Man of My Dreams (26 page)

“Make that bloody announcement already, Duchy, or you’re going to witness the Duke of Wrothston causing a scandal.”

Lucinda glanced incredulously at her grandson, then followed his gaze to where Megan was standing, but was barely seen, she had so many young lords surrounding her. “For heaven’s sake, Dev, the ball has only just started. And you can get her away from that crowd by simply dancing with her. That
is
permissible, you know.”

“That isn’t going to do it,” he growled, though he started toward Megan to do just that.

Duchy shook her head after him, unaware that he was going to make his own announce
ment. But she heard it, couldn’t help hearing it, actually, as did everyone else, for the sheer volume he deliberately injected.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but I would like to dance with my
wife
.”

And anyone who hadn’t heard that was quickly enlightened by his or her neighbor within minutes. Duchy sighed. So much for being the sole bearer of glad tidings. But then she chuckled to herself. If her surprise had to be ruined, she couldn’t have asked for a better way. The dear boy was positively green with jealousy, and there wasn’t a person there who couldn’t see that.

Megan was the one exception. She had no reason to think that Devlin’s appalling rudeness, as she saw it, stemmed from jealousy. She was too accustomed to male adoration to think anything was unusual about the excessive attention she’d been receiving from the moment she came downstairs. There were simply a great many men present, hence the large number wanting to meet her.

Even Devlin’s pronounced use of the word “wife” didn’t suggest jealousy to her. She’d been giving her name as Megan St. James. It wasn’t her fault that it was being assumed she was a St. James relative rather than a wife, since she wasn’t aware of the assumption.

No, rude was what he was, and she intended to find out why, saying the moment he pulled her into the current waltz, “If you’re still put out because you had to sleep in a
stable last night, I’ll thank you not to take it out on me.”

“So don’t thank me.”

Megan blinked. That sounded so much like her old Devlin that she was smiling without realizing it as she asked, “Brought back memories, did it, of your brief step-down to the servant class?”

Now that he had her in his arms, his jealousy was fast diminishing, soothed further by her smile, if not by her taunt. So he accepted the excuse she was offering for his appalling behavior—appalling now that he was aware of it.

“I had a perfectly good bed in your stable, Megan, fetched down from one of your guest rooms, hardly comparable with a stack of hay.”

“A stack of hay?” she said in surprise. “I hadn’t realized—” She broke off her sentence before she sounded too sympathetic, recalling that she hadn’t finished scolding him yet. “All the same, it wasn’t
my
fault, was it?”

“Quite right. I do beg your pardon.”

“As you should. But as long as we’re on the subject of complaints—”

“We’re not—” he tried to cut in.

“Oh, yes, we are,” Megan interrupted right back. “You don’t see me for four days and you don’t even seek me out to say hello when you finally return. That’s not very husbandly of you, Devlin.”

“If you knew the state of the typical ton
marriage, you’d know that’s
very
husbandly of me. But in my case, Duchy told me you were napping.”

“I wasn’t. You should have found out for yourself.”

She’d dropped her gaze to mutter that. Devlin bent sideways to see if her expression looked as sulky as her tone, but she turned her head aside. If she only knew that he’d tried a half-dozen times to get away from the guests who had pounced on him the moment he walked in the door—half his jealous anger had stemmed from
not
having a chance to see her before the ball commenced.

“Did you actually miss me, Megan?” he asked carefully now, unsure if he was getting the right impression from her complaint or not.

“Yes, actually, I believe I did.”

“Would you, ah, like to slip away with me for a few moments so that I can make amends and greet you properly?”

“Yes, I believe I would.”

He did
not
give her a chance to change her mind, immediately dragging her off the dance floor, her hand firmly in his, but her step hardly up to matching his. He didn’t notice, too eager to find them a spot of privacy in a veritable sea of people. Duchy, standing near the doors he was determinedly heading for, with Frederick Richardson at her side, definitely noticed.

“Good God, he’s going to make a scandal after all,” she exclaimed. “Stop him, Freddy.
I’m sure you, of all people, can imagine what he’s about to do.”

“Indeed, and I’d rather not die tonight just to save him from a scandal, if you don’t mind.”

“He’ll thank you once he comes to his senses.”

“That, my dear Duchy, will be too late,” Freddy replied and, against his better judgment, moved to block Devlin’s exit from the room—just in time. “I say, old man, you aren’t thinking of making an ass of yourself twice in one evening, are you?”

