Man of My Dreams (4 page)

Arnold Penworthy glanced up from the letter in his hand to give Devlin another long look, his third since he’d opened the letter, but then he went back to reading. He had warm, friendly brown eyes. Even disturbed as he was now about what he was being asked to do, his eyes were still friendly.

She was nothing like her father. Devlin had felt like a bloody giant when the squire had stood up from behind his desk to accept the letter Devlin had handed over. The squire was definitely on the short side, might even be an inch or two shorter than his daughter. And rotund as a stout barrel of ale, whereas Devlin knew corsets, from as many as he’d had the pleasure of removing, and would hazard a guess that Miss Penworthy’s hadn’t been
cinched in all that tight to give her that slim, hourglass waistline.

Miss? He didn’t know. She could be married. She certainly looked old enough to be married. That could even have been her husband with her today. Devlin wasn’t going to ask.

“It doesn’t say here why he wants me to hide you in my stable,” the squire suddenly pointed out.

Devlin considered his answer carefully, but finally opted for bluntness in saying, “A friend of mine wants to blow my head off.”

A bushy red brow shot up. “A friend, you say?”

Devlin nodded. “My best friend, actually. It’s a misunderstanding that he’s too hotheaded to try straightening out just yet. So it was thought best for all concerned if I disappeared for a while.”

“I see,” the squire said. He didn’t, but he went back to reading.

Their hair was perhaps the only thing they had in common, father and daughter, though the squire’s wasn’t that bright copper-red that hers was, but was faded with age and liberally laced with gray. And he had freckles, a whole slew of them across his nose and cheeks. You’d think he might sport whiskers to hide some of them, but he didn’t.

Devlin wondered if there were freckles anywhere on her body. There’d been none on those ivory, soft cheeks.

What the devil was her first name?

He wasn’t going to ask.

The squire had to be reading the letter a second time through, it was taking him so long. Devlin couldn’t care less, for his mind was back on that dusty road, trying to come up with an excuse for his asinine behavior.

He might not have pulled his hat down at the approach of that carriage, as Mortimer had told him to do, but he’d kept his eyes downcast, a most humble bearing to assume, he’d thought, rather pleased with himself for thinking of it. But now he had to admit it would have been infinitely preferable to have seen her from a distance first, rather than to just look up and have her right there before his eyes. One needed time to adjust to such radiance so that one did not make a bloody fool of oneself. At least she hadn’t noticed his slack-jawed astonishment, nor had her companions. All three of them had been staring at Caesar, long enough for Devlin to get his mouth shut, though that first question asked of him had needed to be repeated once before he’d actually heard it.

Caesar usually did create something of a sensation, but then so did Devlin. It was the first time he’d been ignored
entirely
in favor of his horse, however, at least by females. And to actually feel annoyed by it, for God’s sake. Only then she’d given him
too
much attention, looked him over as if he were the prime stud, with the same thoroughness that Caesar had
gotten from her. On the one hand, he’d bloody well felt insulted to be examined like that, as if he were on an auction block with the bidding about to begin. On the other hand, he’d been hit with a jolt of pure lust.

That in itself was a rather rare experience for Devlin. A man of strong appetites he might be, but he saw to them with such ridiculous ease, on such a regular basis, that he was usually too well sated to get aroused to the point of lust. But then women young and old had been thrusting themselves beneath his notice for as long as he could remember. It spoiled a man, indeed it did, to be the object of so much prurient interest.

But the redhead’s interest didn’t strike him as being prurient, which didn’t explain his reaction to it. He had been offended and aroused by it. Whatever she had intended, however, such behavior was beyond unseemly, and so he’d thought to teach her a lesson by giving her back the same bold perusal. But instead the sight of her well-shaped breasts and cinched-in waist had increased the heat in his loins and probably fried his wits along with it.

Was
she spoken for?

Devlin was having some difficulty sitting still in the chair he’d been offered. Every noise he heard beyond the study door made him wonder if it was her returning. Would she just burst in on her father to demand Devlin’s dismissal as she’d threatened? With that red hair, he imagined she did do things spontaneously,
thoughtlessly, passionately…

Devlin stifled a groan. He could not stay here. One of the reasons he had agreed to rusticate in the country had been the fact that he needed a break in his routine, and he could look on this sojourn as a sort of vacation, a time to put worries and cares aside for simple peace and relaxation. But he could not envision any peace with someone like her around, and at the moment, he was a bundle of nerves just waiting for her to walk in, which was utterly absurd. He would simply have to find somewhere else to bury himself—and let her think she had run him off? Not bloody likely.

Those friendly brown eyes came back to Devlin again. Hers had been the darkest blue of midnight. And not the least bit friendly.

