Man of My Dreams by Johanna Lindsey
So she was going to marry him, was she? Over his dead body. The nerve of that girl. The bloody audacity, to set her sights on him before she’d even met him. At least the other women who’d coveted his title, and he’d lost count of their number, had wanted him for himself just as much if not more. He ought to be used to it by now, but damned if he was. Besides, Megan’s case was unique. He could be a wastrel or the veriest saint, and she wouldn’t care, because it wasn’t the man she was after to marry, it was the bloody title. Good God, she’d even admitted it, and without the least embarrassment over owning up to such a cold-blooded aspiration.
He had taken her for spoiled, willful, hot-tempered even, but not for opportunistic. And when he thought of what could have happened if not for Freddy’s temper and his need to absent himself because of it…
He didn’t recall accepting an invitation to a ball in Hampshire, but then he accepted a good many invites that he promptly forgot and needed his secretary to remind him of. So it wasn’t unreasonable to assume that if he were home where he should be, instead of playing the coward at Duchy’s insistence, he would have gone to that ball in Hampshire, met Megan there under entirely different circumstances, and just might have succumbed to that devastating smile of hers without the least suspicion that she was a conniving little adventuress out to snare his title.
The thought chilled him to the bone—and enraged him. He ought to show up at that damn ball and give Megan just what she deserved, a callous rake, a dissipated rogue, a cad of the first water to scare the very drawers off the girl. But if she thought he’d be there, then a rumor had to be making the rounds that he was expected, which meant Freddy would hear of it. And although Devlin’s disappearance would lead Freddy to assume he wouldn’t show up at such a public affair, Freddy wouldn’t take any chances. He’d be there with his pistols primed just in case. Not enough time had passed for Devlin to hope otherwise.
But how much time would be enough? Two months, according to Duchy.
“The gel will be desperate by then, if she really has got herself with child. She’ll be forced to give up the real father’s name, or to accept whomever her brother finds to marry her. Can’t see Sabrina Richardson doing that, as willful and vain as she is, but Freddy will insist. He won’t let the matter go just because you can’t be found. He’ll have to marry her off, which will leave you with only the one problem, instead of two.”
The second had been how to avoid the altar with Freddy’s scheming little sister, Sabrina, while the first one remained how to avoid getting his head blown off by his best friend. But two months was a long time to rusticate. Devlin was hoping Freddy would use his head before then and remember that Devlin didn’t even like his damn sister, so he certainly wouldn’t have seduced the chit and got her with child as she claimed.
The irony suddenly struck him that he was here to avoid marriage with one scheming young miss, only to run smack into another. The one was using lies to get him to the altar, the other would use a devastating smile—or would she? Just how did Megan Penworthy think to win him? How far would she go to get him and his stable? His stable, for God’s sake. That was the most infuriating and insulting thing of all, that she’d picked him because she liked his damn stable. Oh, and he mustn’t forget that he, Devlin Jefferys, wouldn’t be invited to the wedding. Well, he’d bloody well like to see her have it without him.
“Is there a purpose to what you’re doing?”
Devlin glanced back to see Mortimer leaning against one of the horse stalls, calmly surveying his handiwork. Devlin looked around at the hay scattered everywhere—on the horses, in the water, on himself. But he raised a brow in his most haughty manner, and endeavored to ignore the stinging heat in his hands that he was finally aware of.
“There is always a purpose to what I do, Mr. Browne. This one just escapes me at the moment.”
Mortimer gave a hoot of laughter. “She got to you, did she?”
“No, she did not,” Devlin denied emphatically. “It’s this idleness that is getting to me, if you must know. Something will have to be done, Mr. Browne.”
“Like what?” Mortimer asked warily.
“We can begin by enlarging this stable.”
“We?”
“Find us a master carpenter, but we will help.”
“You didn’t do too well with a pitchfork. What makes you think you can do better with a hammer?”
Devlin didn’t deign to answer that. “And send word to my secretary to have my correspondence forwarded here. In fact, tell Mr. Pike to come himself. There’s no reason I can’t conduct my business from—”
“Your grandmother isn’t going to like this one bit,” Mortimer warned.
“Duchy means well, but she doesn’t always know what’s best for me. She felt I could use the rest. I agreed at the time, but I’ve bloody well changed my mind. Resting here is driving me nearly mad.”
“It ain’t rest that’s driving you mad, it’s that—”
“Don’t contradict me, Mr. Browne. Just carry out my instructions.”
“And how do you expect to explain Mr. Pike, who don’t know how to be anything but condescending after working for you for so long?”
Mortimer had a point. Devlin’s secretary was as toplofty as any lord, and wouldn’t know the first thing about dissembling.
“Very well, just the correspondence will do for now—and the carpenter. We’ll start on the stable tomorrow.”
“Don’t you think you ought to get the squire’s permission first?”
Devlin sighed. He wasn’t used to obtaining permission from anybody for anything. For a moment there, he had forgotten the role he was playing. It had been pleasant to forget.
“I’ll speak to the squire, but I don’t foresee any problems, since I will be paying for any improvements myself.”