Devlin stopped, allowing Megan to move up to his side. “For a friend who hasn’t been completely forgiven yet, you’re pushing it, Richardson,” he said in low tones.

Freddy relaxed at that point, even grinned. “I figured as much, but your grandmother was about to faint from the shock, so what could I do?”

Hearing that, Megan snatched her hand back. Having been dragged across the room, she understood perfectly well what the marquis was talking about, and improvised by offering him the hand she’d just retrieved.

“I believe my husband was rather eager to have us meet, Lord Richardson. If I had known it was you he was dragging me over to introduce to, I could have told him we’d already met in Hampshire at the Leighton ball. A pleasure, though, to see you again.”

“Well said, Your Grace.” Freddy beamed at her, then winked at Devlin. “And not to undo
a brilliant rescue, I’ll just steal her away for the next dance, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind—”

“No, he doesn’t,” Duchy said as she joined them. “Run along, Freddy, but don’t monopolize the duchess too long. She has to mingle with all her guests tonight, not just a select few.” But after the marquis had whisked Megan away, she added to Devlin, “Which you, dear boy, apparently forgot,” and then in exasperation, “
Have you lost your mind?
”

“Apparently.”

“Are you blushing, Dev?”

“
Apparently
,” he groaned. Then he pulled himself together to ask with all the starch and stuffiness she deplored, “Would you care to dance, Your Grace?”

“Go to the devil,” she snorted, turning away from him, only to toss back, “And stay away from your wife tonight, unless you can manage to keep your hands to yourself.”

It took more than half the evening, dinner, the queen’s visit and departure, the
official
announcement of his marriage, and a bottle and a half of champagne before Devlin felt he could safely approach his wife again without making a fool of himself for a third time that night.

But before he reached her, he spotted another female who had somehow managed to keep from his notice all evening—until now. He turned in her direction instead, coming up behind Sabrina Richardson to pull her rudely
away from her group of friends and out onto the dance floor. “I told your brother that if I ever saw you again, I would wring your neck. Didn’t he warn you?”

Sabrina stared up at him wide-eyed, but not quite frightened. “Yes, but—but I had to come, Devlin, to apologize. I owe you that.”

“You owe me a lot more than that,” he said coldly. “Why don’t we start with the truth?”

“I just wanted to be a duchess, and you’re the only duke around who isn’t too old or married already.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Well, you asked for the truth,” she said defensively. “I’m sorry it isn’t more complicated than that.”

“
Was
there a baby?”

“No,” she answered, blushing profusely.

“Have you told Freddy that?”

Sabrina nodded. “When he told me you’d married someone else.”

“I hope he blistered your hide.”

The blush spread from her cheeks to encompass her entire face. “He did.”

“Then I just might forgive him. You, on the other hand, I ought to toss out on your ear.”

“Don’t be a grouch, Devlin. It’s worked out well enough in the end, hasn’t it? Freddy said you never would have met your wife if it wasn’t for us.” Devlin hated to own up to the truth of that simple fact, so he didn’t, but Sabrina was continuing. “I thought I’d dislike her, but I don’t. Freddy’s in love with her, you know.”

“The devil he is!”

“He said he was.”

“The devil he did!” Devlin looked over toward Megan to see if Freddy was in her group of admirers, and damned if he wasn’t. “I knew I should have sent my seconds round to him when I first thought of it.”

Logic told Megan that after the official announcement of her marriage, she should have lost most of her admirers. Logic apparently had nothing to do with it, however, for she hadn’t lost any, had actually gained some of the more disreputable kind: the lechers and charming though wicked rakes who considered her ripe for seduction now that she was a married woman.

She supposed she had been lucky not to have come across such men before—not counting her husband in disguise as himself. And although she received seventeen outrageous propositions of one kind or another, from amusing to really vulgar, she managed to keep her temper during each one and fend them off without causing a scene.

Aside from that, she was enjoying herself more than she thought she would, and that was because of Devlin’s impetuous behavior earlier in the evening. She had no doubt now that he’d been taking her off to make love right in the middle of their ball. It would have caused a scandal of the worst magnitude and was so unlike her husband the duke—but so like Devlin the horse breeder.

Megan grinned to herself each time she thought of it, and she thought of it every time she looked for and found Devlin, and she did that all night long. It didn’t even bother her that the same women kept showing up in his own groups as he circulated and mingled with his guests. It didn’t bother her when she saw him dancing with other women and heard their girlish giggles as they flirted with him. She happened to know he abhorred giggling women. She also happened to know that it was her he wanted, not them, because she’d caught a number of
those
looks from him that told her so.