“This horse he mentions as an excuse for your being here sounds frightfully expensive. Do I actually have to buy it?” the squire asked.

Devlin sighed, grateful to have something else to think about. “No, sir, Caesar isn’t for sale. You only have to say you bought him, for anyone who asks.”

Penworthy frowned worriedly. “I’m not very good at that sort of thing. Tongue gets tripped up over the littlest falsehood.”

Would that we all had that problem
, Devlin thought with a touch of amusement. “There is no reason for you to be uncomfortable with this arrangement. I will merely grant you temporary ownership of Caesar in return for your hospitality, said ownership to be relinquished
upon my departure. A gentleman’s agreement. Is that satisfactory?”

“Then I would actually own the animal? I wouldn’t be lying if I said so?”

“You would be speaking the absolute truth, sir.”

The squire smiled in relief. “My, won’t Megan be surprised.”

Devlin pounced. “Megan?”

“M’daughter,” the squire replied. “She has an uncommon appreciation for fine horseflesh—uncommon for a girl, that is. Her own horse—”

“I feel I should warn you, sir, that I’ve already had a run-in with your daughter, and she took an instant dislike to me, though I can’t for the life of me figure why. I don’t usually have that effect on the ladies.”

The squire chuckled as he took in Devlin’s features again. “No, I don’t imagine you do.”

“It might be necessary to point out to her that I come with Caesar and so can’t be dismissed.”

“Took that much of a dislike to you, did she?”

“That was my impression.”

“Well, since you do come with the horse, and I’ve just bought the animal, there’s no question of dismissal—not that I could dismiss you, mind, since you don’t actually work for me.” The squire frowned then, not quite sure he had that right. Then he digressed. “I’ve spoiled her, you know. First to admit it. Just
can’t seem to say no to her. But I’ll be firm in this case. It’s not every day I get asked a favor by the likes of
him
,” he ended, nodding at the letter.

There had never been any doubt of the answer, but Devlin asked out of courtesy, “Then the arrangement is acceptable to you, sir?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Jefferys.” The squire smiled. “Most happy to oblige.”

“And I needn’t point out that this must be kept in strictest confidence? Not even your family is to know my true reason for being here.”

“No need to worry about that. There’s just m’self and Megan.”

“Then she isn’t married?” Devlin could have sworn he wasn’t going to ask that question. “What I mean is, do you have a son-in-law who might question you about suddenly starting up a stud farm?”

“No, not yet I don’t, though I expect it won’t be long now—stud farm, you say? Does that mean I’ll be buying more animals?”

“A few mares—what do you mean, it won’t be long now? Is she engaged?”

“Who?”

“Your daughter.”

The squire’s brow knit, showing his difficulty in keeping up with the double subjects. “M’daughter ain’t, last I heard—no, no, I’m sure she ain’t. She’d tell me if she was, don’t you think?”

Devlin
hoped
they were speaking of the same thing. “Yes, certainly.”

“But you met her. Can’t help but notice she’s a pretty girl, can you? And she’s having her come-out in London shortly. No, I expect it won’t be long after that.”

Megan Penworthy in London? Devlin’s brows were knit now, though he didn’t know it.

“The mares, sir,” Devlin said somewhat curtly. “They will be yours for the duration of my stay here, just like Caesar. But you needn’t concern yourself with the operation. It takes a while for a stud farm to get started, after all, much longer than I intend to be here. We will merely go through the motions for appearances, you understand. It may not even be necessary to do any actual breeding, but having the mares here will lend credence to the operation.”

“A stud farm,” the squire mused, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Never even considered one, you know. Megan will certainly be surprised.”

She’d already been surprised, Devlin recalled. She hadn’t believed it, in fact, which was what seemed to have got her animosity up to begin with, though he had to admit he’d helped on that score at the end. Not that a stud farm, real or not, was any of her business. He’d told her that, too. So there was no reason for the squire’s daughter to cross paths with the squire’s new horse breeder again. And Devlin would go out of his way to make sure of that.

He stood up. “If you have no further questions, I will take my leave.”

“You’re welcome to stay in the main house.”

“Appreciate it, sir, but that would defeat the purpose of my being here. I’m to keep out of the way, and I can’t do that as a guest. That’s just what my friend will expect and be looking for.”

“Well, if you need anything, just tell Mr. Krebs. He’s m’butler and will see to it—”

“Father, I—”

She didn’t burst in as Devlin had imagined she would, but she did come in quietly without any warning. Obviously, she hadn’t expected Devlin to still be there, for her mouth snapped shut when she noticed him, her body stiffened perceptibly, and the look she gave him was just short of withering. Devlin, to his horror, realized that the way she had looked him over before didn’t have much to do with the lust he had experienced, for his body was reacting to her again without the least bit of encouragement on her part.

