Man of My Dreams (27 page)

Megan’s comment about the music was like a signal for the resumption of conversation, which returned at full volume. And Devlin had only to glance toward the orchestra for a waltz to begin, offbeat at first, but the melody was corrected by the time he drew his wife onto the dance floor.

“I can’t tell you how often I’ve wanted to do what you just did—or something to that effect,” he admitted as other couples began twirling past them. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He grinned. “It’s going to drive the ton crazy, you know, wondering what that reason is that you hinted at.”

“So?”

“So do you like causing such a furor?”

“No, but you asked me not to ruin her, so I didn’t. If you hadn’t asked, I would have done more than only embarrass her, Devlin. I hope you realize that.”

“Indeed I do, as does everyone else. So don’t be surprised if people get tongue-tied around you for a while. They’ll be in dread of causing you the least little insult.”

“I don’t notice you having that problem.”

“Nor will you. I thought we had established that I give as good as I get.”

“I believe it was your daring that was established. Speaking of which, mine has been lacking of late.”

“You can say that after what you just did?”

She shrugged that off. “That was temper, not daring. You see, I’ve been meaning to tell you something, but I’ve kept putting it off.”

Devlin groaned inwardly, remembering the last time she’d put off telling him something. Emphatically, he said, “I don’t want to hear it.”

“You don’t—?” she sputtered. “Well, you’re
going
to. I’m having a baby.”

That caught him off guard. “I thought you said it wasn’t likely to happen twice in a row.”

“I have no idea if that’s so. But this is the baby I was having before.”

That
really
caught him off guard, and slowed him to a stop on the edge of the dance floor. “Then—you lied?”

“Yes, but it was for a good cause.”

“I recall your good cause, Megan,” he replied coldly. “And what you’re telling me is that
you wanted me to get an annulment while you were still carrying my child. You would actually have left me while you
still carried my child
.”

She flinched at the fury in those words, for all their softness. “I wasn’t looking at it from that viewpoint. All I knew was that I was making you miserable.”

“Don’t you mean that the other way around? No, don’t answer that. One more word out of you, and the scandal we’ve been avoiding by the skin of our teeth will occur after all. I need a bloody drink.”

He walked away from her. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have stood still for that, would have shouted something to bring him back. But she couldn’t do that now. A few people were already looking at her and probably wondering at her dumbfounded expression.

Well, she’d certainly handled that brilliantly. She supposed she should have first told him she loved him, then mentioned the baby after. But she hadn’t expected him to get
that
angry about the baby.

She moved off to find her father and Tiffany, needing the bolstering they could supply, because the night wasn’t over yet. She was still going to tell Devlin the rest of what she had to say, whether he wanted to hear it or not. But she’d let him cool off a bit first.

As it happened, however, she didn’t see him again. He didn’t even show up for the conclusion and the departure of his guests. At least
half were leaving, those who lived in the area or only hours away, and those eager for an early start back to London. The rest would depart at their leisure the next day, with only a few dozen expected to remain as houseguests for a while.

It was nearly dawn before Megan was able to retire herself. She took the chance that Devlin might have done the same, only earlier, and checked his room before going to her own. It was necessary to enter his domain completely since he hadn’t left a light burning, and leaving the door cracked open to give her a bit of light to see by actually made matters worse, creating an abundance of shadows.

She found him in his bed after all, a great lump with the covers pulled nearly over his head. She sat down next to him and drew the covers back enough to see that he was sleeping on his stomach, his head turned away from her, his arms circled around his pillow.

His back was bare. She had the urge to crawl under the covers with him and wait until a decent hour to tell him what else she had to say, but that would be putting it off again, and she’d done enough of that.

She shook his shoulder gently. “Devlin?” He mumbled. She shook harder. “Devlin?”

His head reared up, swung around to peer at her through slanted eyes, then dropped back on the pillow in his previous position. “What?”

“Are you awake?”

“No.”

That sounded like his usual drollery, so she plunged on. “You didn’t give me a chance to tell you the most important part of my confession. I know the other part made you angry, and I’m sorry, but I really did do it for you, you know.”