All things considered, she was nowhere as nervous as she had been about her confession, which was still on the agenda for tonight. She wasn’t expecting Devlin to return her affections, at least not all at once, though that was now a more hopeful long-term expectation. But she didn’t think he’d mind all that much now if she loved him.

“I suppose you’ve been accepting congratulations all evening.”

Megan turned toward the lady who had spoken, a lovely blonde with light gray eyes who made Megan feel gauche next to her sophisticated flamboyance. “That does seem to be the order of the day,” she replied.

“Then you’re due for some condolences instead.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The woman laughed, a brittle sound. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“Should I?”

“Indeed yes. I’m Marianne Aitchison, the woman your husband jilted at the altar only a few months ago.”

Megan just stared, dumbfounded, while one of the gentlemen present said, “I say, Countess, you never got to the altar, did you? Recall Wrothston breaking it off before it got as far as that.”

“Then do you also recall that he kept me waiting for ten years?” Marianne almost snarled at the man. “Ten
wasted
years.”

Megan was too appalled for words. The bitterness coming out of Marianne Aitchison was palpable. Ten years? Good God, Devlin had been engaged to this woman for
ten years
? Why had no one mentioned that to her before, when apparently it was common knowledge?

“You were amazingly lucky, my dear,” Marianne remarked to Megan with less heat, but with no less bitterness. “To get him to the altar before his interest wore off. And it will, you know, quickly, abruptly. So don’t
expect his declarations of love to continue much longer.”

What declarations of love? Megan wanted to know, but asked instead, “Why did you have such a long engagement?”

“Because he kept postponing the wedding, again and again, and when I finally refused to be put off any longer, he broke it off completely.”

“But why?” Megan couldn’t help asking.

“Why else, my dear? He simply didn’t want a wife. But he liked being engaged. That kept all the aspiring mamas from targeting him for their sweet young daughters.”

Megan felt sick to her stomach. She knew for a fact that Devlin didn’t want a wife, at least not her, and obviously not Marianne Aitchison either. And Megan had no trouble seeing it from Marianne’s bitter point of view, to wait ten long years to marry a man, receiving no other proposals because she was already engaged, or having to refuse those that she got anyway. And then to be left without a husband to show for her commendable patience.

The countess was no longer a young debutante, but quite positively on the shelf, as the saying went. She probably had no prospects now, no hope of finding another husband at her age, when there were so many eager young hopefuls on the marriage mart every year. Devlin had, in effect, condemned her to being a spinster.

She didn’t know what to say to Marianne Aitchison. She understood her bitterness too well, but it would be trite and meaningless to say so. She felt sorry for her, and furious at Devlin for his callousness, and…

“Spreading your venom again, dear Marianne?” Freddy said, suddenly appearing at Megan’s side.

“Just setting the record straight,” the countess replied stiffly, though with a degree of uneasiness.

“Capital idea.” The marquis smiled agreeably. “Shall we hear it from another perspective?”

“Stay out of it, Freddy,” Devlin said, suddenly appearing at Megan’s other side.

“But I feel the need to atone, old man—especially since you think I’m in love with your wife.” Devlin had just cornered him to ask that question, snarled it more like, when they had noticed Marianne with Megan. “Which isn’t to say I wouldn’t have been in love with her in no time a’tall if you hadn’t married her.”

Devlin merely tossed his friend a look of disgust before taking Megan’s arm and leading her away. She allowed it for all of three seconds before she jerked her arm back and hissed, “You, sir, are despicable!”

He didn’t pretend not to know what she was up in arms about. “Condemned without trial, am I? But then our Marianne is very good at generating sympathy where none is deserved.”

“What you did to that woman—”

“Give over, Megan,” he interrupted impatiently. “I did nothing to her except come upon her at a most inconvenient time—by her reckoning—when she happened to be making love with another man.”

Megan stopped cold, her eyes flaring wide. “Then you didn’t break off with her because she wouldn’t let you postpone the wedding again?”

“Again? We were to have wed eight years ago, and in all that time I set the date back only once, when my grandfather died. But I’ve lost count of the number of times Marianne came up with one excuse or another to postpone it.”

“But that means
—she
didn’t want to marry you.”

“Not at all. I’m sure she had every intention of marrying me—eventually, despite the fact that we bore no love for each other. It was an arranged marriage after all, one of my grandfather’s last outdated notions. She was simply having too much fun being a soon-to-be-duchess without the responsibilities of a wife, since engagement to me gave her the same prestige as if she were already my wife.”

