Man of My Dreams (25 page)

It made a difference, their new relationship. By mutual agreement, silent though understood, a sort of truce was declared for lovemaking. It was an unusual concept, but it worked very well.

Devlin would come to her room at night, and without a word, Megan would move into his arms. She came to understand that despite what he might think of her as an individual, he absolutely adored her body. That she was still fascinated by his wasn’t in doubt either. And although silence wasn’t demanded or even encouraged, anything of a serious nature was expressly forbidden, for absolutely nothing was to disturb what was becoming a necessity for them both.

Outside the bedroom, it was like they were
meeting for the first time. He no longer deliberately avoided her. She no longer searched for ways to tweak his nose when something annoyed her. They spoke to each other with growing ease. They asked questions about their pasts and answered them without the least hesitancy.

His superior-than-thou attitude was also less noticeable, though not completely diminished. He was still the duke, after all, not her horse breeder. Accordingly, he never raised his voice to her anymore. And she continued to dazzle him with her smiles.

They were getting along.

It wasn’t quite enough.

Megan still had to tell him that she’d lied about losing the baby, and hope she could make him understand that she’d done it for him. She still had to get up the nerve to tell him she loved him. And she knew she wouldn’t be able to continue being pleasant indefinitely, at least not
all
the time, or keep watching her every word to avoid arguments. It simply wasn’t her nature to be so guarded with her emotions.

And she still wanted her horse breeder back.

“I can’t believe it worked out exactly as you planned it,” Tiffany said on a happy sigh as she and Megan strolled through Hyde Park. She had arrived in London yesterday, for her own wedding was less than a week away. “You got your duke. You love him. And he adores you.”

“Two out of three isn’t bad, Tiff.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, what makes you think Devlin loves me back?”

“Of course he does,” Tiffany insisted. “He must. He married you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but not because of any great affection, or any affection at all, for that matter.” Megan looked off toward the lake before reluctantly adding, “There was a little something I didn’t mention when I wrote to you, Tiff. I’m going to have a baby.”

“But that’s wonderful news!”

“I agree, now, but I didn’t think so when I first found out—since I wasn’t married at the time.”

Tiffany stopped walking to exclaim, “But—good God, d’you mean to say you
had
to get married?”

Megan turned back to face her friend, but she still couldn’t meet her eyes. “Yes.”

“No wonder you doubt his affections. But certainly he’s told you he loves you since then?”

“Not once.”

“Then what does he say when you tell him that you do?”

“I don’t.”

“What do you mean, you don’t? You just got through telling me that you do.”

“No, I mean that I don’t tell him.”

“Megan! Whyever not?”

“As long as my letter was, I still didn’t tell
you the half of it, Tiff.” She did now, with little embellishment. It was still quite a while before she concluded, “So you can see why I’ve been reluctant to put him on the spot with a declaration, especially since—since I’ve so been enjoying our unusual truce, and don’t want to do anything to ruin it.”

Tiffany’s cheeks were about as red as Megan’s locks. “Is it really that nice?”

“Better than nice,” Megan said as they continued strolling, nodding every once in a while when a gentleman would pass and tip his hat, ignoring those who simply stopped and stared. “Just don’t expect to enjoy the first time, at least not all of it. Men do, which is bloody unfair, if you ask me. But it’s our lot to not only face it in fear and ignorance, but to also have to deal with the pain of it.”

“My maid says the pain is excruciating,” Tiffany confided, her face a bit pale now.

Megan snorted. “The girl doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It was more annoying than terrible, and over before you know it. In my case, it merely brought me to my senses, which effectively ruined it for me. Actually, unlike me, you could go on to enjoy the rest.”

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am. I’d been getting more and more nervous as the day approaches.”

Megan recalled her own panic the closer she’d got to Scotland, but for different reasons. Tiffany was assured of Tyler’s love, and fully expected to be blissfully happy in their
marriage. Megan still wasn’t assured of anything—except that Devlin liked making love to her now.

“That’s normal. They even have a name for it, wedding jitters. I’m just as nervous about this damn ball Duchy is giving, but they don’t have a name for that.”

