Man of My Dreams

  He yelped, and lifted his leg to squeeze the injured area. Hopping around on one foot for a moment, he didn’t notice that his wife wasn’t staying around to be reprimanded.

  “I say, Devlin, should she be riding that animal?” Margaret asked.

  “What animal?” He swung around only to see Megan setting Caesar into an immediate gallop. “Bloody hell. Megan, come back here!”

  He didn’t exactly expect her to obey him. She didn’t.

  Chapter 34

  Since she wasn’t paying any attention to where she was going, Megan came upon another town quite by accident. It was more a village, no bigger than Teadale, but the sight of its one eating establishment reminded her that she didn’t have her purse or anything else that would buy her a meal. Like her bonnet, what little money she had brought with her had been left behind in the coach yesterday.

  No money for food or lodgings. How was she supposed to get home? But the thought of returning to her husband was out of the question. She’d rather go hungry. And she had Caesar. With him she could reach home in half the time, only three days likely. She wouldn’t starve in just three days, would she?

  But what was the point? He’d only show up a few days later, so she’d have gone hungry for no good purpose. Then she’d simply leave again, and be better prepared the next time.

  The trouble with that plan was that he had the right to drag her back if he wanted to, as many times as he wished. He could even lock her up if he got tired of chasing her around the country. She’d given him that right by marrying him.

  But she hadn’t married him, she’d married Devlin the horse breeder…Maybe he hadn’t put the right name on the marriage paper, so she might not be married to him after all. That was wishful thinking that she couldn’t count on. He’d done the noble and responsible thing in his mind, after all, so he’d have made sure he’d done it right.

  Only she didn’t want to be married to him now. She hated him and meant it this time. He’d lied to her, deceived her, misrepresented himself, and who knew what else.

  Shouldn’t you be telling him all this?

  Yes, by God!

  Megan turned around and headed north again. And again she was too deep in angry thoughts to pay attention to where she was going. But Caesar stuck to what road there was, and it wasn’t all that long before the carriage was there and was almost upon her before she even noticed it.

  Megan stopped. Devlin did the same. She didn’t dismount. He leaped out of the carriage and yanked her off Caesar, not giving her an opportunity to leave again on the one animal he’d have no chance of catching up with. Megan, too intent on her fury, didn’t even notice his precaution.

  “I have a number of things to say to you, Your Grace,” she began while in his arms—he was carrying her from the horse to the carriage—putting all the contempt she could muster into his title.

  “You can say them in the carriage,” he began calmly enough, then abruptly released some of his own anger, growling, “Don’t you ever take off on my horse again, Megan, when I’m not on him with you!”

  “Your horse? He happens to be—”

  “My horse.”

  “I see,” she replied stiffly. “Another lie, and one you even involved my father in.”

  “Actually, your father confessed he’d have difficulty with subterfuge, so for the duration of my stay, he did in fact own Caesar in what you might call a short-term, cashless sale, to terminate with my leaving—which I’ve done.”

  “I don’t care how nicely you twisted it around for my father’s honest scruples. It was still another lie, Ambrose St. James!”

  “Ambrose Devlin St. James,” he corrected her, dumping her into the carriage none too gently. “No one calls me Ambrose, brat, so don’t you start.”

  She had to yell after him, because he’d turned to tie Caesar’s reins to the back of the carriage. “I don’t care what everyone else calls you! I have a few choice names that are more appropriate. Care to hear them?”

  “No!”

  That deflated her for a moment, long enough to notice that he was limping as he came back to get in the carriage. She looked pointedly at his leg and said, “If that’s to make me regret kicking you, it’s not working. I’m thinking of doing it aqain—in the same spot—only harder.”

  “Appreciate the warning, so I’ll return the favor. Kick me again with those pointed little shoes of yours, and you will travel across England barefoot.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  He cocked a brow at her. “I thought we had established the extent of my daring.”

  “You are exactly what you claimed you were—probably the only true words you ever said—a bounder, a cad, and I am not going to speak to you for the rest of my life!”

  “Do you promise?”

  Obviously not, for she wasn’t done railing at him. “You are the most wretched man who ever breathed breath. The most despicable man in all of England—no, make that the world. And you’re probably a terrible duke, too.”

  “You might want to reserve judgment on that, since you haven’t actually met him yet.”

  “Met who?”

  “His Grace, the Duke of Wrothston.”

  Her eyes flared. “Are you telling me I was mistaken in what I heard, that Margaret MacGregor isn’t your great-aunt, and she didn’t say she was expecting some St. James nephews and nieces from—”

  “Yes, yes, you heard exactly right,” he cut in impatiently. “I am the fourth Duke of Wrothston. But kindly recall that I’ve been playing a role since we’ve met, which is what you’re in such a snit about. Naturally, my behavior had to conform to that role, and that behavior was my interpretation—what I’m trying to say, Megan, is the way I’ve acted with you is completely different from how I normally am. I am usually quite circumspect, utterly proper, and I’ve even been called stuffy, though I can’t imagine why.”

