“Actually, he can, if the child I’m carrying turns out to be male. Didn’t he tell you I’m going to have a baby, and that’s why we were forced to marry?”
“No, the damned boy must have forgotten to mention that little tidbit.”
Chapter 38
It was two days before Megan visited the stables to discover that Devlin had arranged to have Sir Ambrose delivered to Sherring Cross for her. She was pleased to see her mare again, but she was actually even more pleased to have a reason to seek Devlin out, to thank him for his thoughtfulness. She shouldn’t need a reason to speak with her husband, but she felt she did.
She had barely seen him since their arrival, much less talked to him. She had been led to the formal dining room to dine alone with him last night—Duchy was conspicuously absent—but eating at different ends of a twenty-foot-long table was not conducive to conversation.
She’d noted the change in him without comment, the elegant attire, the very correct posture and movements. He was every inch the duke now—well, not quite every inch. He hadn’t cut his hair yet. Duchy had complained over breakfast this morning that he was leaving it long just to annoy her. Megan decided it was for her own benefit so she wouldn’t forget that he was the man she’d married—as if she could.
She’d only had one remark for him last night before they parted to go to their separate bedchambers, and that only because two hours of formal silence at that long table had gotten on her nerves, and she wasn’t up to attacking his new self yet.
“It’s patently clear now why you made such a lousy horse breeder. The next time you think to impersonate a member of the working class, leave your fine shirts at home, as well as your arrogance.”
She’d gone to sleep regretting those sulky words, which hadn’t even gotten a reply other than a condescending lifting of his brows, meant to exasperate her, no doubt. Then again, his grandmother possibly had the right of it. Megan had confided to her that the Devlin she knew was argumentative, disagreeable, and disrespectful, only to be told that simply wasn’t Devlin St. James, that such behavior had to have been part of the role he’d been playing.
Megan sincerely hoped not, for the very proper, unflappable Devlin she’d dined with last night was a bore. Still, she was simply going to have to make an effort to get along with him, and to stop trying to provoke him into the same state of unhappy feelings she was in. Which was why she was glad of an excuse to speak with him now. She would be pleasant. She would offer an olive branch. He was her husband, for better or for worse. She was tired of the worse.
Megan entered the house by a side entrance, where the corridors were almost mazelike, though they eventually led to the main block where Devlin’s office was located. She was nearly there when she heard a voice that was vaguely familiar raised in anger.
“…won’t do you a bit of good to tell me he’s not here when I bloody well know he is. I’ve had spies watching the house day and night to inform me exactly when he returned, so get out of my way, John!”
Megan came around a corner in time to see Devlin open the door to his office and ask mildly, “Were you looking for me, Freddy?”
“Come out of hiding at last, have you?” Frederick Richardson shot back in hot temper. “And where the devil did you go, Dev, that a hundred bloody runners couldn’t find you? Clear to America?”
“You ought to know me better than that. I wouldn’t put up with seasickness again for any reason—even to preserve your rotten hide.”
“Preserve?” the Marquis of Hampden exclaimed with a good deal of indignation. “Let’s not forget who intends to shoot whom.”
“Have you brought your pistol with you, then?” Devlin was still showing a marked lack of interest, which was causing a marked excess of alarm for Megan.
“Yes, by God—I’ve got it here somewhere.”
While Freddy was searching through several of his pockets, Devlin stepped forward and socked him one, catching him so off guard that the marquis was knocked off his feet. “I believe I owed you that,” Devlin said, finally showing a bit of emotion, in this case satisfaction.
“The devil you did!”
“The devil I didn’t, and I’m not referring to that blind punch you gave me. You cannot begin to know what your sister’s false accusation and your pigheadedness have cost me. I never would have gone to the wilds of Devonshire if it weren’t for your damned temper that needed time to cool off. It’s your fault I’m so bloody miserable now, thank you very much!” And having displayed ample emotion at last, Devlin went back into his office, slamming the door shut behind him.
“Well, what the devil did he mean by that?” Freddy asked as he picked himself up off the floor.
“I couldn’t say, my lord,” John replied quite correctly, only to spoil it with an opinion. “Possibly he refers to the difficulty he is having adjusting to married life.”
“Married life?” Freddy replied in shock. “Married! He didn’t!”
“I assure you—”
Freddy didn’t wait for the butler to finish, but barged uninvited into Devlin’s office. Megan turned around to retreat unnoticed, heartsick to know that she didn’t just have the ruination of Devlin’s life on her conscience now. She was also making him miserable.
“How dare you marry someone else when my sister—?”
“Lied, Freddy,” Devlin cut in curtly without pausing in the act of pouring himself a large snifter of brandy. “When are you going to get that through your thick head? Good God, it’s been two months!” On second thought, he left the glass and brought the bottle back with him to his desk. “Didn’t Sabrina own up to it yet?”
“Own up to it?” Freddy blustered. “She still maintains you seduced her.”
“Why that little—Duchy tells me she’s not married yet. If you tell me you were waiting for me to show up and do the honorable, I think I’ll hit you again.”
Freddy rubbed his jaw with a wince and dropped into one of the chairs across from Devlin’s desk. “Rather you didn’t, and no, I wasn’t. Found her a groom, though. Carlton is knee-deep in debt and so is quite agreeable. They were to marry on the quiet next week.”
“Were?”
“She lost the baby last week, so she’s canceled the wedding.”
“Lost it?” Devlin frowned. “Then she really was?—wait a minute,” he said suspiciously. “Did you see her lose it, or did she just tell you about it after the fact?”
“Well, actually, she did tell me, but she was quite broken up about it.”
“They’re all experts at crying at the drop of a hat. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“Well, that’s damn cynical of you,” Freddy protested. “I had no reason to doubt her, Dev.”
“Except that I’m your best friend, and I told you I never touched her.”
“She’s my sister, dammit. What would you have done in my place?”
“I wouldn’t have been so quick to believe a habitual practical joker, which you bloody well know Sabrina is. And I would have had a little more faith in my best friend, who doesn’t go around seducing innocents—at least he didn’t used to,” Devlin ended in a mumble.
Freddy pounced. “I heard that. Who else have you been seducing?”
“I certainly wasn’t talking about your damn sister, who, by the by, is going to get her neck wrung if I ever see her again. And you—I’m seriously thinking about sending my seconds round to pay you a visit.”
“That’s twice now you seem to be blaming me for I don’t know what.”
“Then let me enlighten you,” Devlin offered. “Because of you, I was forced to bury myself in the country, where I met the most beautiful girl I’ve ever set eyes on, and my life has been hell ever since.”
“I beg to differ,” Freddy replied smugly. “I’ve recently met the most beautiful girl you’re ever likely to set eyes on. Haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. I don’t mind telling you, I’m seriously contemplating returning to Hampshire to court her.”
/> “Hampshire? She wouldn’t happen to have red hair and blue-as-midnight eyes, would she?”
“How the devil did you know?”
“You can forget about courting her,” Devlin said in a near growl. “And you will bloody well get her out of your mind. I’ve already married her.”
“That isn’t funny, Dev.”
“Am I laughing?”
“Not Miss Penworthy?”
“The same.”
“Well, I like that!” Freddy said huffily. “And you’re complaining? You ought to be thanking me.”
“When she despises everything about me, except my title—and my horses?”
“Well, at least she’s got good taste. I like your horses myself.” When Devlin just stared, he added, “Sorry, but it can’t be all that bad.”
“Can’t it?” And Devlin proceeded to tell him just how bad it was.
Chapter 39
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 unkindly. “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.”