Man of My Dreams (24 page)

The situation was intolerable. Devlin was obviously avoiding her. That much Megan had figured out before she had been at Sherring Cross a full week. If she saw him at all, it was only in passing.

He never even made another appearance for dinner after that first night. And when Megan did see him, he was so disgustingly polite she wanted to hit him to find out if the old Devlin was still there, or if he really had been no more than a creation for a role he was playing. She didn’t. The new Devlin was just too intimidating, and so bloody imperious that she couldn’t even think of starting an argument with him without feeling utterly childish.

The situation was definitely intolerable. Megan was crying herself to sleep at night.
And for no good purpose, since Devlin didn’t even know about it. But he was just as miserable as she was. She’d heard him say so. He was just making the same effort she was to conceal it.

The situation was
absolutely
intolerable, but Megan had finally figured out what she could do about it. Overhearing Devlin tell Duchy that Freddy’s sister, Sabrina, was claiming to have lost her baby gave her the idea. She was going to tell Devlin the same thing, that she’d lost their baby. It wouldn’t be an easy lie to tell, for the mere thought of something like that actually happening brought tears to her eyes. But it would solve both their problems by allowing him to get a quick annulment.

Even her conscience couldn’t change her mind. And with the decision firmly made, there was no time to waste, what with Duchy planning a formal ball to officially announce the marriage. And Devlin’s grandmother was determined to do that, since she’d complained of being denied the opportunity to arrange his wedding. So Megan had to act before those plans progressed to the invitation stage. The fewer people who knew about her, the quicker Devlin could get on with his life—and she could forget that she’d been foolish enough to fall in love with a man who wasn’t real.

Megan waited nervously in the formal sitting room that night until she heard Devlin
enter his chambers directly from the hallway. She paced, waiting for the sound of the door to close again, signaling the departure of his valet. Then she started crying—loudly. Within seconds the door connecting the two rooms slammed open and Devlin was rushing toward her.

“Why are you crying?”

“I—I’m not,” Megan said, her mind going blank with him standing so close. “I—oh, never mind. Go away.”

“Megan!”

“I don’t know how to tell you,” she cried into her hands. “I’ve been trying not to think about it, because every time I do, this happens. But I suppose you have to know.”

“What?!”

“I lost the baby.”

Utter silence greeted that statement, so Megan wailed louder. But she couldn’t look at him. If he said one kind word to her, she’d be crying for real.

“I require proof,” was what he finally said, quite
un
kindly. “Are you still bleeding?”

Megan blanched, never having imagined that he might actually doubt her. Fortunately, he couldn’t see that, because her face was still buried in her hands.

But she quickly recovered, improvising. “It didn’t just happen. It was on the return trip from Scotland. And I haven’t told you sooner because—because I’ve been in shock. Are you so insensitive that you haven’t even noticed?”

“You have been unusually…quiet.”

A nice word to describe her present lack of temper, but uttered so dryly, she knew something wasn’t going right. He either didn’t believe her or—could he possibly think she had lied to begin with, that there had never been a baby, and so no reason to get married?

“Why are you badgering me?” she demanded. “Can’t you see that I’m upset?”

“I would have thought you’d be relieved.”

She gasped at what he was implying, her head coming up so she could glare at him. “I wanted that baby!”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Don’t you tell me I didn’t when I did!”

He sighed over her increasing dramatics. “Megan, there obviously wasn’t a baby. It was a mistake.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“We’ll have others.”

“No, we won’t!” At which point she finally had something to really cry about, and her tears began in earnest.

His expression changed instantly from put upon to genuinely concerned. “Megan—”

“Don’t touch me,” she said as he reached for her and drew her unresisting against his chest.

“Megan, don’t—please.”

“I hate you,” she cried into his neck, gripping fistfuls of his robe. “You don’t know anything about what I want. I may not have
wanted this baby before, but I do now.” She didn’t even realize she’d stopped using the past tense.

“Then I’m sorry. Tell me what I can do.”

“Nothing. There’s nothing you can—hold me, Devlin.” Megan’s eyes widened at the strength of his comforting, which went from awkward patting to a near death’s grip. And she took advantage of it shamelessly, aware that he would probably never hold her again, for any reason, and desperately wanting those arms around her one last time.

When the soft nonsense he was murmuring in an effort to quiet her turned to kisses along her temples, her forehead, her wet cheeks, she knew she was really taking advantage now, but she didn’t care. Just a little while more. She’d never ask for another thing.

But suddenly she was tasting her tears on his lips as his mouth brushed over hers by accident, only to come back once, twice, and when she didn’t protest, to settle there for a gradually deepening kiss. She gripped his robe even harder, in case he thought to come to his senses and let go of her. He didn’t. His tongue delved into her mouth with a deep groan, his, which drowned out her own.

