She wished he were leaving for good, but knew he wasn’t. The stallion wasn’t even saddled, and Devlin wasn’t wearing his boots. He had put on no more than a white shirt like the one he’d worn yesterday. She wished next that he would lose his perch, but she didn’t get that wish either. Man and horse rode as if they were made for each other. In moments they were gone from sight, but not from her mind.
Damn him, if he weren’t so devilishly handsome, she wouldn’t keep making such a fool of herself. But she’d never known anyone who looked like him, who could make her so forget herself.
She had been unforgivably rude by staring at him again. But he’d been ruder still with that crack about dropping his trousers. He’d had no call to say that. He hadn’t had to be vulgar every time he opened his mouth, either, but he had. And he certainly hadn’t had to attack her. She was not going to take the blame for that, too. But maybe she ought to.
Hadn’t he told her that staring at him like that was just like touching him? No! Megan wouldn’t believe that she had provoked him. Nor would she believe his threat about kissing her again if he caught her staring at him like that. He wouldn’t dare—would he? A low, despicable rogue like that? Of course he would. She never would have believed he’d have the audacity to do it in the first place, but he had. And why couldn’t she stop thinking about it?
If only he hadn’t kissed her that second time, which had been so different from the first, and so incredibly nice. She’d felt so dizzy, her stomach such a swirl of sensation. To her shame, she hadn’t wanted him to stop. But he had, and no wonder. He’d told her right out that she didn’t know how to kiss.
She frowned, remembering that. It was true that she had no experience in that area. The one kiss she’d had previously had been stolen by one of her local suitors, a mere peck on the lips, so brief that it was over and done with before she could decide if she liked it or not.
But she was going to be married soon. Shouldn’t she know a little more about it before she did any kissing with her duke? She didn’t want him to find her as lacking as Devlin did. Only now that she knew whom she was going to marry, it wouldn’t be fair to encourage any other suitors who might try to kiss her, so she’d lost the opportunity to learn how to go about it. And she hadn’t even paid attention when Devlin was kissing her, too caught up in what she was feeling for the first time to take note of what he was doing to make her feel that way. Nor was she about to let him kiss her again. That was out of the question. A horse breeder! That he had dared…
She was still standing there at the window when he returned shortly thereafter, his hair wet, his shirt now clinging to his damp chest. He’d gone for a swim, then? Not to her pond, she hoped. The very thought of him in her own private swimming hole infuriated her. It was bad enough that he was living in her stable.
Bristling anew over the man’s audacity, she realized a moment later that he’d noticed her. He had stopped the stallion far short of the stable, right below her window, in fact, and was staring up at her. She stared back despite his warning, deliberately, defiantly, knowing that in her room she was safe from him and his threats. She even smiled smugly to herself.
But he continued to stare also. Even as he dismounted and moved to stand at the front of the stallion, he didn’t take his eyes off her window. She began to think he was going to make a damn contest out of it, until he suddenly reached down and pulled his shirt off.
Megan gasped and yanked her draperies closed, but she could hear his husky male laughter, which was worse than his whistle yesterday—telling her he’d won another round. This was utterly intolerable. He was utterly intolerable. She would have to speak to her father about him. The man had to be put in his place.
Chapter 8
Megan had the opportunity to speak to her father over breakfast later that morning. She even worked out in her mind exactly what she would say, partial truths mostly, but damaging enough to get Devlin Jefferys a blistering setdown without actually warranting a dismissal, which would lose them the stallion. All she had to do was insert her account of Devlin’s behavior between talk of her upcoming trip to London and her plans for today. She chickened out. She was afraid, and rightly so considering his insolence, that he would have his own accounting to give, which would paint her as culpable as he was.
She decided instead to warn Devlin of her intention if it became necessary, which she hoped it wouldn’t, since she hoped not to have to speak to him again on any matter. After all, he might be under the impression that she wouldn’t say anything to her father, because she hadn’t said anything when she’d first asked for his dismissal, and Devlin knew that, had been listening at the door. So if he thought she would speak out if he wouldn’t leave her alone, then he’d bloody well leave her alone.
