“Well, that’s a fine attitude!” she shouted after him as he stalked from the room.
But he turned in the doorway for one last rejoinder. “You couldn’t have taken the title of duchess with you if you’d got your bloody annulment.”
“I know that, you stupid man,” she replied, but he’d already slammed the door shut.
Chapter 40
Devlin left for London the next morning. Megan found out about it after he’d gone, when Duchy joined her for breakfast in her small sitting room, which was much more cozy than the formal one. The lavender shades in the wall coverings and furniture would have to go, however. She ought to consider changing it now that she was staying, but she wasn’t in the mood to spend Devlin’s money.
“You shan’t be parted long, however,” Duchy informed her, “since we’re going to London, too.”
“We are?”
“Yes. Told Devlin I was taking you shopping. He should have waited to escort us, but he got testy when I mentioned it. No matter. We’ll join him at the town house.”
I run him off, but the poor man just can’t get away from me.
You’re assuming. He’s been away from his work a long time. You know how men love their work.
And how that man despises me.
He didn’t despise you last night.
So he liked me long enough to make love to me. It wasn’t intentional. It just happened.
Then why don’t you work on getting it to “just happen” again?
Because that won’t solve anything.
It can’t hurt either.
“…at least thirty dresses to start,” Duchy was saying, “And, of course, the new ball gown.”
Megan hoped she hadn’t missed more than that, because that was too much. “I don’t need a new wardrobe, Duchy. I’ve already sent home for the rest of my things, and my complete wardrobe is extensive.”
Duchy waved a dismissive hand. “No wardrobe is ever large enough. And besides, after the official announcement at the ball, you’ll be deluged with callers, and the Duchess of Wrothston has an image to uphold. Haven’t you seen the size of your closet?”
Megan had wondered why that room was so large. “If you say so,” she conceded grudgingly.
“I do.” Then the dowager duchess frowned. “I’ll be dropping you off for your selections and fittings. I find it too boring by half these days. I trust you know what colors suit you? I mean, you don’t favor pink, do you?”
Duchy looked so worried, Megan assured her, “Pink gives me freckles.”
The old lady’s eyes widened. “Didn’t know that was possible.”
“It isn’t.”
“You minx.” Duchy chuckled.
But now Megan was worried. “It’s going to be a problem, isn’t it—my hair? Devlin calls it god-awful red. He said once that the duke—he was talking about himself, though I didn’t know it at the time—wouldn’t be seen in public with a redhead. I believe his exact words were ‘a woman with the most unfashionable hair in creation.’”
Duchy sighed. Love had turned her grandson into an utter ass, it seemed. “There is nothing wrong with your hair, child. I find it incredibly lovely, and I don’t doubt for a second that Devlin does, too. If he said otherwise, he probably had some contrary reason for it. In fact, I’ll wager that if I tell him you plan to dye it, he’ll forbid you.”
“That’s not such a bad idea.”
“Then I’ll tell him.”
“No, that I dye it.”
“Don’t you dare,” Duchy scolded. “You’d be doing it for the wrong reason, and you know it.”
Megan didn’t try to deny it. “But he’d be happy, wouldn’t he?”
“The only way that boy is going to be happy is if you tell him you love him.”
“Do what?”
Duchy had promised herself she wouldn’t interfere, so she shrugged. “It was just a thought.”
But Megan’s conscience had had the same thought. So why don’t you tell him?
You know very well why. He’d laugh, and I’d never forgive him.
You know the old Devlin might laugh, but the new Devlin would…
Yes? He would what?
I don’t know.
Neither do I, and I’m not going to embarrass myself to find out.
Well, something has to be done. You could offer a truce in the bedroom for a start, and see where that leads.
I’ll think about it.
Why don’t you not think about it for a change, and just do it?
That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one facing possible rejection.
I’m not the coward either, but one of us sure as hell is. Or do you like the way things are?
Megan sighed. She really did hate it when her conscience was right.
Two days after arriving at the St. Jameses London mansion, Devlin barged into Megan’s dressing room, where she was preparing for dinner. Her maid was so startled, the girl rushed out before she was dismissed.
Megan was just as startled, the more so when her husband said without preamble, in a don’t-argue-with-me tone, “You may not dye your hair.”
She had forgotten that Duchy had planned to tell him that. And it was apparently a good thing she hadn’t accepted that wager. But this was the first time she’d seen Devlin since she’d come to London—he kept appalling hours when he was attending to ducal business—and her conscience wasn’t going to let her back out of her newest decision, to bury her temper and charm the man into liking her.
So she gave him a smile, merely reminding him, “But you don’t like my hair.”
The smile threw him off, unexpected, and so suspect. “It’s grown on me,” he said grudgingly.
“But it’s not fashionable.”
That annoyed him, hearing his own words thrown back at him. “The Duchess of Wrothston makes her own fashion. She doesn’t have to emulate it.”
“But I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in public. And besides, it clashes with the pink ball gown I’ve ordered.”
“Oh, God.”
She pretended not to hear that. “Black, I think. Yes, black. Blond is so common, after all, with everyone favoring it.”
“If you dye one lock on that beautiful head of yours, I’ll put you over my knee again, and you know bloody well that’s not an idle threat!”
