Man of My Dreams (12 page)

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 near
ly 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?”

Megan’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.

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.”