Man of My Dreams (23 page)

“He doesn’t love me.”

Lucinda St. James sat back, amazed to hear those familiar words in answer to her question. She had been expecting something else entirely, the hot temper Devlin had spoken of, possibly some haughty indifference. After all, the chit had far surpassed Lucinda’s predictions in the way of beauty. She certainly hadn’t expected to find the same dejection that her grandson had displayed—to the same question.

She had called on the new Duchess of Wrothston early this morning, and was received in the formal sitting room, a grand chamber where Devlin usually conducted his less official business. It divided his suite of
rooms from his wife’s, a division that apparently was much wider than the thirty-foot length of the room.

Megan had been reserved at first, understandably, but after they’d reminisced about their first meeting, she’d relaxed enough to show Lucinda glimpses of the vivacious child the elderly woman remembered from six years ago. But she could also see the unhappiness Megan was trying to hide, which was what had prompted her to ask the same question she had put to Devlin last night. Getting the exact same answer was a revelation.

Carefully, because the situation called for delicacy—matters of the heart were so damned touchy—Lucinda asked, “What makes you think so?”

“If a man loves you, he’d tell you so, wouldn’t he?” Megan replied.

“He ought to do that, yes.”

“Well, Devlin’s told me that I’ve ruined his life. He didn’t want to marry me, you see. He went to a great deal of trouble to put me off the idea.”

“The idea?” Lucinda said. “Then you’d already decided to marry him?”

“The duke, not him.”

“But, my dear, he
is
a duke.”

“I know that now, but I didn’t know it before I married him.”

“Then who did you think you were marrying?”

“A horse breeder. Didn’t you know he’d been
masquerading as one?”

“He was supposed to be a stableboy, but that’s neither here nor there. So weren’t you the least bit pleased to end up with a duke instead of a horse breeder?”

“Pleased?” Megan exclaimed. “He deceived me. I was bloody well furious—oh! I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”

“My dear, we’re family now. I’ll expect you to call me Duchy, and to feel free to speak your mind to me, good or bad.” And then she leaned forward to confide in a whisper, “I’ve been known to swear a little myself on occasion. Not in public, mind you, nor where that stick-in-the-mud grandson of mine might hear me. He thinks I can do no wrong, which is as it should be. Can’t very well chastise him for his swearing if he knows I do, now can I?”

Megan shook her head in agreement, grinning, and in that moment they became fast friends. “Wish I’d thought of that. But then Devlin takes such delight in complaining about my bad habits, it’d be selfish of me to mend my ways.”

Lucinda burst out laughing. “You’re just what that boy needs,” she stated positively. “Someone to shake him out of his stuffed shirt.”

“He doesn’t think so,” Megan replied with a return of her dejection.

“Are you still angry that he’s a duke instead of a horse breeder?”

“Yes—no—I don’t know,” Megan ended with a sigh.

“He happens to think you’re delighted with the title—and his stables.”

Megan made a face. “Shows what a dense man he is. I’d told him I was going to marry Ambrose St. James merely to impress him into ending his antagonism and insults, which is all I’d been getting from him since he showed up. ’Course, he couldn’t leave it at that and be impressed. He had to know why I’d decided on Wrothston. But I wasn’t about to tell
him
the real reason. It was none of his business. So I mentioned that I liked the duke’s stable, just to put him off the subject.” Megan’s eyes widened with the realization. “I can see now how that might have annoyed him, him being the duke in question.”

“That wouldn’t be the half of it, my dear,” Lucinda said with a chuckle. “The boy’s had women making fools of themselves over him for as long as I can remember. Same thing went on with his father, and my husband, for that matter. Damned St. James looks
are
extraordinary. It must have been a shock to the dear boy to find a woman who wasn’t instantly enamored of him, and who might even prefer his stable to him. Good God, I wish I could have seen his expression when he heard that. ’Course, you weren’t even aware that you were bending his nose out of joint.”

“A shame, since that is one of my little pleasures,” Megan said, straight-faced.

“Thought it might be.” Lucinda grinned. “But what was the real reason you were after a duke, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Megan shrugged. “It was a good reason, an excellent reason, though it would probably seem quite silly to you. I was snubbed, you see, cut to the quick, actually, by our reigning hostess, Lady Ophelia Thackeray. For two years I’d been waiting and hoping for one of her coveted invitations, but she finally made it quite clear that I’d never get one. Tiffany is sure that it was because of this damn face of mine—you remember Tiffany, don’t you? My dearest friend, who was with me the day we bought Sir Ambrose?”

“Yes, but—”

“Now there’s another thing Devlin got all huffy about, what I named my horse. I’d been paying the duke a compliment, because I thought there was no horse finer than mine, but Devlin didn’t see it that way.”

“He wouldn’t,” Lucinda said dryly.