“Unnecessary improvements,” Mortimer grumbled, “Since you and the extra horses won’t be here long enough to enjoy them.”
“Incidentals, Mr. Browne. I need the work. I need to keep busy. See to it.”
Chapter 12
The study door opened just as Megan reached the bottom of the stairs. She started to call out a greeting to her father, but it was Devlin who stepped out instead. She was on her way to the stable for her morning ride, but she hadn’t quite prepared herself for another encounter with this man. And it definitely took some preparation.
Once again he was wearing gentleman’s white in his shirt—her father must be paying him too much—tucked into unfashionably snug black trousers—bloody show-off. Didn’t he know tight trousers had died with the renowned Beau Brummell? All he needed was the neckcloth to look like a gentleman, too much like a gentleman, for he already had the bearing—and the arrogance.
“Well, good morning, Miss Penworthy.”
He was actually going to be civil? Careful, Megan, don’t faint.
“Good morning to yourself, Mr. Jefferys.”
“The mares should be arriving sometime today,” he remarked offhandedly.
“I suppose I won’t be allowed to ride them either?” she asked, trying to keep her resentment out of her tone, but not succeeding at all.
“I don’t see why not.”
His answer caught her off guard, taking some of the stiffness out of her stance. “Then why can’t I ride Caesar?”
“He’s not a lady’s mount. If you want to ride him, you’ll have to ride double with me.”
“That’s out of the…all right.”
Changing her mind in mid-sentence managed to catch Devlin off guard this time. “You surprise me, Megan. You do realize, don’t you, that riding double means you’ll have to put your arms around me?”
She hadn’t thought of that, but she wasn’t about to admit it. “Yes, certainly.”
“Are you sure you can bear to touch me?”
“You show me what that horse can do, and I won’t even notice that I’m touching you.”
“Well, I’ll bloody well notice.”
Meg
“Because I didn’t think you’d accept.”
He sounded so little-boy sulky, she couldn’t resist grinning, or taunting, “You aren’t going to be a spoilsport about this, are you? You made the offer. I accepted the offer. And I’ll have that ride now, if you please.”
He scowled after her as she sashayed past him and went out to the stable. He didn’t please, not one little bit. But he’d give her her ride. He’d let Caesar take the bit and give her the ride of her life. And if he survived it, he’d bloody well keep his mouth shut from now on.
Caesar was in top form, and game to prove it. The countryside sped past, a blur of greens, browns, and the occasional bright splash of wildflowers. And Megan laughed. She laughed in delight and exhilaration, thrilling to the speed and grace of the powerful stallion beneath them.
Devlin had guessed the ride would be pure hell for himself, however, and it was. Her arms wrapped tight about his waist was bad enough, but he had prepared for that and endeavored to ignore it. Her breasts pressed into his back was worse, but he could withstand it, his blood only thrumming in slow pulsebeats that kept him just short of actual arousal. But the laughter was doing him in. Her enjoyment was an incredible aphrodisiac, a husky tremor that vibrated straight to his loins.
By the time he circled back and came to the secluded pond that Megan termed hers, he was in as much discomfort as he had been the previous morning when he had stumbled upon this swimming hole and made quick use of it. He stopped and dismounted now, abruptly moving off without helping Megan to do the same. He needed distance at the moment, and took it by rounding the small pond until he was on the opposite bank. There he shoved his hands in his pockets and stood facing the cluster of white oaks and elms that formed a three-quarter circle around the pond. He closed his eyes, making an effort to forget that he wasn’t alone. His companion wouldn’t let him.
“You’re very brave to leave me sitting on this animal,” Megan called out.
He didn’t mistake her meaning. “That isn’t a sidesaddle, Megan.”
It annoyed her that he had twice now used her given name without permission, but she let it pass again. It annoyed her also that she was being rudely ignored, and that she didn’t let pass.
“A little thing like that wouldn’t stop me if I was of a mind to continue this ride without you.”
That got him to turn and face her, and she found his scowl quite satisfying, until he said, “I’ll wager your father has never laid a disciplinary hand on you, has he?”
She didn’t mistake his meaning. “You wouldn’t dare. You’d be dismissed instantly.”
“I believe you know I would dare. Care to put it to the test?”
With the pond between them and the stallion beneath her, Megan raised her chin a notch. But she still wasn’t up to calling him on that particular subject.
“Do you make an effort to be unpleasant, Mr. Jefferys, or does it come naturally?”
“The only effort I’m making right now, brat, is to keep my hands off you. So don’t push it.”
She thought he was referring to the last subject, until she caught the look in his eyes. He wanted her again. The knowledge should have offended her, but it didn’t. It gave her a warm, tingling feeling instead, and brought on a boldness that she wasn’t quite accustomed to.
“Perhaps you ought to have a swim,” she suggested, remembering yesterday morning and the reason he had given for coming here.
“Perhaps I should.” After a long pause he asked, “Will you watch?”
“Will you kiss me again if I do?”
“If you’re that brazen, I’ll do more than kiss you,” he promised.