“Sure they do. Stark raving—”

“Stop.” Megan laughed. “I’m not
that
nervous. And you are coming, aren’t you, now that you and Tyler have decided to postpone your wedding trip until the spring?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be the one organizing the search parties—”

“Cut it out, Tiff.” Megan laughed harder. “Sherring Cross isn’t
that
big.”

“Maybe not, but at least you remember how to laugh. I was beginning to wonder.”

Megan sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything about my problems when your big day is so close.”

“Nonsense. And I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re making problems where none exist. I can’t believe he doesn’t love you, Meg. Every man you meet—”

“Devlin isn’t like them; he’s unique himself. His grandmother told me women have been making fools of themselves over him for as long as she can remember, and I don’t doubt it, because I’ve done the same thing. But all he sees when he looks at me is a spoiled brat.”

“You just get a little impatient sometimes.”

Megan smiled. “Don’t try and put a nice face
on it when we both know I’m spoiled rotten.”

“Well, so what?” Tiffany huffed loyally. “I suppose he just shrugs it off when he doesn’t get what he wants?”

Megan stopped, eyes widening. “Now that you mention it, he reacts a bit like I do.”

“Aha, and it stands to reason. If anyone’s bound to be spoiled, a bloody duke would be. He probably had ten nannies running after him as a child, and a host of other servants to see to his every need. You just had one nanny and a father who dotes on you, so if you ask me, he’s probably more spoiled than you are.”

“I’ll be sure to mention that—if I ever get to fight with him again.”

It was a beautiful wedding, just what Megan had always envisioned for herself—well, hers wouldn’t have been quite so grand as Tiffany’s, or with so many guests, just friends and family in her small parish church. But she’d been denied that because her damned inner voice and curiosity had gotten together to conspire against her common sense.

She was miserable on the way home from the wedding, when she should have been only happy for her friend. Devlin was quiet, too, probably just as miserable, but for different reasons, and that only made her feel worse. He could have had that grand wedding, should have had it. Instead he’d been forced to elope to Scotland.

I ought to shoot you
.

Me or him?

You. Better yet, you’re retired. I never want to hear from you again
.

Why is it you always get mad and need someone to blame when you feel rotten?

I’m not blaming someone else, I’m blaming you
.

Good God, she was losing touch with reality. Her inner voice was
not
a separate individual. But it was right as usual. Megan really did have a difficult time accepting responsibility for her own misery. And maybe it was time she stopped doing that.

She returned to Sherring Cross the next day—alone. Well, not exactly alone, since she had five strapping servants plus her new maid to escort her. Duchy had gone back earlier in the week, confessing that at her age, she couldn’t tolerate the bustle of London for very long, and she also had a thousand things to do in preparation for the ball.

Devlin was to have accompanied her. After all, the St. James ball was only another four days away. But he canceled at the last moment. Business, he said, that had to be seen to before-hand so that he could remain in Kent for a week or so after the ball.

In Megan’s present mood, she had to wonder if that was true. Business was, after all, a convenient excuse to separate them. And Devlin’s quiet mood yesterday after the wedding had continued for the rest of the day, to include his not coming to her room last night. After seeing how happy Tiffany and Tyler were, perhaps
he’d realized that their own “half” marriage wasn’t enough for him either.

The day of the ball began with a frigid storm that was nice enough to clear up before the guests started arriving. It was also the day Megan had picked to make her own announcement, albeit privately. She just hadn’t decided yet whether to sit Devlin down and confess all to him before or after the ball. Either way, she was bound to ruin his day
—if
he showed up. He hadn’t so far yet, and Duchy was starting to fret.

Megan kept to her rooms for most of the day. Tiffany found her there in the afternoon, the new bride of five days bubbling over with good cheer.

“Tyler went straight to the stables. He’s decided to buy one of the St. James Thoroughbreds, but he’s worried others will take advantage of their invite here to do the same, and the duke’s entire stock will be sold before the end of the day. Just about everyone who is anyone is coming, you know. I’ve even heard the rumor that the queen intends to make an appearance. And you wouldn’t believe the traffic on the roads and at the inns along the way. If Tyler didn’t have acquaintances in the area, we would have arrived in the middle of the night, because I was
not
going to sleep in the coach.”