“But anyway, Tiffany is sure that Lady O wouldn’t have me at one of her parties because she’s got three daughters she’s trying to marry off. That’s well and fine, but to never get one of her invitations, when the whole parish has got one at least once, implies there’s something wrong with me. That’s when I decided to marry a title more lofty than hers—she’s Countess of Wedgwood—and bend
her
nose out of joint with it. That might sound petty and vengeful to you—it really does, doesn’t it?—but I was
angry and hurt at the time.”

“But why Devlin?”

“He was the grandest lord I could think of, and I
do
happen to like his stable. But he was only a goal to work toward. I’d have to meet him first, and fall in love with him—that was a priority that Tiffany and my conscience weren’t going to let me overlook, because I wasn’t planning on ruining my life just to set Lady O on her ear. I wouldn’t marry a man I didn’t love, or wasn’t sure that I could love, no matter how lofty his title. ’Course, I saw no reason to tell Devlin that. And he was determined to put me off the idea of
him
as my choice.”

“How exactly did he do that without revealing to you who he was?”

“He told me the duke was a bounder, a cad, a seducer of innocents.”

“He most certainly is not,” Lucinda said with a good deal of huffiness.

“That’s what I said. ’Course, I hadn’t met the duke yet, so I was defending a man I didn’t know. Well, Devlin then arranged to prove it to me. He showed up at a masked ball I attended as himself, the duke, and promptly propositioned me to be his mistress.”

“He didn’t!”

“He did.”

“But that’s so unlike him.”

“I’m afraid I have to disagree. That was just one of many insults I’ve had from that man. At any rate, he then had the gall to be
surprised when I returned and told him—the horse breeder—that I hoped I’d never see the duke again.”

Lucinda sat back, nearly speechless. “How, might I ask, did you two ever manage to get through all that muck to an altar?”

“I’m entirely to blame for that, though I’m not about to admit it to him. But the truth is, I unknowingly
and
unintentionally instigated my own seduction. Damned curiosity of mine did it. And it was so nice, the kissing part, but I didn’t care for what came after. He didn’t either. He said so. In fact, he so disliked it, he said we’d have a marriage in name only.”

Lucinda got over her embarrassment with this subject quickly enough upon hearing that last. “The devil he did,” she said angrily. “He can’t do that. He’s got a responsibility to produce the next duke. He can’t very well do that if he doesn’t—well, if he doesn’t.”

“Actually, he can, if the child I’m carrying turns out to be male. Didn’t he tell you I’m going to have a baby, and that’s why we were forced to marry?”

“No, the damned boy must have forgotten to mention that little tidbit.”

It was two days before Megan visited the stables to discover that Devlin had arranged to have Sir Ambrose delivered to Sherring Cross for her. She was pleased to see her mare again, but she was actually even more pleased to have a reason to seek Devlin out, to thank him for his thoughtfulness. She shouldn’t need a reason to speak with her husband, but she felt she did.

She had barely seen him since their arrival, much less talked to him. She had been led to the formal dining room to dine alone with him last night—Duchy was conspicuously absent—but eating at different ends of a twenty-foot-long table was not conducive to conversation.

She’d noted the change in him without comment, the elegant attire, the very correct posture
and movements. He was every inch the duke now—well, not quite every inch. He hadn’t cut his hair yet. Duchy had complained over breakfast this morning that he was leaving it long just to annoy her. Megan decided it was for her own benefit so she wouldn’t forget that he was the man she’d married—as if she could.

She’d only had one remark for him last night before they parted to go to their separate bedchambers, and that only because two hours of formal silence at that long table had gotten on her nerves, and she wasn’t up to attacking his
new
self yet.

“It’s patently clear now why you made such a lousy horse breeder. The next time you think to impersonate a member of the working class, leave your fine shirts at home, as well as your arrogance.”

She’d gone to sleep regretting those sulky words, which hadn’t even gotten a reply other than a condescending lifting of his brows, meant to exasperate her, no doubt. Then again, his grandmother possibly had the right of it. Megan had confided to her that the Devlin she knew was argumentative, disagreeable, and disrespectful, only to be told that simply wasn’t Devlin St. James, that such behavior had to have been part of the role he’d been playing.

Megan sincerely hoped not, for the very proper, unflappable Devlin she’d dined with last night was a bore. Still, she was simply going to have to make an effort to get along
with him, and to stop trying to provoke him into the same state of unhappy feelings she was in. Which was why she was glad of an excuse to speak with him now. She would be pleasant. She would offer an olive branch. He was her husband, for better or for worse. She was tired of the worse.

Megan entered the house by a side entrance, where the corridors were almost mazelike, though they eventually led to the main block where Devlin’s office was located. She was nearly there when she heard a voice that was vaguely familiar raised in anger.

“…won’t do you a bit of good to tell me he’s not here when I bloody well know he is. I’ve had spies watching the house day and night to inform me exactly when he returned, so get out of my way, John!”

Megan came around a corner in time to see Devlin open the door to his office and ask mildly, “Were you looking for me, Freddy?”