Her nervousness returned at that point, lodging the other words in her throat. Her hand caressed his back for a moment, then moved up to lovingly push the hair back from the side of his face.

Incredibly, and to Duchy’s keen disapproval, he hadn’t cut it yet, not even for the ball, though he had at least clubbed it back for the evening, giving him a decidedly rakish appearance with his black formal wear.

She rather liked his hair long herself. It took some of the starch out of him—at least until he opened his mouth to speak.

Her mouth opened finally, the words rushing out. “I love you, Ambrose Devlin St. James.” She waited breathlessly, but he said nothing, causing a sharpness to enter her voice. “Did you hear me?”

He jerked awake. “What?”

“I said, did you hear me?”

“Yes, yes, now leave me alone, Megan. I drank too much. Need to sleep it off.”

She sat back, incredulous. Well, she hadn’t been able to imagine what he might say when she finally told him. Now she knew.

Megan walked out of the house with her small bag of clothes at approximately three o’clock the next afternoon, one hour after she awoke, and it would have been sooner, except she had to eat and pack first. She didn’t call for a carriage. She marched down to the stable, but once there, she didn’t call for her horse either.

She wasn’t actually leaving, after all, though it certainly appeared that way to the servants she passed. No, she was making a statement, a very loud one that Devlin wouldn’t be able to miss; nor did he, having been informed about it before she’d even reached the stable.

When she arrived, she ignored the grooms, who were hesitant to ask what she wanted, after getting a look at her expression—and her
bag. They still followed her from tack room to tack room as she searched for what she was looking for. But she was finally disappointed that she hadn’t noticed before that there wasn’t a room with a bed in it similar to the one Devlin had had in her stable. There being so many grooms here, they had their own quarters in a separate building, and of course it was out of the question to go there.

I noticed a nice pile of hay on the way in
.

You think I won’t make use of it? He did, so I can
.

You won’t, but I suppose it will serve your purpose. Do you really think this is going to work
?

I retired you, remember? So I don’t want to hear that I might be making a fool of myself
.

She went back to inspect that pile of hay, dropping her bag in a corner, and kicking and tossing armfuls of hay about until she’d fashioned, to her eyes, an adequate bed in the center of it. She was still standing in the middle of her masterpiece when Devlin arrived, announcing his presence by barking at the gawking grooms to vacate the stable—completely.

Megan squared her shoulders, kicked the train of her cream dress out of the way, and turned to face her husband. She expected him to be in a powerful rage. He probably was, but he was wearing his ducal mien, so she couldn’t really tell.

She opened her mouth, but he beat her to it. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Megan?”

Her chin went up at its most stubborn angle. “I’m moving into the stable.”

He’d noted the bag in the corner, been told about it, but that wasn’t what he’d rushed down here expecting to hear. “You’re
what
?”

“You heard me. And I’m going to stay here until I have my horse breeder back.”

She looked so mutinous, he didn’t doubt she meant it. He just couldn’t figure out
why
she meant it. But his frightened rage was receding. She wasn’t leaving him. Not that he would have let her.

Bewildered for the moment, he said carefully, “Thought you couldn’t stand him.”

“You thought wrong,” she retorted.

Even more carefully, he explained—just in case she didn’t know it, “He doesn’t exist.”

“He does,” she insisted. “You’re just keeping him buried beneath all that ducal haughtiness. But I’m giving you warning, Your Grace. If I can’t have your love, I at least want Devlin Jefferys back, and I’m staying here until I get him.”

His breath escaped in a whoosh of surprise. “Are you telling me you
want
me to love you?”

“If that isn’t the most stupid question,” she replied, losing her temper over his denseness. “Do you think I’ve been agonizing for weeks about telling you I love you just because I like to agonize? Very well, so you weren’t interested. I’ll settle for having Devlin Jefferys back.”

Getting blasted like that prodded his own temper. “The devil you will! And if you want
to talk about agonizing—”

“I don’t!”

“Then let’s discuss your ‘interested.’ I would have been
very
interested if you had ever got around to telling me you loved me, so if you intended to, why didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“You didn’t! I bloody well would have remembered hearing
that
if I’d heard it.”