  But that wasn’t the man she had fallen in—I wasn’t going to say that.

  Yes, you were.

  Stay out of this.

  “Are you claiming you’re not the least bit arrogant or bossy?” she asked.

  He flushed slightly. “It’s called leadership, not being bossy, and so a few of my own traits got mixed up in the role. I didn’t say I’d got the horse breeder down perfect.”

  “Oh, I agree absolutely. If you had, you might not have been so provoking.”

  “Actually, I enjoyed our verbal skirmishes—some of the time, since I so rarely get to let go like that. Are you saying you didn’t?”

  She would be lying if she said no. “That’s entirely beside the point,” she answered primly. “The fact remains that you misrepresented yourself from day one. I did not marry a duke.”

  “But you wanted to,” he reminded her with a good deal of smugness.

  Megan’s face went up in flames of mortification as she recalled the day she’d told him, him, that she was going to marry the Duke of Wrothston. How he must have laughed over her vain presumption and…

  “My God,” she said, appalled as the rest came back to her. “You rode all the way to Hampshire just to humiliate me with an improper proposition so I would no longer want to marry you. I didn’t realize you despised me that much.”

  She was no longer angry, she was deeply hurt, and Devlin was horrified that he’d caused it. “Dammit, that is not why I went to Hampshire. I was merely annoyed because you were so bloody determined. I thought you were a scheming opportunist out to marry a title no matter how despicable the man holding that title might be. What I did was in the way of a lesson. I certainly didn’t think it would work to put you off the idea altogether.”

  “How delighted you must have been to find out otherwise,” Megan replied bitterly. “And appalled to end up caught anyway. I suppose you now think I got myself in my present condition on purpose.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. “It takes two to get you in that condition.”

  “But you were foxed at the time, and I, of course
, am a scheming opportunist who would have taken quick advantage of that.”

  “Bloody hell, weren’t you listening to me? I said I thought that previously. I don’t think it now.”

  “And you’re a very good liar, Your Grace, proven once again.”

  “You don’t believe me?” he asked incredulously.

  “Of course I don’t believe you. Or are you going to tell me you would have asked me to marry you if a baby weren’t involved?”

  She was infuriating him as usual. “How the bloody hell should I know what I would have done down the road, which is entirely irrelevant now. You are expecting. We are married. And you’re being unreasonable.”

  “I’m not surprised you’d think so. Any time I’m right, I’m unreasonable.”

  “You’re wrong, dammit!”

  Her chin went up in the air as she looked away from him. “I don’t care to discuss it anymore.”

  “Then I’ll bloody well count my blessings.”

  Chapter 35

  Megan didn’t know the English countryside well enough to realize that the coach that had been retrieved in Scotland had changed directions midway through the return trip. She had assumed she was being taken home to Sutton Manor. By the time she noticed a few landmarks that seemed vaguely familiar, it didn’t occur to her that she might have seen them years ago, rather than last week. But not long after that, she had no trouble in identifying the magnificence of Sherring Cross, which suddenly loomed on the horizon.

  She was as spellbound as the first time she’d seen this ducal estate spread out across the land, but not for the same reason. It really was a grand edifice worthy of royalty. The trouble was that her husband owned it and she shouldn’t be his wife.

  Devlin was napping across from her—or pretending to. He’d been doing a lot of that lately, to avoid her sulky looks, she supposed. He’d given her his explanation of why he’d assumed the guise of a horse breeder. “Freddy” and “Sabrina” meant nothing to her, and so she hadn’t been all that impressed that there had been a dire reason for his subterfuge.

  But she had made a guess and said, “You told my father you were a duke, didn’t you? That’s why he was so pleased to have me marry you, isn’t it?”

  “I told him merely to expedite the matter.”

  “But you couldn’t tell me?”

  “When you were so enjoying your resentment over having to marry a horse breeder? Why spoil it for you?”

  Answers like that had kept their conversation to a minimum, but Megan wasn’t used to keeping her unhappiness bottled up, and she’d done so long enough. She leaned forward to wake Devlin, only to hesitate.

  Not in your present mood, or are you going to start a fight with him only minutes away from being descended upon by his servants?

  I don’t suppose that would make a good impression, would it?

  Definitely not. It’s bad enough that you pity him for marrying you; at least let his servants be happy for him—until they get to know you.

  Well, aren’t you the bitch today. And he deserves to be pitied. I’ve ruined his life, remember?

  What about your life? It’s just as ruined.

  But it was my fault—

  Aha! ’Bout time you remembered that.

  I hadn’t forgotten. But before, I’d only ruined Devlin’s life, which didn’t have all that far to go to be ruined. And there was every chance that marriage to me would have improved his lot, despite his contrary opinion. But now I’ve ruined a duke’s life, which is a whole different matter. It’s no wonder he hates me.

  You know, you ought to be finding some good in this mess, instead of nursing all the dreary aspects.

  There isn’t any good to find.

  What about your getting just what you originally wanted—a duke?

  The original plan included him loving me.

  All right, scratch that. What about the fact that you’re going to get to live at Sherring Cross?