Megan got her reply in quickly, while Tiffany paused for breath. “You should have come
yesterday to avoid the crush, like my father did. You know very well you don’t have to wait for an invitation to visit here now. In fact, I expect you to come for extended stays whenever you like.”

“With the size of your guest list, we were afraid even Sherring Cross was going to run out of rooms. Honestly, Meg, I doubt there’s a lord left in London today.”

Megan laughed. “You more than anyone would never believe this house capable of running out of rooms. And besides, I had one prepared for your exclusive use before I went to London. Weren’t you shown to it?”

“That miniature mausoleum down the hall? Yes, a maid is hanging up my gown even now. And where is yours? I can’t wait to see what you decided on for an occasion of this magnitude.”

Megan led the way to her dressing room, though she couldn’t generate much enthusiasm for the stunning gown that Duchy had had a hand in creating because she’d guessed Megan wasn’t accustomed to the kind of extravagance demanded for
this
ball. The result was a lavish though elegant gown of ivory-and-sapphire silk—not pink, as she had teasingly told Devlin—with a fortune in real pearls sewn along the deep bodice and dotting the train and the single wreath of white roses attached to the side of the gathered skirt.

“Good God, you’re going to look like a princess,” Tiffany exclaimed.

“No, just a duchess.”

Tiffany raised a brow at her friend’s dejected tone and accurately guessed the cause. “You still haven’t told Devlin, have you?”

“Today I will.”

“And you’re making yourself sick over it,” Tiffany concluded, again right on the mark.

Megan smiled weakly. “I guess I am.”

“Then postpone it another day. You already have enough to be nervous about on this one.”

“Postpone what?” Duchy asked as she sailed into the dressing room.

Megan made an effort to evade the question. “Has Devlin arrived yet?”

“Just, and the dear boy’s quite annoyed with me, I don’t mind telling you. I suppose I should have sent him a final copy of the guest list.”

“Why? Did you invite someone he doesn’t particularly like?”

“
That
was inevitable, but not the issue. No, he had to sleep in a stable last night.”

“You’re joking,” Megan said incredulously.

“I told you,” Tiffany told Megan.

Duchy just sighed. “He tried three different inns and not a room to be had in any of them. And he considered the hour too late to impose on anyone he knew. If he had left London at an earlier hour, there wouldn’t have been a problem—or maybe there would have been. He simply wasn’t expecting such a crowd, though I don’t know why not. It may have been ten years since we’ve had a ball here, but he knows
very well that the St. Jameses have always entertained in a grand manner—when we get around to it.”

Megan was reminded that she hadn’t seen the guest list either, final or otherwise. “Just how many people did you invite?”

“About six hundred, but I expect every one of them, plus a few I may have forgotten who will show up to remind me that I forgot them.”

There were ten seconds of amazed silence before Tiffany said dryly, “It’s a good thing Sherring Cross has two connecting ballrooms.”

“I’d wondered at that,” Megan replied in a horrified whisper. “Until now.”

Duchy pretended not to notice the astonishment she’d caused. She just loved surprises, which was why she hadn’t included the reason for the ball in the invitations, nor had she even told her intimate friends yet about Devlin’s marriage. Her sister, Margaret, knew, of course, and she’d had to sit on top of her to keep her quiet about it since her arrival, no easy thing to do with that chatterbox.

“Here’s another thing I forgot,” she said now, handing over the jewel box she carried. “Devlin had to remind me to open the family vault, though I can’t imagine why he suggested rubies to go with your gown.”

Megan could, but she was laughing and so didn’t volunteer that he thought she would be wearing pink. Duchy had too many things yet to do to stay and question her strange humor, though she did suggest, “You might want to
take a nap, my dear,” before she turned to leave.

But Megan wasn’t a total nervous wreck yet, just halfway there, and called after her before she was out of hearing range, “Is the queen really coming?”

“Certainly,” floated back through the open door.

“Certainly.” Megan groaned.