Man of My Dreams (14 page)

“You’re not thinking of arguing with me, are you, dear boy?”

There was such underlying menace in that question, Megan couldn’t blame Sanderson for quickly assuring Devlin, “No, no, I wouldn’t think of it.”

“You will also return everything you’ve stolen from these good people.”

“But I
can’t
do that.”

“You can and will.”

“But I don’t have it all, you see. The trinkets, yes, but there was another game of hazard last night, and, well, my luck hasn’t improved yet.”

“How much?”

“Eighty pounds.”

Devlin made a sound of disgust as he reached into his pocket and came up with a wad of bills that he thrust at Sanderson. The young man took it in good grace, while Megan was flabbergasted that a horse breeder would have that kind of money to just give away.

“You will take that and the rest to the magistrate’s tonight. Drop it off with a note saying that you’ve seen the error of your ways. Do you foresee a problem with that?”

“No, no, tonight it will be.”

“Good, because if I don’t hear through the gossip mill that everything was returned, and I mean everything, I’ll be paying your father a visit. I wouldn’t care to do that, he wouldn’t care to hear what I have to say, and you wouldn’t care for the outcome. I trust we understand each other?”

“Indeed we do. Sorry to put you to the trouble. Won’t do it again, I swear…I…”

His words trailed off because Devlin had slipped back into the woods as quietly as he’d appeared. Megan didn’t wait around any longer either, making her way back to where she’d left Sir Ambrose. But she was frowning all the way. Why would an earl’s son be so intimidated by a horse breeder?

The exchange Megan had witnessed between Devlin and the young lord-turned-temporary-highwayman bothered her all the way home. Certainly, she had to allow that there were any number of ways that Lord Sanderson could know Devlin, the most obvious being from the Sherring Cross stables, where Devlin had come from. But just because Devlin had worked for the Duke of Wrothston didn’t account for the deference paid him by an earl’s son. Sanderson should have put Devlin in his place and done the threatening, not the other way around.

Of course, threatening to go to the boy’s father had made an impression, but that hadn’t come until later. She supposed, though, that Sanderson might think that Devlin still worked at Sherring Cross and might go to the duke
with his tale. He
had
been surprised to see Devlin here in Devonshire, after all. Then, too, she had to allow that Devlin, horse breeder or not, had a presence about him that was definitely formidable and downright intimidating when he chose to portray it. She had been susceptible to it herself.

Regardless, there was still something about that exchange that bothered Megan, and it wasn’t until she was nearly home that it came to her. Sanderson’s deference had been there from the first, as had been Devlin’s command of the situation—as if their circumstances were reversed, with Devlin being the lord and Sanderson the servant. Which made no sense. Working for a duke, no matter for how long, did not give a man prestige above his station, some arrogance maybe, but a servant still ought to know his place, especially next to a peer of the realm.

You’re being snobbish again
.

But I’m right
.

What you are is irritated as hell because he didn’t turn out to be the highwayman
.

That was true enough. She really had been looking forward to holding that over him. Now, instead, she was probably in for another lecture about riding out at ungodly hours. Dratted man, why couldn’t he act like normal servants and not question his betters?

You’re doing it again
.

I’m merely getting into the proper frame of mind to face a tyrant
.

He’s not a tyrant, and hasn’t it occurred to you that lectures only come from concerned people, those concerned with your welfare and well-being?

Ha!

In either case, you’d better come up with a good excuse for where you’ve been, or will the truth do?

You know it won’t. But maybe he’s not back yet and I can sneak Sir Ambrose into her stall and get out of there before I’m noticed
.

I wouldn’t count on it
.

She didn’t, and he was—back, that is—and standing just inside the stable doors with his hands on his hips and one of the most stern expressions she’d ever seen on a man. Megan opted to brazen her way through what was coming.

“So you’re back?” she said before he could. “I was going to ask you to accompany me tonight on my errand, but you couldn’t be found.”

“Accompany you where?”