  I don’t care anymore.

  Liar, you fell in love with this house.

  It’s a bloody mausoleum like Tiffany said.

  It’s better than a stable.

  That’s true.

  “You’re awfully quiet.” Devlin’s voice came to her softly. “Nervous?”

  She gave him only a brief glance before looking back out the window. “That’s convenient timing you have, waking just as we arrive.”

  “What can I say? I have an excellent inner clock.”

  Megan snorted. “And no, I’m not nervous. Nor was I quiet. You forget, I talk to myself.”

  “You’re right, I did forget. And anyone who talks to herself never lacks for company, does she? You’ll have to let me listen in on one of those conversations sometime. They must be fascinating.”

  She recognized humoring when she heard it, but decided that was better than the anger he’d displayed at the last mention of this subject. “I suppose you would find them fascinating, since they’re usually about you. But I’m afraid I’ll have to refuse your eavesdropping. My conversations are private—and quite silent.”

  “You mean you don’t talk aloud to yourself?”

  “Of course not.”

  He frowned sternly. “That’s not the impression you gave me, Megan.”

  She shrugged, remembering that she’d encouraged him to think she might be a little crazy in order to give him an excuse to call off the wedding—and he’d been furious about it then. “It’s not my fault if you misinterpret what I say.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  The coach stopped, saving Megan from answering that incriminating question. Devlin usually opened the door, but he wasn’t quick enough for the bevy of footmen who appeared instantly. More started pouring out of the house as soon as it was realized that this wasn’t a guest arriving, but the duke. And between the coach and the house, Megan heard more “Your Graces” than she ever hoped to hear again, and that was nothing compared with the commotion once they reached the mammoth entry hall, where it seemed every servant in the house wanted to welcome home the master. At some point Devlin got around to introducing his wife, and then the “Your Graces” started all over again.

  Megan didn’t know how she managed to get through it—it seemed the butler, John, and Mrs. Britten, the housekeeper, were determined to give her the name and duty of everyone present—but that they were all so genuinely welcoming quickly alleviated the nervousness she’d denied having.

  Devlin had a moment to stand back and watch her interact with his people, and he was frankly dumbfounded to witness a Megan he’d never seen before. He’d done the unthinkable and brought a bride home without giving the household any warning to prepare for her, yet she was putting the frantic ones at ease by swearing she’d like to view the grounds first, then some of the house—which was undoubtedly true, since the stables were on the grounds—before she was shown to her rooms, giving them the time they needed to prepare those rooms.

  He’d been too nervous when she’d met Margaret to notice her behavior or even what she’d said to his aunt. But this time he listened to her every word and watched her conduct herself graciously, like the perfect lady, and finally his amazement got the better of him and the words just tumbled out. “Good God, where did my brat go?”

  He knew it was a mistake instantly. He saw Megan’s back stiffen, watched her swing around to face him, felt the pain explode in his shin, then watched her eyes widen at the realization of what he’d provoked her into doing before his entire household. He wasn’t surprised that she then burst into tears and ran out of the hall. He felt like doing the same.

  He knew as well as anyone that first impressions were lasting impressions, and he’d thoughtlessly ruined Megan’s introduction to his household, possibly undermining her authority. He had no excuse except that he’d been under the same strain as she this past week—and he hadn’t been behaving normally since he met her.

  Short of replacing the entire staff, which was displaying various degrees of shock and embarrassment,
he offered an explanation. “We’ve been traveling continuously for two weeks. My wife, naturally is exhausted because of it, and so not quite herself.”

  “You surely must be exhausted as well,” John said beside him, and it was thirty-some years in the household that made him bold enough to add, “Because I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you do anything so stupid—Your Grace.”

  Devlin heard several murmurs of agreement, enough to realize that the blame was going where it belonged. He almost laughed in relief, but managed a serious “Quite right, John. Truth is, I haven’t been at all myself since I met the young lady.”

  “That’s love, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Mrs. Britten volunteered.

  “Is it? Then I’d better get used to it, hadn’t I?”

  The staff was back to smiling at that point, which was an excellent time for Devlin to take his leave to search for his furious wife. He owed her a thoroughly contrite apology this time, though he’d be lucky to get it out before she kicked him again. No doubt about it, he was definitely going to have to buy that girl some softer shoes.

  Chapter 36

  Megan was nowhere to be found in the stables. Devlin had hoped otherwise. He knew she adored horses. He had counted on the sight of so many Sherring Cross Thoroughbreds to charm her out of her current mad, or at least lessen it somewhat, so she’d listen to what he had to say.

  One of the gardeners finally mentioned he’d seen her heading for the lake. Devlin had a moment of panic, considering the state of upset she’d been in, and treated the man to the unprecedented sight of the Duke of Wrothston racing hell-bent down a tree-lined path.

  He saw her from a distance, sitting on the bank away from the boating dock. She looked like a veritable hoyden with her bonnet removed and her hair released from its constraints to form a bright red cloak down the dull gray of her traveling jacket. She had her skirt raised to her knees, and one foot dangled in the icy water.