But despite her confidence in her conclusion, Megan was still nervous when she entered the stable at her usual time after breakfast. She relaxed, however, when she saw that no one was about, not even Timmy, who usually was. She could hear noise in the back of the stable that sounded like hammering, but she wasn’t about to investigate. She went straight to Sir Ambrose’s stall.
She always gave her horse a quick rubdown before her ride, then a more thorough grooming when they returned. She thought about skipping the rubdown today, however, wanting to be gone as quickly as possible while Devlin still wasn’t around.
“G’mornin’, Miss Megan.”
She started, but only for a second. “Good morning to yourself, Timmy.”
“He’s somethin’, that Caesar, ain’t he?” Timmy said as he climbed up on the stall rail to sit next to her saddle draped there.
It was their customary routine, since she didn’t require his help, that he’d sit there and keep her company while she saw to her horse. It was soothing, that normalcy, and almost made her decide not to break her own routine.
“You were given a job to do, Timmy. Get to it.”
Megan groaned inwardly at the sound of that voice. Likely Timmy did, too, for the boy responded instantly to the command in that tone, scrambling down from the stall rail and actually running to the back of the stable.
“You had no business doing that,” Megan said, turning to see Devlin filling the front of the stall. “Timmy was merely keeping me company.”
“Not when I’ve given him a job to do. He happens to be under my orders now.”
She started to disagree about who was Timmy’s ultimate employer when she realized she was looking at him. She snapped her mouth shut and turned around.
“What? No argument?”
“Go away,” was all Megan said, and that in a mumble.
“Don’t think I will,” Devlin replied, just to be disagreeable, Megan was sure. “I live here, after all. In fact, you could say this is my house for the time being.”
His cheerful tone was irritating in the extreme, but Megan managed to refrain from commenting about him and stables going hand in hand. She wasn’t going to say another word to him. She was going to simply ignore him until he went away.
She moved to get her side saddle, but Devlin was suddenly behind her, his chest crowding her back as he reached for it instead. Megan turned to yank the saddle out of his hands. She got it, only because he wasn’t expecting her to try to take it, but she’d yanked too hard. Her pull, along with the weight of the saddle, sent her stumbling back, and, unable to catch herself with her hands full, she landed on her backside in a small pile of hay.
She let out a screech of indignation and slapped the hand away that came down to help her up. How many times was she going to make a fool of herself in front of this man? She’d already lost count.
“I was only trying to help,” he said, “since I’d sent Timmy off.”
She didn’t detect any laughter in his tone, but his mouth was probably grinning from ear to ear. She still wouldn’t look, but when was he going to take the hint?
She got to her feet and dusted the straw from her riding skirt before she reached down for the saddle. Silence gree
ted her while she prepared Sir Ambrose for riding. She wasn’t even sure Devlin was there any longer, but she still wouldn’t…
“All right, you haven’t looked at me but once since I’ve been standing here.” His tone had turned sharp with annoyance. “Have I suddenly grown horns?”
Megan couldn’t keep her mouth shut on that one. “I believe you had them already.”
“Look at me when you insult me!”
She didn’t, but she took a moment to explain to the dense man, “You may have forgotten your warning, Mr. Jefferys, but I haven’t. I have no intention of provoking you again by looking at you.”
“You’re provoking me right now,” he growled, then added with slightly less heat, “There’s looking, and then there’s looking, and you know which bloody kind I meant. Besides, I was angry when I said it. Chances are, the next time you stare at me like that, nothing will happen. Care to try it?”
“No.”
“Just as well. That bloody pond was colder than I cared for.”
She looked at him then, with acerbity. “That ‘bloody’ pond, Mr. Jefferys, happens to be my pond. I’ll thank you to stay out of it.”