“You heard it, you wretch, last night in your bed. Don’t try and tell me—”

“Megan,” he cut in, striving for some patience, if even a minuscule amount. “I went to bed with a bottle last night, not you.”

That gave her pause. “You really don’t remember my coming into your room?”

“No. Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Then would you mind repeating what it was you told me that I didn’t hear?”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at his soft tone. “No, I don’t think I will.”

He swore a blue streak, striding about, kicking up more hay as he did. When he happened to notice his wife, it was to catch her wide-eyed look of feigned amazement. He stopped suddenly and burst out laughing.

“God, I love it when you provoke me, brat. It sets my blood on fire.”

Her eyes got a little wider, especially since he’d started removing his jacket as he said it. “Does it?”

“Don’t play the innocent. You do it deliberately, don’t you?”

“Certainly not—Devlin, what
are
you doing?”

The white lawn shirt came off and was dropped to the floor. “What does it look like?”

She took a step back, though her eyes were caressing every inch of skin he was baring for her. “It’s the middle of the day!” she protested.

“So?”

“So you can’t mean to—”

“Can’t I? I thought you wanted the duke on the shelf.”

“I did, but—but—” She ended with a shriek as she went over backwards into the straw, her damn train tripping her up when she’d taken another step back.

“Falling at my feet again?” Devlin grinned. “I like that.”

Megan shrieked and tried to get up, but he was there, on top of her, before she could. Then she was rolling about, making every effort to stop his fingers from stripping her own clothes off, along with the rest of his. Finally she was laughing, having failed utterly, and no longer able to contain her delight in getting the old Devlin back.

“We made love in my stable,” she said, tantalizingly streaking her nails down his back and buttocks to feel his body arch into hers. “I guess it’s only fair we try it in yours.”

“Fair has nothing to do with it,” he replied, his voice rough in his passion.

She sighed. “I love it when you put the duke on the shelf.”

“What else do you love?”

“You,” she gasped as his mouth fastened on her nipple and tugged gently. “Do you think you might ever love me back?”

His head rose to give her a dazzling smile. “What makes you think I don’t?”

“Do you?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“I hate you!”

“No, you don’t. You love me.”

“And?”

“I’m still thinking about it.”

She grinned, then chuckled. “You’re a wretched tease, Devlin St. James. Are you going to make me say it for you?”

“No.” He dipped down to graze her lips once, twice, then gave her a soul-stirring kiss before adding, “Knowing you, you’d say it all wrong.”

“I’d simply say, I love you.”

“But
I’d
say, I love you—brat.”

Three weeks later they accompanied Megan’s father home, because Devlin claimed to have business in the area,
and
claimed he wasn’t about to be parted from Megan for more than a few days, so she had to come along. But he timed it so they arrived on Sunday morning, and when she realized his ducal coach was stopping in front of her parish church, Megan started to cry.

“This wasn’t necessary,” she said, throwing her arms around her husband’s neck and squeezing tight.

“I know.”

“You’ve already given me too much.”

“Nothing can compare with what you’ve given me—your love. And I’m going to spoil you every bit as much as your father ever did. More, I don’t doubt.”

She leaned back to give him a watery smile that released both dimples and had the same effect on him that her smiles always did. “Can I spoil you as well?”

Devlin groaned. “You already do. Now let’s go set your Lady O on her ear.”

Someone had told him the tale, obviously. Megan looked out the window to see the stout figure of Ophelia Thackeray and all three of her daughters—and Frederick Richardson
—and
Tiffany and Tyler. Devlin had planned this well—for her.

“I can’t do it. It’s mean and spiteful, petty
—brattish
.” She glanced back at Devlin. “I can see you went to a lot of trouble, but it just doesn’t matter anymore. You’re all that matters, Dev.”

He put his hand to her cheek. “It was Tiffany’s idea, my dear, a belated wedding gift.”

“Oh.” She grinned brilliantly at that point. “In that case, it’d be churlish of me not to do it, wouldn’t it?”

The Duke of Wrothston burst out laughing. “Absolutely, brat.”