waist and only half tucked into his trousers. He was minus his boots. And he couldn’t seem to stand there without weaving a bit.