“Then don’t get my body so heated that either it’s a cold dunking or I carry you off to my bed.”
Her face heating, she said in a tight voice, “You can use the pond.”
“I thought you might say that.”
She led Sir Ambrose out of the stall and over to the mounting block, seething over the smugness in his tone.
“Stubborn brat,” she heard mumbled behind her, apparently not for her ears, because he then said loudly, “You were supposed to ask for my help with that saddle.”
“Whatever for? I see to my own horse, for both grooming and saddling.”
“Your horse?”
Her eyes narrowed on his surprised expression. “You find something unusual in that?”
“Only to wonder how you came by a Thoroughbred like that.”
“Sir Ambrose was a present for my twelfth birthday.”
“That’s Sir Ambrose?” He started to laugh.
Megan caught herself grinding her teeth together. “What the devil do you find so funny?”
“I hate to be the one to point this out to you, Miss Penworthy, but that horse is a female.”
“I’m perfectly aware of that.”
He lost his grin. “Then why the devil do you call her Sir Ambrose?”
“I named her after her previous owner, Ambrose St. James.”
“Why?” he demanded sharply, frowning at her. “Had you met him? Did he look like a bloody horse?”
Megan was amazed at the sudden anger he was displaying. “No, I haven’t met him yet, nor do I know what he looks like. But what difference does that make? And what business is it of yours what I call my horse?”
“None. Certainly,” he replied stiffly, actually scowling at her. “Except that’s a bloody stupid name to give a horse, particularly a female horse.”
“If you ask me, Devlin’s a stupid name to give a man, conjuring up images of devils and the like. Then again, I guess it suits you rather perfectly, doesn’t it?”
His answer was to set his hands to her waist and lift her until they were eye to eye. “Do you remember what I told you I do to horses and women who get too feisty?” he asked in a softly menacing tone. Megan could only nod, words failing her. “You’re due, Miss Penworthy.”
She landed on her saddle with a jarring jolt for its being unexpected. The hard landing served to also jolt her out of that brief moment of intimidation he’d made her feel. But Devlin hadn’t waited around for her to recover her temper. So Megan merely stared after the odious man as he sauntered back into the stable, his latest threat making her seethe.
He wouldn’t dare lay a hand on her hindquarters. He’d better not dare. She had a good mind to follow after him and tell him so—only that tone he’d used was still ringing in her ears. Maybe she would tell him another time. Yes, some other time, when she wasn’t so…mad.
Chapter 9
“Pink?” Devlin said as he stared at the drapery Mortimer had just hung over the single window in his new bedroom. “That was the best you could find? Pink?”
“I was lucky to find anything at all ready-made in a village the size of Teadale. And I don’t know what you’re complaining about. This room needed a little brightening.”
The room needed to be torched, in Devlin’s disgruntled opinion. “Did you fix the door latch?”
“Right ’n’ tight. Some rugs will be delivered later today.”
“No carpeting available?”
“Not in Teadale.”
Devlin sighed, feeling extremely put-upon. It’ll do you a world of good, Duchy had assured him. Might even teach you some humility, which you’re sadly lacking, dear boy. Duchy hadn’t seen the squire’s stable, however, which had been uninhabited by human occupants for a goodly number of years. Even Timmy would rather go home each night to his mother’s over crowded cottage than sleep in one of the two small rooms that had once been used by stable grooms, but were now used only for storage. Devlin had found it incredible that a man of the squire’s consequence had no more than one stableboy, and only four horses.
“Some paint on these bare walls would be appreciated,” Devlin said. “Not pink.”
“You’ll have to sleep with the smell,” Mortimer warned.
“I’m sleeping in a bloody stable,” Devlin replied pointedly.
Mortimer chuckled. “You’re right. One more noxious odor won’t make much difference.”
Devlin saw nothing humorous about it. He had a mind to throw caution to the wind and abide at the inn with Mortimer, but Duchy’s warning to stay out of public houses was still prominent in his mind. When the devil was he going to learn how to say no to Duchy?