The maelstrom of sensations that he so easily evoked with such kisses was there again, more overwhelming than ever after such a long absence. Megan forgot about her plan, forgot that she was supposed to be grievously upset. Concerns became nonexistent, thinking
impossible, with such pleasure clamoring for notice.

Which was about all she noticed. Softness was suddenly beneath her. She had been fully clothed; now she was not. But she didn’t become aware of these things until the heat of his skin covered her. And then it was only a vaguely curious awareness, because all the while, Devlin kept up those magical, drugging kisses that wouldn’t let her think.

What had been previously offered as comfort became hot brands, his hands no longer soothing, but stirring new fires wherever they roamed. And they roamed all over, teasing, thrilling, causing shivers of delight on her neck, across her breasts, down her belly to what had become the center of her universe, that place aching for his touch.

She was not to be disappointed. Deeply his fingers caressed, bringing whimper, moan, gasp, whimper again, and need, burning, consuming need that was answered with remarkable astuteness. At the precise moment she was sure she could bear no more, she was filled with the thickness of his manhood thrusting to her depths, and the resulting explosion of relief nearly did her in, it was so electrifying. Nor did it end, delicious spasms of pleasure continuing with each additional thrust, until he reached his own shattering climax. Even then the aftermath kept her spellbound and so sensually languorous, there was no thought but to savor every last incredible sensation. If only
the first time had been…The first time?

Megan’s eyes flew open with the realization. “Dammit, Devlin, why did you make love to me?”

The question was so absurd, he could be forgiven the dryness of his tone as he leaned up to say, “I was comforting you in a very old, very reliable way.”

“But you’ve ruined everything. You were supposed to get an annulment. Now you can’t!”

He lifted himself off her with stiff, jerky movements that were indicative of anger. It wasn’t until he’d yanked on his robe and turned to face her that she saw her guess was correct. He was definitely angry.

Megan reached for something to cover herself with, as if that could shield her from the fury in his eyes, but there was nothing. He’d made love to her on the sofa in the sitting room. Her own clothes were in a pile on the floor a goodly distance away.

“Is that what you were hankering for?” he demanded. “An annulment?”

“Certainly,” she replied uneasily. “It’s what
you
want, isn’t it?”

“At this precise moment, it would be my fondest wish. But as you pointed out, it’s too late now.”

“Not—not if you forget this happened.”

“Oh, no, my dear, I’m not
about
to forget this,” he replied coldly. “Besides, you could well be with child again.”

“That’s not likely to happen twice in a row,” she retorted, but she was groaning with another realization, that she was going to have to tell him she
was
still with child. Not tonight she wouldn’t.

“Then let me put it this way, and this ought to sound familiar, brat. You’re stuck with me until death do us part, and I’m not about to die to convenience you.”

“Well, that’s a fine attitude!” she shouted after him as he stalked from the room.

But he turned in the doorway for one last rejoinder. “You couldn’t have taken the title of duchess with you if you’d got your bloody annulment.”

“I know that, you stupid man,” she replied, but he’d already slammed the door shut.

Devlin left for London the next morning. Megan found out about it after he’d gone, when Duchy joined her for breakfast in her small sitting room, which was much more cozy than the formal one. The lavender shades in the wall coverings and furniture would have to go, however. She ought to consider changing it now that she was staying, but she wasn’t in the mood to spend Devlin’s money.

“You shan’t be parted long, however,” Duchy informed her, “since we’re going to London, too.”

“We are?”

“Yes. Told Devlin I was taking you shopping. He should have waited to escort us, but he got testy when I mentioned it. No matter.
We’ll join him at the town house.”

I run him off, but the poor man just can’t get away from me
.

You’re assuming. He’s been away from his work a long time. You know how men love their work
.

And how that man despises me
.

He didn’t despise you last night
.

So he liked me long enough to make love to me. It wasn’t intentional. It just happened
.

Then why don’t you work on getting it to “just happen” again?

Because that won’t solve anything
.

It can’t hurt either
.

“…at least thirty dresses to start,” Duchy was saying, “And, of course, the new ball gown.”

Megan hoped she hadn’t missed more than that, because that was too much. “I don’t need a new wardrobe, Duchy. I’ve already sent home for the rest of my things, and my complete wardrobe is extensive.”

Duchy waved a dismissive hand. “No wardrobe is
ever
large enough. And besides, after the official announcement at the ball, you’ll be deluged with callers, and the Duchess of Wrothston has an image to uphold. Haven’t you seen the size of your closet?”

Megan had wondered why that room was so large. “If you say so,” she conceded grudgingly.

“I do.” Then the dowager duchess frowned. “I’ll be dropping you off for your selections and fittings. I find it too boring by half these
days. I trust you know what colors suit you? I mean, you don’t favor pink, do you?”

Duchy looked so worried, Megan assured her, “Pink gives me freckles.”

The old lady’s eyes widened. “Didn’t know that was possible.”

“It isn’t.”

“You minx.” Duchy chuckled.

