Man of My Dreams (6 page)

“The proper thing for you to have done in the first place would have been to close your eyes immediately against my semi-nakedness and turn around so you wouldn’t be further
offended by it. But then you’re not quite proper, are you, Miss Penworthy?”

Another slap, deserved or not, for he’d just spoken the bare-faced truth. And then she disappeared around the corner that would take her to the front of the stable.

Megan ran all the way to the house and straight up to her room. She stood panting against her closed door, her eyes squeezed shut, her body still trembling in reaction. Finally she let out a low groan.

He’d been right, so right. She’d behaved with the utmost impropriety
again
. She should have closed her eyes the very second she realized he wasn’t fully dressed. Instead she’d let that splendid male body mesmerize her into doing the unthinkable again, staring at him, “eating him with her eyes,” as he’d so crudely put it. But that was just what she’d done, without thought, without a care that he was watching her do it.

It was no wonder he’d offered to take his trousers off for her. How could she blame him
after she’d stared the longest at
that
part of him? All he’d done was read her mind, because she
had
wanted to see what was under those trousers.

His appendage of procreation had seemed so huge, and she’d felt it later, actually felt it right through the thickness of her skirt, pressed hard at the juncture of her thighs. The feeling it had caused at the touch of it there, fear, yes, but also the most exhilarating sensation, starting at the point he was touching and spreading, rushing, tingling to the far extremities of her body. That was something she wished she hadn’t discovered, that, and that other feeling that had come in her belly the second time he kissed her.

Megan groaned again and pushed herself away from the door to pace the floor in her agitation. None of it should have happened. All she’d wanted to do was make friends with the stallion so she could eventually ride him. She’d had no desire to come across Devlin Jefferys, just the opposite, which was why she’d gone to the stable so early, hours before her usual time, because no one would be up to see her.

It had been a good plan, foiled only by a damned door latch that wouldn’t close—and a light sleeper. She’d been whispering to the horse, for God’s sake. That shouldn’t have awakened Devlin, even with his door open. But he’d said the sound of her voice woke him. He’d also said he’d gone to bed thinking of her. Had he really? Likely not. He said so many outrageous things, after all, that half of
them had to be lies just meant to shock her, for that man dearly loved to shock her.

She stopped pacing, drawn against her will to the window that overlooked the side yard—and the stable. It was set far back behind the house, but still to the side of it, so she could see the entrance clearly and anyone arriving or leaving. She heard a horse now, and expected to see Timmy, the stableboy, arriving on the old nag he rode to work each day. Instead the black stallion burst out of the stable with Devlin on his back.

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.

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 greeted 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.