“You’re back early, m’dear,” the squire remarked. “I believe you have met Devlin Jefferys?”

“Yes—I did.” The word “unfortunately” hung unspoken in the air. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Father, but I need to speak with you—privately.”

“Certainly,” the squire allowed. “Mr. Jefferys was just leaving.”

“Leaving?” She glanced at Devlin. “As in back to where you came from?”

That hopeful note was in her voice again, and it rankled just as easily as it had before. “Not quite that far, Miss Penworthy. I was just going to get settled in.”

“Then you might want to wait in the hall,” she replied stiffly as she held the door open for him. “Because I am quite sure my father will wish to speak to you again in just a few minutes.”

“I will?” the squire said.

Devlin gave her a slow smile as he walked toward her. “By all means.” And then when he reached her, he said softly, so only she could hear, “I’ll wait so you can show me the way to the stable yourself.”

Her look said she’d show him the front door or nothing. Devlin would have laughed if the study door hadn’t closed so quickly behind him. He was left in the not-quite-empty hall staring at the Penworthys’ butler across the way, who stared back inquiringly.

“I’m to wait,” Devlin announced, at which point the helpful servant indicated one of the two benches on either side of the front door at the end of the hall. But Devlin smiled confidently to himself. “No need, Mr. Krebs. I guarantee it won’t be that long a wait.” And he wasn’t about to move and miss hearing any possibly raised voices on the other side of the study door if he could help it.

Megan whirled around the second the door closed and leaned across her father’s desk to demand, “A horse-breeding farm?”

“You don’t like the idea?”

“It’s a splendid idea, Father, but why didn’t you mention it sooner?”

“A surprise?”

Megan missed the question in his answer. “It was a surprise, all right. I made a bloody fool of myself, it was such a surprise.”

The squire never took Megan to task for her less-than-ladylike vocabulary, since she was careful not to use such colorful words in mixed company—and she had got them from him in the first place. It amazed him sometimes that this was his daughter. He wished his dear wife had lived long enough to see what an extra
ordinary girl they had produced, but she’d died not long after Megan’s third year.

“And that stallion must have cost a fortune!” Megan continued, but recalling Caesar, she got sidetracked. “Is he really yours?”

“He is now.”

“And you’re really going to breed him?”

“That’s what I got him for. But these things take time,” he cautioned.

“Yes, I know, and you can’t breed a stallion like that to just any old mare. We’ll have to buy the very best—”

“Already got some. They’ll be delivered soon, and believe me, I got them at a bargain price.”

“Well, good for you. We’ll also have to enlarge the stable, of course, but you’ve probably already made plans for that.”

“Enlarge the stable?” the squire repeated weakly.

“And the horses will have to be exercised. I can help with that, especially with the stallion. Oh, I can’t wait to ride him!”

“Now, Megan—”

“Now, Father,” she cut off his admonishment. “You know you don’t have to worry. I’ll be careful, and I won’t ride him where anyone will see me do it.”

She went on with more assurances, while outside the door, Devlin was grinding his teeth. Ride Caesar? Her? Not bloody likely. And when was she going to get around to demanding his dismissal?

Inside the study, the squire finally interrupted his daughter to say, “You’ll have to ask Jefferys.”

“What?!”

“He knows the animal, knows his temperament. He may not be ridable. And that’s not what I got him for, after all.”

There was a long silence while Megan just stared at her father. Then she burst out, “Damn! Not ridable? But I wouldn’t ask
him
anyway, and speaking of him, he’s not the least bit suitable for such an important position, Father. You’ll simply have to find another—”

“He said you took a dislike to him. Can’t imagine why. Damned fine-looking fellow, if you ask me.”

“Damned rude fellow is what he is.”

“But he comes highly recommended, m’dear,
very
highly recommended.”

“I don’t care if the queen recommended him—”

“Damned close,” the squire mumbled.

“—his arrogant manner is offensive. I want him dismissed.”

“Can’t do it.”

“Of course you can. Just send him back where he came from. How difficult can it be to find a replacement? I’ll see to it myself, if you’d rather not.”

“You’ll do no such thing, m’girl. And I won’t dismiss the man, so leave it go.”

“Father?” She used the cajoling tone that usually got her her way.

“Now, now, none of that. Mr. Jefferys comes with the horse, a condition of the sale. If he goes, so does the stallion.”

“But that’s absurd!”

The squire shrugged. “Can’t be helped. The seller wanted to be certain the stallion would have the best care possible. He trusts Mr. Jefferys to see to it.”

“Good God, no wonder he’s so bloody arrogant. He
knows
he can’t be dismissed.”