But now Megan was worried. “It’s going to be a problem, isn’t it—my hair? Devlin calls it god-awful red. He said once that the duke—he was talking about himself, though I didn’t know it at the time—wouldn’t be seen in public with a redhead. I believe his exact words were ‘a woman with the most unfashionable hair in creation.’”

Duchy sighed. Love had turned her grandson into an utter ass, it seemed. “There is nothing wrong with your hair, child. I find it incredibly lovely, and I don’t doubt for a second that Devlin does, too. If he said otherwise, he probably had some contrary reason for it. In fact, I’ll wager that if I tell him you plan to dye it, he’ll forbid you.”

“That’s not such a bad idea.”

“Then I’ll tell him.”

“No, that I dye it.”

“Don’t you dare,” Duchy scolded. “You’d be doing it for the wrong reason, and you know it.”

Megan didn’t try to deny it. “But
he’d
be happy, wouldn’t he?”

“The only way that boy is going to be happy is if you tell him you love him.”

“Do
what?
”

Duchy had promised herself she wouldn’t interfere, so she shrugged. “It was just a thought.”

But Megan’s conscience had had the same thought.
So why
don’t
you tell him?

You know very well why. He’d laugh, and I’d never forgive him
.

You know the old Devlin might laugh, but the new Devlin would…

Yes? He would what?

I don’t know
.

Neither do I, and I’m not going to embarrass myself to find out
.

Well
, something
has to be done. You could offer a truce in the bedroom for a start, and see where that leads
.

I’ll think about it
.

Why don’t you not think about it for a change, and just do it?

That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one facing possible rejection
.

I’m not the coward either, but one of us sure as hell is. Or do you
like
the way things are?

Megan sighed. She really did hate it when her conscience was right.

Two days after arriving at the St. Jameses London mansion, Devlin barged into Megan’s dressing room, where she was preparing for dinner. Her maid was so startled, the girl
rushed out before she was dismissed.

Megan was just as startled, the more so when her husband said without preamble, in a don’t-argue-with-me tone, “You may
not
dye your hair.”

She had forgotten that Duchy had planned to tell him that. And it was apparently a good thing she hadn’t accepted that wager. But this was the first time she’d seen Devlin since she’d come to London—he kept appalling hours when he was attending to ducal business—and her conscience wasn’t going to let her back out of her newest decision, to bury her temper and charm the man into liking her.

So she gave him a smile, merely reminding him, “But you don’t like my hair.”

The smile threw him off, unexpected, and so suspect. “It’s grown on me,” he said grudgingly.

“But it’s not fashionable.”

That annoyed him, hearing his own words thrown back at him. “The Duchess of Wrothston makes her own fashion. She doesn’t have to emulate it.”

“But I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in public. And besides, it clashes with the pink ball gown I’ve ordered.”

“Oh, God.”

She pretended not to hear that. “Black, I think. Yes, black. Blond is so common, after all, with everyone favoring it.”

“If you dye one lock on that beautiful head of yours, I’ll put you over my knee again,
and you know bloody well that’s not an idle threat!”

“If you say so, Devlin.”

“I mean it, Megan,” he warned, suspicious of her compliance.

“I know you do.”

She confounded him with another smile. He had come anticipating a fight. After their last parting, he needed one. But she wasn’t obliging him, and she wasn’t behaving the least bit like the Megan he knew.

She must want something. Had she figured out another way to get out of their marriage?

Bloody hell, it infuriated him every time he thought of that damn annulment idea of hers. After making love to her, finally, as he’d dreamed of doing, and knowing that she had found it as incredibly satisfying as he had, Devlin realized that for her to tell him she wanted an annulment proved without a doubt how much she loathed him, so much so that she was even willing to give up the title she’d hankered after.

Then why hadn’t she stopped him from ruining her goal? Her curiosity? He had wondered how he might use it against her. Had he done so without even knowing it? Or had she simply been so caught up in her own passion that her goal had temporarily been forgotten?

He ought to tell her that he wouldn’t have given her an annulment even if they hadn’t made love again. Maybe that would get him the fight he wanted.

He opened his mouth to do just that, but she turned her back toward him, revealing an only half-closed gown, and asking over her shoulder, “Since you’re here and my maid isn’t, would you fasten my gown for me?”

Devlin was appalled to hear himself say, “I’d rather unfasten it.”

She swung back around in surprise. “Now?”

“Anytime.”

“All right.”

He couldn’t have heard that correctly. “Liked it that much, did you, that even I will do?”

“
Only
you will do,” she replied softly, her cheeks rosy with a blush.

Of course she had to say that. He was her husband. But he wasn’t going to spite himself just because he couldn’t comprehend what she was up to.

He made love to his wife right there in her dressing room, swiftly at first, because he was afraid she might change her mind, then with exquisitely slow thoroughness when he was sure she wouldn’t.

But they were really going to have to try this in a bed sometime.