Man of My Dreams (10 page)

“Frederick Something-or-other is his name.”

“Something-or-other?”

Tiffany made a face, saying defensively, “What do you want from me? I heard too many names to remember them all. This one’s a marquis. I remember that only because Jane mentioned that he’s a very good friend of—guess who?”

Megan’s interest perked up. “No kidding? But that increases the odds on Ambrose showing up.”

“Not necessarily. The marquis just happens to have an estate near here that he was visiting, but remember, Kent as well as London is a long way off.”

“Ambrose could have an estate near here, too.”

“That’s true,” Tiffany allowed. “But don’t count on it. They would have arrived together if they both were in the area, don’t you think?”

“Possibly—unless Ambrose was detained for some reason. But I could just end the suspense by going down and asking Lord Frederick if the duke is coming. Our hostess might not know, but he ought to.”

“That might not be such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Well, look at it from the broader picture. He meets you and falls in love.”

Megan nodded. “Yes, we already agreed—”

“Frederick does.”

“Him? But why should he?”

“For the same reason your duke is likely to. And remember that they’re good friends. If the marquis saw you first and confesses to love you, won’t his good friend the duke forsake his own feelings to preserve the friendship?”

Megan laughed. “That’s getting much too complicated. And besides, I wouldn’t give the marquis the least bit of encouragement. So what harm can a little conversation do? And I’d be asking about his friend, showing clearly in what direction my interest lay.”

“Now, there’s another thing. Are you sure you want St. James to know that you were
clearly
interested in him
before
you met him? Because what are good friends for if not to confide such things? So don’t think Lord Frederick
wouldn’t mention it. And a man doesn’t like to know that he’s been singled out for pursuit. They like to do that sort of thing themselves, after all.”

“I see your point. Asking about Ambrose might give the wrong impression—well, the right impression, but one I’d rather not give. Not that I won’t confess all eventually.”

“But
after
the wedding.”

“Exactly.” But then Megan frowned. “Or would that be considered too devious?”

Tiffany’s brows shot up before she grinned. “So now you’re devious?”

“Well, aren’t I? The whole courtship thing is going to be a waste of time just for his benefit. If I were honest, I’d tell him right from the start that I’d like to marry him.”

“You can’t do that!”

“I
know
that, Tiff. But isn’t omitting that the same thing as lying?”

“No, it’s just standard romance protocol,” Tiffany said with firm conviction. “It’d be nice if we women
could
be that honest, but if we were, we’d scare away half the men we end up married to, the half that insist that the idea of marriage be their idea exclusively. And don’t be so hasty in calling your courtship a waste of time either. That’s the only time you’ll have to get to know your duke and figure out if you can love him or not, because I
hope
you’re not thinking it’s going to be as quick for you as it probably will be for him.”

“You don’t think that’s possible?”

“Highly impossible, Meg. He’s going to fall for your stunning face first, then your sweet self later. But then you’re quite conceivably the most beautiful girl in the kingdom. He isn’t likely to be the most handsome man, however.” Then Tiffany snorted. “That horse breeder in your stable might have that distinction, but your duke won’t.”

The mere mention of Devlin brought him fully to Megan’s mind. She wished he could have seen her in her lovely new ball gown. The green poult-de-soie hugged her figure where the scooped neckline and capped sleeves weren’t revealing it. The added white tulle flounces in the underskirt were an extravagance. With her hair artfully coiffed and her mother’s heirloom pearls at her throat, she felt she looked sophisticated, even if she wasn’t, especially with the matching green domino adding a touch of mystery. Devlin would have been dazzled by such splendor—and for once kept his insults to himself.

“My duke
is
going to be handsome, Tiff.”

“Absolutely,” Tiffany agreed. “Just don’t expect
incredibly
handsome, all right? That’s asking for disappointment.”

“I suppose.” Megan sighed. “Very well, now that we’ve established that I must give Lord Frederick Something-or-other the cold shoulder, we have to figure out how I’m to recognize Ambrose if he shows up. Did Jane happen to describe him to you when she was doing all her chattering?”

“She did say he’s very tall. Of course, she’s very short, so tall to her could be anywhere from here to here,” Tiffany said, raising her hand from the level of Megan’s head to a good foot above it.

“What else?”

“Black hair, or dark brown—she wasn’t sure on that. And eyes some shade of blue or green, unusual, she called them. And by the way, she thinks he’s incredibly handsome. Those were her words. But then she also thinks Lord Fred down there is incredibly handsome, so you have to take her opinion as a bit exaggerated.”