“And the fact that she had other lovers was no doubt another reason she was in no hurry to get married,” Megan concluded.

“Quite possibly.”

She didn’t know why he wasn’t angry with her. She was horrified herself at the appalling
lack of faith and loyalty she had just displayed, and on the very eve that she was going to tell him she loved him. He’d certainly believe her now, wouldn’t he.

Megan was furious at herself, but more so at Marianne Aitchison, and Marianne made a more convenient target, since Megan took blame only when all other possible culprits had been eliminated.

But first Devlin deserved one small admonishment for not speaking up
before
she had put her foot in it. “Why the devil didn’t you defend yourself back there?”

“A good many people might believe her, but anyone who knows me doesn’t,” he replied.

Worse and worse, implying she should have been in the second category, which she should have been. “I’m sorry,” she said wretchedly.

He sighed. “Megan, you
don’t
know me well enough yet to defend me out of hand. I’ve given you enough reasons not to do so blindly, at any rate.”

“Not good enough. I believed a complete stranger without even questioning you. And why does she blame you when she’s the one—”

She didn’t finish, her face exploding with color at the realization that she was describing her own spoiled tendency to pass the buck when it belonged in her own pocket.

Devlin astutely guessed her thoughts from her stricken expression. “Don’t be a fool,” he chastised sharply. “You’re nothing like her.
You don’t go around condemning me to anyone who will listen. When you place blame unfairly on someone, it goes no further than your target, and I know bloody well you don’t mean half the things you say, that it’s just your temper run amok.”

That
wasn’t taken too kindly, effectively banishing all traces of self-condemnation and bringing her husband an I’ll-remember-that look before she huffed, “I still say you should be defending yourself, and not just to me.”

“When the truth would ruin her? As a gentleman, I can’t do that.”

“No, I suppose you can’t,” she replied, and before he could stop her or guess her intent, she whipped about and called out quite clearly through the crowd, “Lady Aitchison, you are a liar.”

Devlin groaned beside her. A path was cleared instantly, so Marianne could see her accuser as well as hear her. Conversations abruptly stopped in the immediate area, the silence spreading rapidly beyond. A few couples on the dance floor crashed into others, bringing even the dancing to a temporary standstill, which so startled the orchestra that the music clanged to an end.

In the ensuing silence, Duchy’s voice could be heard as far away as the other ballroom. “Good God, what now?”

A few twitters followed that, a few coughs, and a great deal of shuffling feet as the crowd moved closer to catch every word.

At that point, it would have made matters infinitely worse for Devlin to clap his hand over Megan’s mouth and cart her out of there, as was his first and greatest inclination. Instead he placed a hand on her shoulder and said as softly as he could, “Don’t do it.”

She looked at him and amazed him by smiling, seeming totally unaware of the commotion she was causing. “You know I don’t take insults lightly, Devlin,” she said in the most reasonable tone. “And that I am very outspoken in rebuttal—one way or another. And for Lady Aitchison to slander your good name without cause is an insult to me. Had I known she was lying to me about you—well, you know my temper. There’s no telling what I might have done.”

Devlin had the most absurd urge to laugh. Amazingly, it seemed like she was talking only to him, for only his benefit, that she was completely unaware that every ear in the room was avidly listening. But he knew her better than that, and by deliberately—and he didn’t doubt it was deliberate—making her warning—which was what it had been—so public, he had to wonder who else had insulted her tonight. He would bloody well find out and deal with that in his own way, but in the meantime, he simply couldn’t resist grinning over the drama she was enacting, which wasn’t nearly as damaging as he’d thought it would be. ’Course, it wasn’t over yet, either.

“I think you’ve made your point, my dear.”

“Not quite,” she replied with just enough true anger to warn him that the scene for the assemblage wasn’t over and she was going to say her piece anyway. “You might be too much the gentleman to stop her slander, but I’m not.”

There were some outright chuckles over
that
statement, but nothing to stop her from facing a very mortified Marianne again and saying, “They say truth will prevail in the end, that it will even come back to haunt you. Would you care to discuss the
real
reason my husband ended his engagement to you, Countess—or were you leaving?”

It took Marianne a moment to realize she was being given an opportunity to escape complete ruination. She didn’t answer. She took the out Megan offered and left abruptly, humiliated, labeled a liar, but no more than that.

“Are you finished?” Devlin asked at Megan’s back.

She turned to give him a brilliant smile. “Yes, I believe so. What happened to the music?”