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 gi
ven 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?”
Chapter 45
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.
Chapter 46
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—”