Megan glanced down again at Lord Frederick, noting that he was rather tall himself and also had black hair. She couldn’t tell much more about him from that distance and with his domino mask in place, but his body was nicely put together, his evening clothes were impeccable, and the younger women who were present seemed to be fawning over him.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Megan grinned. “I’d say he’s probably very handsome.”

Tiffany instantly caught the drift of her thoughts. “That’s to be expected, since he’s the highest-ranked lord here at the moment, and a bachelor.”

“Poor man,” Megan said dryly. “He must have to put up with that kind of adoration all the time.”

“No more than your duke does,” Tiffany replied. “Sure you can tolerate that?”

“But it won’t be like that after he’s married.”

“He’s a duke, Meg. There will always be women who will want one thing or another from him—even for legitimate business.”

“That’s not funny.”

Tiffany grinned cheekily. “I thought it was. Oh, don’t frown. I was only joking—well, not quite. There
will
be women who will try to take him away from you just because of who he is.”

“But tell me something. If he loves me, do you really think I ought to worry about it? And be honest instead of down-on-my-duke for a change.”

Tiffany chuckled. “All right, I’ll concede gracefully. If he loves you, you won’t have a thing to worry about. He’ll be the one to suffer the talons of jealousy, not you.” After a moment she added sheepishly, “Was I really being ’down-on-your-duke’?”

“With every other breath.”

“I’m sorry, Meg. I guess it’s hard to be positive about a man we haven’t even met yet. I can’t very well say the Duke of Wrothston is wonderful and perfect for you when we don’t know if he is or isn’t. All he has in his favor at the moment is his title, which might put him at the top of your list, but doesn’t recommend him to me. I just want you to have a man who is absolutely right for you, and I’m afraid that you’re going to let this getting-even-with-Lady O thing cloud your judgment and convince you that he’s right for you—and he very well might not be.”

Megan leaned forward to give her friend a hug. “I love you for caring like that. And it’s all right, you can continue to play the skeptic if it makes you happy. Chances are, I might not even be attracted to the man.”
Like you are to Devlin?
Now where had that thought come from? “And that will be determined at our first meeting.”

“And end it?”

Megan nodded firmly. “That quickly. But on the other hand—”

“I’ll be the first one to point out his good qualities—once we know what they are.”

“Fair enough.”

“Would it be all right if I spoke with your father about marriage?”

Megan missed a step. Her dancing partner didn’t seem to notice.

He was an excellent dancer. There had been a half-dozen previous partners who weren’t, so she’d noted that right off. This one had a pleasant face, and right now a very earnest expression on it. She’d guess he was somewhere in his early thirties.

If he were younger she could have laughed and made some silly reply to his question. But she was afraid he was serious. Only she didn’t want to be serious herself just now. She’d been having too much fun this evening, just as Tiffany had predicted she would.

Every single dance had been promised, except the two she’d saved for the duke if he’d bothered to show up, which he hadn’t. But even that didn’t bother her so much now. She realized she’d been letting impatience rule her emotions, when there was plenty of time to meet St. James. And with half the people at the ball from London, she wasn’t quite so nervous anymore about her Season there, having found out that these people weren’t so intimidating after all.

“
Now, this is what London is going to be like
,” Tiffany had whispered only moments ago, just before Megan’s present partner had made his way through her ring of admirers to claim this dance. “
Are you sure you want to settle for a stodgy old duke?
”

Megan
was
still set on her duke, at least until such time as meeting him might change her mind. But in the meantime, she could see no reason not to enjoy her “success,” as her popularity tonight could definitely be termed. A serious proposal of marriage from a stranger was not her idea of enjoyment, however. It was absurd, was what it was, and deserved a bit of absurdity in return.

“You may speak to my father, certainly,” Megan told her partner—she couldn’t remember his name. “But if your subject is marriage, I feel I must warn you that you may be shot.”

He
missed a step now. Megan noticed.

“I beg your pardon,” he said after a moment of incredulity. “Did you say shot?”

“Indeed.”

“But—but—”

“Oh, it’s not as bad as it sounds, sir, and it’s only if marriage is mentioned. He’s been plagued too often with proposals of marriage, you see…the women just won’t leave him alone.”

He missed another step. Megan kept from laughing, but it wasn’t easy.

“Women? But I meant—”

“And I’m afraid he swore, actually swore, that he if heard that word once more in the next three months—he was rational enough to put a limit on his temper—no matter who mentioned it, he would shoot them. Now, I don’t know if he meant he would kill them. He might have just meant a wounding. Yes, that’s possible. But in either case, I did feel you ought to be warned.”

“Appreciate it, indeed I do.”

She thought he just might. And the fellow didn’t have much more to say for the rest of the dance. He left her rather abruptly once it was over, and for the first time that evening, Megan had a moment alone. But it was a brief moment.