She was getting into the realm of the unknown now. Common sense insisted upon retreat. Yet when he slowly reached out to lift his shirt over his head, she didn’t take her eyes off him. Would he really strip down to nothing right there in front of her? The impropriety of it was scandalous. He was scandalous—but so beautiful, like a piece of fine art. Were he a statue, she could admire him for hours upon hours. But he was real, and audacious, and Megan knew instinctively that she was playing with fire each time she got near him.
She must have been mad to think she could test her wings and play the coquette with him. A gentleman knew his limitations. Devlin Jefferys had none. But it was so unfair that her curiosity couldn’t be appeased this easily, that there had to be an unacceptable consequence for it. She wanted to keep watching Devlin, she really did. To be honest, she wanted to find out what he meant by “more” than a kiss, too. But she didn’t dare do either. So when those long fingers of his started unfastening his trousers, Megan promptly turned her back on him.
“Coward,” she heard softly whispered.
“Prudent,” she countered. “And in the name of decency, put your clothes back on, Mr. Jefferys.”
“I’m only taking your suggestion, Miss Prudence,” he reminded her.
“I didn’t mean for you to swim naked.”
“I’m not partial to wet clothes,” he retorted.
“Then don’t swim.”
“Are you suggesting the alternative, Megan? Because after you just caressed me with your eyes again, it’s got to be one or the other.”
These sexual innuendos were exciting, but far beyond Megan’s limited experience. Fortunately, he couldn’t see the color that stole into her cheeks, but it was still embarrassing that he could so easily fluster her.
“Swim if you must, then,” she conceded, “but do be quick about it.”
She heard a splash accompanied by a sharp hiss and smiled to herself. The water was usually icy in the early morning, which was why she never swam until the afternoon, when it had warmed up considerably.
“I could have told you it would be cold,” she said.
“Don’t sound so smug, brat. Cooling off is what I needed, remember?”
“Must everything you say allude to—to—?”
“The day will come when you’re in the same condition as I, and when you are, you won’t feel like discussing the weather, believe me.”
“I believe I’ll have more sense than to get myself in that condition,” she said primly.
Devlin gave a hoot of laughter before he realized something. “Were you implying I don’t have any sense?”
“Was it so obvious?”
“I’ve got news for you, Miss Innocence. Desire isn’t selective of place, time, or the individual. If you think I like being aroused by you, think again. When it happens to you, and it will eventually, you won’t have any more control over it than I do. You either make love or suffer with it.”
Her curiosity about this subject got the better of her. “Does that mean I’ll have to dunk myself in icy water?”
“Actually, I don’t know if that would work for a woman. Never thought to ask. Would you like to conduct a little experiment to find out?”
“How?”
“I make you want me, then you find out if this pond can alleviate the problem.”
“I’m not allowing you can make me want you, but in either case, I have more sense than to swim with you around, so no, thank you.”
“Smart girl.”
More splashing indicated that he might be leaving the pond. Megan continued to resist looking behind her, but it wasn’t easy.
When the splashing ended, she asked, “You were just funning me, weren’t you, Mr. Jefferys?”
“’Fraid not.”
She chose not to believe him. Her curiosity was piqued enough. She didn’t need even more improper things to wonder about.
After a while she finally demanded impatiently, “Are you dressed yet?”
He said right behind her, “You mean you didn’t peek even once?”
She turned to see that he hadn’t submerged completely. His clothes were damp only from the waist down. But even in that briefest glance down his long frame, she noted that the bulge in his trous
As usual, he caught the direction of her gaze.
“It didn’t work.” He stated the obvious. “But then how could it when all you could talk about was sex?”
She gasped at that accusation. “Me? You were the one. You even admitted it.”
“Shows what a bloody fool I am,” he said tersely as he mounted again in front of her and set off at an easy gait so she wouldn’t have to hold on tight.
Megan didn’t know why she had even attempted conversation with this man. They had nothing in common—well, nothing except horses, and that was a safe enough subject.
“Even though you have been typically outrageous, I still thank you for the ride. Caesar is magnificent, the finest, the fastest…where does he come from anyway?”
“Sherring Cross.”
She stared at his back incredulously. “I should have known. There are no finer stables in the land.”
“I grew up in those same stables you’ve got such praise for.”
“You didn’t,” she scoffed.
“Very well, I didn’t.”
A full five minutes passed before she broke down to ask, “Do you know him, then?”
“Who?”
“You know very well who,” she admonished impatiently. “The duke.”
“I thought I did.”
“What the devil does that mean?”
“It means the man has changed, Megan. He’s become a bounder, a cad, a seducer of innocents.”
She leaned away from him, affronted. “You’re a liar, Mr. Jefferys. And I’ll thank you to keep a respectful tone when you mention the duke.”
“So don’t thank me.”
Chapter 13
That afternoon, Devlin was the only one in the front of the stable when a well-dressed young gentleman walked his horse in and tossed the reins to him.
“New, aren’t you?” Devlin was asked.
“To my great misfortune,” Devlin mumbled under his breath, but louder he said, “If you’re here to see the squire—”