“I will need more shirts,” Devlin said, looking down in disgust at a white sleeve that was already stained. “At least a dozen.”
“Didn’t I warn you gentleman’s white didn’t belong in a stable?”
“Just send for them, Mr. Browne, and while you’re at it, find out if there are any available women in the area.”
“Available for what?” Mortimer asked in all innocence, but at Devlin’s pointed stare, he said, “Oh,” then, “Now see here, I ain’t no—”
“Spare me the dramatics, Mr. Browne, or I’ll—”
“Have to suffer along with the rest of us.”
Devlin cocked a brow. “Struck out, did you?”
“This is a nice, quiet neighborhood. If a bloke wants a tumble around here, he has to marry to get it.”
“Not even a tavern wench?” Devlin asked incredulously.
“Not even a tavern other than the taproom at the inn,” Mortimer was delighted to say.
“What do I have to do, ride to London?”
“You don’t dare show yourself there unless you’re ready for that duel.” Devlin merely glowered, so Mortimer offered, keeping the grin from his lips, “I hear tell there’s a nice pond near here.”
“I’m already acquainted with that bloody pond,” Devlin snapped.
But now an image of Megan mounted on her Sir Ambrose came potently to his mind, thanks to the mention of his morning dunking in icy water. Sir Ambrose, for God’s sake.
His urge had been to ride after her to make sure she didn’t get hurt on such a spirited animal, but common sense said if she’d had the animal as long as she’d claimed, then she could ride it well enough. Common sense had little to do with the urge to follow her, however.
“Add a case of brandy to my order,” Devlin said now in disgruntlement, then asked, “Not even one fallen dove in the whole area?”
“Not a one.”
“Make that two cases of brandy.”
Megan almost avoided the high meadow today, considering her bad mood. It was where Tiffany would meet her several mornings a week, to join her for her morning ride. Tiffany wasn’t as enthusiastic about riding as Megan was, though she was accomplished en
ough, and she didn’t come out every morning.
The girls had no plans to meet today. Tiffany was spontaneous about when she would show up, so Megan always included, in her daily jaunt the high meadow that lay between their respective homes, just in case.
Tiffany was already there when Megan entered the meadow, which was unusual, since Megan was early herself, her own schedule having been moved up in her haste to vacate the stable.
“It must be cleaning day to get you out of the house this early of a morning,” Megan said as she drew up alongside her friend. “Or is your mother in another one of her redecorating moods?”
“Neither. I just have news that I couldn’t wait to share, but I’m also dying of curiosity.”
“I suppose your curiosity has to come first?”
“Absolutely.” Tiffany grinned. “Especially since you didn’t even come back with the carriage yesterday, but sent a footman with it. I would have come over later in the day, but my mother had already got my promise to read at her Poets Society meeting, and last night we had Tyler and his parents to dinner.”
“How did that go?”
“Very well, considering how nervous I was. Now tell me, did your father really buy that incredible horse?”
Megan grinned. “He really did, and some mares, too, though they haven’t arrived yet.”
“You must be thrilled to pieces. Tyler was, too. He couldn’t stop talking about that stallion last evening. Told his father all about him. They’ve got a wager going that it’s likely a retired racer, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they both stop over for a closer look sometime this week. Did you ride it yet?”
“You know ladies don’t ride stallions.”
“That wouldn’t stop you,” Tiffany replied knowingly. “Then you haven’t?”
“Not yet.” Megan sighed.
“What about his handsome trainer? Did you get the fellow dismissed?”
“Do you think he’s handsome?”
“Divinely handsome. Don’t you?”
Megan shrugged. “He has a certain attraction, I suppose, if you can overlook his rudeness, which I can’t. But no, I had no luck getting rid of him. When Devlin Jefferys said he comes with the horse, he meant it literally. The damned sales agreement stipulates that he can’t be fired.”