“I believe the next dance is mine.”

The voice gave her a start, coming from directly behind her, and was entirely unwelcome, since she had hoped for a few minutes to herself. She wondered if she could pretend not to have heard and simply walk away. No, that would be too rude, though walking away was
still an option as long as it was accompanied with a good excuse, which she had, considering the man’s presumption.

So to avoid being drawn into conversation, she turned only slightly so he’d know she was replying to him and said with a degree of curtness, “No, actually, I’m not partnered for the next dance, and I’m going to keep it that way. Excuse me, but I was just going to take some air.”

“That was going to be my suggestion, so I’ll join you, if you don’t mind.”

“The air is free for the taking, of course, but I’d prefer to take mine alone.”

“How unromantic of you, Miss Penworthy.”

She turned then out of simple curiosity. He was tall, very tall, and masked. “Have we been introduced?”

“I would have remembered that pleasure, so the answer must be no.”

“Then how did you—?”

“I asked. But allow me.” He bowed ever so slightly. “Ambrose St. James, at your service. Are you sure you won’t reconsider?”

Was he kidding? She’d given him up as a no-show, yet here he was, and he was much more than she had been hoping for. What she could see of his face beneath the black domino was definitely handsome, and his body was as finely put together as Devlin’s was—
stay out of my thoughts, horse breeder
—though she would certainly never see Devlin arrayed so splendidly in black evening clothes. His eyes
were too shadowed by the domino he wore for her to distinguish their color, but his hair was black and slicked back without a single strand out of place. She was attracted, quite definitely attracted. And to think he might have left offended by her initial curtness.

But before she blurted out, “Of course I’ve changed my mind,” she realized how fickle that would sound after her firmness in putting him off. So she gave him a tepid smile, pretending an indifference she was far from feeling.

“You’re very persistent, aren’t you?”

“When it matters,” he replied.

His own smile was quite startling in its sensual appeal. Megan imagined that Devlin would smile like that if he ever bothered to
—you’re doing it again
.

“Why should it mat—?”

He interrupted her impatiently. “Let’s not chew it to bits until your next dance partner shows up. You’ve already changed your mind, dear girl, so come along.”

How did he know? She wondered as he ushered her, rather quickly, out to the raised terrace. And she didn’t care for the sudden abruptness that had come right after his lovely smile, when he’d looked beyond her, almost as if he were trying to avoid someone he’d seen approaching. So as he headed for the steps that led down to the formal gardens, Megan veered toward the terrace railing instead.

“The air is quite satisfactory right here, I believe,” she said, tugging her elbow out of his hand.

“No stroll through moonlit gardens?
Very
unromantic, Miss Penworthy.”

“Look who’s talking,” she mumbled.

He grinned engagingly. It was as startling as his smile, and no doubt designed to disarm her now noticeable pique.

“Don’t be angry, dear girl. There are several people here that I’d rather not speak with, and one of them was bearing down on us—which means I won’t have much time with you. That very thought is devastating me, and is accountable for my appalling lapse in manners.”

His excuse was acceptable since she had guessed as much, but that last remark had her forgiving him completely. She even blushed slightly because she could disconcert him that much. The man was
definitely
interested, and wasn’t that what she had been hoping for?

She was thrilled with the thought, which brought on a degree of shyness as well as regret as she pointed out, “The next dance is spoken for, so you won’t have much time in either case.”

“Then I must take advantage of what little time I do have,” he said as he swept her into his arms for the current waltz.

Megan was caught off guard by the unexpectedness of it, so it took her a moment to realize she was being held much too closely.
When she did, she stiffened slightly, and was promptly treated to the sensation of his warm breath tickling her ear and sending gooseflesh down her neck and arms.

“The urge to hold you in my arms was simply too overwhelming. The urge to kiss you was even more overwhelming, so you see I am trying to behave.”

With his arms around her causing exciting remembrances of another bold embrace, and with his seductive words cutting clean through her defenses, it was on the tip of her tongue to say, “Then kiss me,” because the urge was there for her, too. But she recalled that she was sadly lacking where kissing was concerned, so she said nothing, wanting this first meeting of theirs to be as memorable for him as it surely was going to be for her.

She was delighted that she would be able to relieve Tiffany’s worries, because Megan now had no doubt at all that it would take very little effort to fall in love with Ambrose St. James. She sighed happily and relaxed in his arms, for everything was going just as planned.

He heard her, felt her yielding, and stiffened, for nothing was going as he’d planned. But then he hadn’t expected her to be so ravishing tonight, so incredibly lovely, that she’d made him forget what he was doing here. Yet what he’d just told her was perfectly true. There was nothing more he wanted to do just now than kiss her. And he had no doubt she’d let him kiss her, and probably more, because this was
not the Megan he knew; this was the scheming little miss out to snare a duke, and by God, she’d think twice about it after tonight.