“One of my father’s tenants is doing poorly. I was supposed to visit the family this afternoon to see if they needed anything, only I was otherwise occupied and forgot—but better late than—”

“No sense, no bloody sense a’tall,” he said as he hauled her off Sir Ambrose. “And without a saddle!” he added as he noticed the lack there-of. His eyes came back to her. “You actually rode this animal without a saddle?”

Megan groaned inwardly, having completely forgotten about that. But brazenness was
working. At least he no longer looked so stern, so she continued in that line.

“You make it sound as if I’ve never done so before,” she retorted. “It’s not difficult, I assure you. But I don’t know what you’re making such a fuss about. The only reason I was going to have you escort me was to avoid this very thing, this bad habit you have of involving yourself in my affairs, but the fact is that I certainly didn’t
need
your escort, since I didn’t even leave our property. But as long as this seems to be the hour for interrogations, where did
you
go?”

“Out to catch a thief.”

She hadn’t expected him to admit it. “Did you have any luck?”

“No,” he lied.

She knew he lied, but to say so would admit she had followed him. “Too bad. Once he is caught, maybe you’ll stop interfering with what I do and when I do it.”

“When you do it? I doubt it. Someone has to teach you some sense, and come to think of it, there’s no time like the present.”

He caught her hand and started dragging her to the mounting block. Megan’s mouth dropped open, her eyes widened incredulously, and she was a little bit in shock, knowing exactly what the man intended doing.

“Wait a minute. Devlin, you can’t really…I’ll have you arrested. I’ll have you—”

She landed hard across his knees the moment he sat down on the mounting block. She was
about to scream her head off when he said, “Making a lot of noise won’t stop me, brat. It’ll just draw you an audience to watch.”

That was perfectly true and out of the question. She clamped her lips shut. She wouldn’t make a sound now if it killed her. But, by God, the man was going to regret this. If it was the last thing she did, she’d get even, somehow, and then…

The first smack was a revelation. It made a lot of noise when his hand connected with her bottom, though it didn’t actually hurt. She’d forgotten that she’d worn one of her thickest riding skirts. Well, the joke was going to be on Devlin, but she’d never tell. Of course, that was only the first whack. By the time he finished, and that was quite a while later, repetition had made silk out of thick wool, and Megan didn’t feel like laughing. She was furious that he could get away with doing that to her.

When he set her on her feet, she didn’t give it prior thought, she simply swung at him with a closed fist—and missed. If that wasn’t enough to make her explode, she noticed his lips curling the slightest bit. Clearly the man found her impotent rage amusing.

“You are the most horrible bastard I’ve ever met!” she all but screeched.

“And how many have you met?”

His dispassionate reply gave her pause, long enough to inquire with genuine curiosity, “Is there no insult that you won’t shrug off?”

“Why should I be insulted?” he asked reasonably. “You’re all hot air and brambles, brat—except when you’re in my arms. Then you’re just hot.”

She couldn’t believe he’d said that. “You are dismissed! Fired! Exterminated!”

He cocked a brow at the last one. “Is that wishful thinking?”

“You know what I meant.”

“Indeed. Shall you be the one to tell your father, or shall I?”

She thought that over for a moment and knew the wretched man had won—again. She wasn’t about to tell her father or anyone else about this humiliating experience.

“Why can’t you just get out of my life?” she asked begrudgingly.

“What? Retreat under fire? Desert the war? Wouldn’t think of it, dear girl.”

That bit of absurdity had her looking around for something to throw at him. But her obvious intention brought him to his feet and his hands to her shoulders.

“I gave you fair warning this morning not to take such stupid risks with yourself,” he told her, no longer amused. “That spanking was to reinforce the warning, but perhaps you also need to be shown what happens to reckless females who go traipsing about at indecent hours.”

His
intent was just as clear and had her drawing back as far as she could, appalled that he could think of kissing
now
. But little good that
did her with his hands already gripping her. She was pulled forward, his head bent, and his mouth descended on her uncooperative lips before she could get a word out to stop him.

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.

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.”