“I found him most likable m’self. He knows horses, knows everything to know about horse breeding.” But then the squire’s tone turned concerned. “I wouldn’t want to dismiss him, Megan, but if he’s done something that is totally unacceptable—”

“No, no, it was nothing specific,” she quickly assured him. “I just—took a dislike to him, as he said.”

“He’s not a guest,” her father pointed out. “It’s not as if you have to entertain the fellow in your parlor. You prob’ly won’t see much of him a’tall.”

“I suppose that’s something of a consolation, since we’re obviously stuck with him.”

She came around the desk and kissed her father’s cheek to show him she wasn’t too disappointed. But she was. The very thought of having Devlin Jefferys around agitated her as much as he himself had earlier.
Why
did he have to be the condition to having that magnificent stallion? If the horse weren’t such a prize…

Megan ran right into the man as she turned from closing the door to the study. She’d had him on her mind, but she had completely forgotten that she’d told him to wait in the hall.

Her hands came up automatically to brace against the soft white lawn of his shirt. She felt muscles leap under her fingers, and her cheeks scalded with the impropriety of touching him, however accidentally. She jumped back, only she did it too quickly, right onto the train of her skirt, which pulled the bustle down and nearly made her lose her balance completely. By the time she got her shoes untangled from her skirt, Devlin Jefferys was laughing.

“Women do occasionally fall prostrate at my feet, but not trying to escape me.”

“No doubt they swoon from your vulgar insinuations,” Megan retorted before she looked up at him.

She wished she hadn’t. He was still too close for comfort, and still so handsome he stole her breath. And those eyes, good God, they were lovely, such a perfect blending of blue-green, and such a wicked combination with that jet-black hair.

Nearly a half minute passed before they both realized, at the same time, that they were simply staring at each other. Megan looked away first, her face hotter than ever, so she didn’t see the flush that also came to Devlin’s cheeks.

“They have been known to swoon, though not from vulgar insinuations, which I rarely make. I’m much more direct, Miss Penworthy,
in getting right to the heart of the matter. Shall I demonstrate?”

“No!”

“Too bad. You do look so nice in pink.”

He was referring to her blushes, the lout, which he took such a delight in causing. She dared to look up at him again, just to give him a fulsome glare. His expression was smug, if not downright triumphant, and when she realized why, she gave him another blush to gloat over.

“Ah, I see your lagging memory returns finally,” he almost purred. “You lost. It’s time now to pay up.”

“Pay up?”

“Take me out and show me your stable. That’s what I waited here for.”

He made it sound somehow unsavory, sexually unsavory, as if he weren’t talking about a building, but part of her anatomy. “Our stable isn’t hidden out in the woods somewhere, it’s behind the house. A fool could find it, so I suppose you can.”

“I should have known you’d be a spoilsport.”

“I wasn’t aware we’d placed a wager,” she replied stiffly.

“Weren’t you? You would have been quick enough to show me the door if you had got your way. You threw down the challenge, I accepted—and won.”

“In that case, I’d say you cheated with unfair knowledge of a certain ridiculous condition.”

“And I’d say, since you’re
obviously stuck with me
, you ought to accept defeat graciously.”

Those words sounded suspiciously familiar, making Megan gasp. “You were listening at the door?”

He gave her a mocking bow. “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

She hissed through her teeth, “Only what one can expect of someone with the manners of a pig!”

His brows shot up in surprise, which she didn’t doubt was feigned since his lips were just short of actual grinning. “I’m trying to step down, but I don’t believe I’m aspiring to that level.”

She didn’t try to make sense out of that remark. What she tried to do was walk past him, but he moved, and still filled the immediate path to escape.

“So a demonstration is in order after all?” he said, and his arms suddenly came up to brace against the wall at her back, caging her to the spot so she couldn’t miss his husky whisper. “We’re alone now. Would you like to examine me with your hands as thoroughly as you did with your eyes?”

She made a sound of screeching outrage that wasn’t all that loud, just damned indicative of her feelings on the subject. Then she ducked beneath his right arm and ran toward the stairs at the end of the hall.

But she could hear his laughter behind her,
and the taunt, “Now
there
were the manners of a pig, Meg-O-m’dear. Did you notice the difference?”

She halted, feeling safe now with some distance between them, and turned to hiss, “Between this vulgarity and your earlier crudity? No difference a’tall.”

“Well, then, speaking of manners, you may as well look as touch, Miss Penworthy. It has the same effect on a man—coming from you.”

“Bastard!”

“Spoiled brat,” he shot back, then dipped his head mockingly and sauntered out the front door.

And the man was whistling, as if he were supremely confident he had won that round, while Megan was so furious she felt like running after him to do physical violence. She barely restrained herself. But if he ever spoke to her again…