His intentions recalled, he maneuvered them back to the terrace railing and abruptly ended the dance. But there was definitely a moment of keen regret when he saw her dreamy expression turn to surprise as he let her go. Again all he wanted to do was kiss her. He squelched the urge with the reminder that another man wouldn’t have stood a chance against this kind of temptation
—he
wouldn’t have if he didn’t know her game. She deserved the lesson he was about to give her, the lesson he’d risked a run-in with Freddy to give her. Maybe next time she’d be more careful in her choice of victims.

Megan felt awkward under his pensive stare. She wished she could see his eyes, but they were even more shadowed in the dimmer light on the terrace.

“You don’t care for dancing after all, Your Grace?” was all she could think to say for the moment.

“Ah, so you
do
know?” he said in reference to her “Your Grace.”

She shrugged, though silently she berated herself for having called him that without a formal introduction. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“In London, yes, but not in the country.” Then he sighed. “A pity, that. Spoils half my fun.”

“Why would it?”

“People tend to behave differently than they ordinarily would when they know who I am. All they can see is the title, not the man who bears it.”

Megan detected a large dose of bitterness in those words that made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. She was guilty of just that, seeing only the title—no, that wasn’t quite true. The title had been her first consideration, yes, but everything else hinged on the man. If he didn’t suit, then it wouldn’t matter what title he bore, for she wouldn’t have him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and meant it. “That can’t be an easy thing to live with.”

He shrugged. “One of the little drawbacks of being a duke.”

“I hope there are some benefits to compensate.”

The comment had him grinning again. “Oh, a few.”

Now why did that “few” sound so very wicked? No, it was the grin. That grin was definitely not wholesome.

“One of those things wouldn’t be getting away with being a trifle high-handed, would it?”

She meant it teasingly. He answered seriously.

“A trifle? I dragged you out here, dear girl. That was most assuredly high-handed of me.”

“Yes, it was, and now that you mention it, I realize you haven’t apologized for it.”

“Another benefit. I rarely apologize. Who, after all, would dare bring me to account for my actions?”

She didn’t like the sound of that. Were Tiffany there, she’d be pointing out that they hadn’t come across many good qualities yet, and Megan would have to agree. What the devil had happened to the charming man who had only moments ago confessed to an overwhelming urge to kiss her?

“I believe I would have no difficulty in doing so, Your Grace.”

He half sat, half leaned on the railing, crossed his arms, and gave every indication of being amused. “Would you indeed? Your own character is so exemplary, then, that you can cast stones?”

Neither the subdued lighting on the terrace nor the half mask she wore could hide her blush completely. “Absolutely…not. I don’t claim to be anywhere near perfect, but then I don’t represent such an exalted title.”

“And if you did, would that make you any less spoiled or willful?”

Megan stiffened. “What, I would like to know, has led you to assume either of those things about me?”

“A good guess?”

Disappointment was welling up again, much worse than what she’d felt when she thought she might not meet the duke tonight. It was nearly choking her, and that made her furious. She didn’t know what had gone wrong, but if
she didn’t leave now, she’d say something to end the possibility of any future encounter
—if
she decided to give him a chance to redeem his appalling behavior.

“I believe I’ve had too much air. Good evening, Your Grace.”

“Not so fast, my dear.”

Not only his words detained her. His arm had snaked out as she’d turned to leave, and she now found herself drawn nearly between his legs.

“I’ve made you angry again?” he ventured with galling good cheer.

Megan decided that he had to be an idiot to ask that question. “Absolutely, and it’s increasing by the second. Let me—”

“That wasn’t my intention.”

She felt a spark of hope. Maybe he just wasn’t himself tonight. Maybe he thought her more sophisticated than she was and she’d merely misunderstood his insults. “What
was
your intention?”

“I want to see a lot more of you.”

Exactly what she had hoped to hear—before this abrupt change in him. Now she wasn’t at all sure if she ever wanted to see him again.

“Why?” she asked boldly.

“I’m becoming bored with my current mistress. I think you might do to replace her.”

“Your
mistress?
”

He went on blithely as if she hadn’t almost screeched. “Yes, I think you might do nicely. Can’t say for certain, though, until I try you
out. Shall we find a secluded spot in the garden to—”

The crack of her palm against his cheek cut off his shocking suggestion. Megan pushed away from him. He didn’t try to stop her this time. But she didn’t leave. She wanted to do more than just slap him. She wanted to rail at him for being exactly what Devlin had said he was, a bounder, a rogue, a seducer of innocents, but she was too angry to get the words out.