“Come out of hiding at last, have you?” Frederick Richardson shot back in hot temper. “And where the devil did you go, Dev, that a hundred bloody runners couldn’t find you? Clear to America?”

“You ought to know me better than that. I wouldn’t put up with seasickness again for any reason—even to preserve your rotten hide.”

“Preserve?” the Marquis of Hampden exclaimed with a good deal of indignation. “Let’s not forget who intends to shoot whom.”

“Have you brought your pistol with you, then?” Devlin was still showing a marked lack of interest, which was causing a marked excess of alarm for Megan.

“Yes, by God—I’ve got it here somewhere.”

While Freddy was searching through several of his pockets, Devlin stepped forward and socked him one, catching him so off guard that the marquis was knocked off his feet. “I believe I owed you that,” Devlin said, finally showing a bit of emotion, in this case satisfaction.

“The devil you did!”

“The devil I didn’t, and I’m not referring to that blind punch you gave me. You cannot begin to know what your sister’s false accusation and your pigheadedness have cost me. I never would have gone to the wilds of Devonshire if it weren’t for your damned temper that needed time to cool off. It’s
your
fault I’m so bloody miserable now, thank you very much!” And having displayed ample emotion at last, Devlin went back into his office, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Well, what the devil did he mean by that?” Freddy asked as he picked himself up off the floor.

“I couldn’t say, my lord,” John replied quite correctly, only to spoil it with an opinion. “Possibly he refers to the difficulty he is having adjusting to married life.”

“Married life?” Freddy replied in shock. “Married! He didn’t!”

“I assure you—”

Freddy didn’t wait for the butler to finish, but barged uninvited into Devlin’s office. Megan turned around to retreat unnoticed, heartsick to know that she didn’t just have the ruination of Devlin’s life on her conscience now. She was also making him miserable.

“How dare you marry someone else when my sister—?”

“Lied, Freddy,” Devlin cut in curtly without pausing in the act of pouring himself a large snifter of brandy. “When are you going to get that through your thick head? Good God, it’s been two months!” On second thought, he left the glass and brought the bottle back with him to his desk. “Didn’t Sabrina own up to it yet?”

“Own up to it?” Freddy blustered. “She still maintains you seduced her.”

“Why that little—Duchy tells me she’s not married yet. If you tell me you were waiting for me to show up and do the honorable, I think I’ll hit you again.”

Freddy rubbed his jaw with a wince and dropped into one of the chairs across from Devlin’s desk. “Rather you didn’t, and no, I wasn’t. Found her a groom, though. Carlton is knee-deep in debt and so is quite agreeable. They were to marry on the quiet next week.”

“Were?”

“She lost the baby last week, so she’s canceled the wedding.”

“Lost it?” Devlin frowned. “Then she really was?—wait a minute,” he said suspiciously. “Did you see her lose it, or did she just tell you about it after the fact?”

“Well, actually, she did tell me, but she was quite broken up about it.”

“They’re all experts at crying at the drop of a hat. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

“Well, that’s damn cynical of you,” Freddy protested. “I had no reason to doubt her, Dev.”

“Except that I’m your best friend, and I
told
you I never touched her.”

“She’s my sister, dammit. What would you have done in my place?”

“I wouldn’t have been so quick to believe a habitual practical joker, which you bloody well know Sabrina is. And I would have had a little more faith in my best friend, who doesn’t go around seducing innocents—at least he didn’t used to,” Devlin ended in a mumble.

Freddy pounced. “I heard that. Who else have you been seducing?”

“I certainly wasn’t talking about your damn sister, who, by the by, is going to get her neck wrung if I ever see her again. And you—I’m seriously thinking about sending
my
seconds round to pay
you
a visit.”

“That’s twice now you seem to be blaming me for I don’t know what.”

“Then let me enlighten you,” Devlin offered. “Because of you, I was forced to bury myself
in the country, where I met the most beautiful girl I’ve ever set eyes on, and my life has been hell ever since.”

“I beg to differ,” Freddy replied smugly. “
I’ve
recently met the most beautiful girl you’re ever likely to set eyes on. Haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. I don’t mind telling you, I’m seriously contemplating returning to Hampshire to court her.”

“Hampshire? She wouldn’t happen to have red hair and blue-as-midnight eyes, would she?”

“How the devil did you know?”

“You can forget about courting her,” Devlin said in a near growl. “And you will bloody well get her
out
of your mind. I’ve already married her.”

“That isn’t funny, Dev.”

“Am I laughing?”

“Not Miss Penworthy?”

“The same.”

“Well, I like that!” Freddy said huffily. “And you’re
complaining
? You ought to be thanking me.”

“When she despises everything about me, except my title—and my horses?”

“Well, at least she’s got good taste. I like your horses myself.” When Devlin just stared, he added, “Sorry, but it can’t be all that bad.”

“Can’t it?” And Devlin proceeded to tell him just how bad it was.