“If you say so, Devlin.”
“I mean it, Megan,” he warned, suspicious of her compliance.
“I know you do.”
She confounded him with another smile. He had come anticipating a fight. After their last parting, he needed one. But she wasn’t obliging him, and she wasn’t behaving the least bit like the Megan he knew.
She must want something. Had she figured out another way to get out of their marriage?
Bloody hell, it infuriated him every time he thought of that damn annulment idea of hers. After making love to her, finally, as he’d dreamed of doing, and knowing that she had found it as incredibly satisfying as he had, Devlin realized that for her to tell him she wanted an annulment proved without a doubt how much she loathed him, so much so that she was even willing to give up the title she’d hankered after.
Then why hadn’t she stopped him from ruining her goal? Her curiosity? He had wondered how he might use it against her. Had he done so without even knowing it? Or had she simply been so caught up in her own passion that her goal had temporarily been forgotten?
He ought to tell her that he wouldn’t have given her an annulment even if they hadn’t made love again. Maybe that would get him the fight he wanted.
He opened his mouth to do just that, but she turned her back toward him, revealing an only half-closed gown, and asking over her shoulder, “Since you’re here and my maid isn’t, would you fasten my gown for me?”
Devlin was appalled to hear himself say, “I’d rather unfasten it.”
She swung back around in surprise. “Now?”
“Anytime.”
“All right.”
&
nbsp; He couldn’t have heard that correctly. “Liked it that much, did you, that even I will do?”
“Only you will do,” she replied softly, her cheeks rosy with a blush.
Of course she had to say that. He was her husband. But he wasn’t going to spite himself just because he couldn’t comprehend what she was up to.
He made love to his wife right there in her dressing room, swiftly at first, because he was afraid she might change her mind, then with exquisitely slow thoroughness when he was sure she wouldn’t.
But they were really going to have to try this in a bed sometime.
Chapter 41
It made a difference, their new relationship. By mutual agreement, silent though understood, a sort of truce was declared for lovemaking. It was an unusual concept, but it worked very well.
Devlin would come to her room at night, and without a word, Megan would move into his arms. She came to understand that despite what he might think of her as an individual, he absolutely adored her body. That she was still fascinated by his wasn’t in doubt either. And although silence wasn’t demanded or even encouraged, anything of a serious nature was expressly forbidden, for absolutely nothing was to disturb what was becoming a necessity for them both.
Outside the bedroom, it was like they were meeting for the first time. He no longer deliberately avoided her. She no longer searched for ways to tweak his nose when something annoyed her. They spoke to each other with growing ease. They asked questions about their pasts and answered them without the least hesitancy.
His superior-than-thou attitude was also less noticeable, though not completely diminished. He was still the duke, after all, not her horse breeder. Accordingly, he never raised his voice to her anymore. And she continued to dazzle him with her smiles.
They were getting along.
It wasn’t quite enough.
Megan still had to tell him that she’d lied about losing the baby, and hope she could make him understand that she’d done it for him. She still had to get up the nerve to tell him she loved him. And she knew she wouldn’t be able to continue being pleasant indefinitely, at least not all the time, or keep watching her every word to avoid arguments. It simply wasn’t her nature to be so guarded with her emotions.
And she still wanted her horse breeder back.
“I can’t believe it worked out exactly as you planned it,” Tiffany said on a happy sigh as she and Megan strolled through Hyde Park. She had arrived in London yesterday, for her own wedding was less than a week away. “You got your duke. You love him. And he adores you.”
“Two out of three isn’t bad, Tiff.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, what makes you think Devlin loves me back?”
“Of course he does,” Tiffany insisted. “He must. He married you, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but not because of any great affection, or any affection at all, for that matter.” Megan looked off toward the lake before reluctantly adding, “There was a little something I didn’t mention when I wrote to you, Tiff. I’m going to have a baby.”
“But that’s wonderful news!”
“I agree, now, but I didn’t think so when I first found out—since I wasn’t married at the time.”
Tiffany stopped walking to exclaim, “But—good God, d’you mean to say you had to get married?”
Megan turned back to face her friend, but she still couldn’t meet her eyes. “Yes.”
“No wonder you doubt his affections. But certainly he’s told you he loves you since then?”
“Not once.”
“Then what does he say when you tell him that you do?”
“I don’t.”
“What do you mean, you don’t? You just got through telling me that you do.”
“No, I mean that I don’t tell him.”
“Megan! Whyever not?”
“As long as my letter was, I still didn’t tell you the half of it, Tiff.” She did now, with little embellishment. It was still quite a while before she concluded, “So you can see why I’ve been reluctant to put him on the spot with a declaration, especially since—since I’ve so been enjoying our unusual truce, and don’t want to do anything to ruin it.”
Tiffany’s cheeks were about as red as Megan’s locks. “Is it really that nice?”
“Better than nice,” Megan said as they continued strolling, nodding every once in a while when a gentleman would pass and tip his hat, ignoring those who simply stopped and stared. “Just don’t expect to enjoy the first time, at least not all of it. Men do, which is bloody unfair, if you ask me. But it’s our lot to not only face it in fear and ignorance, but to also have to deal with the pain of it.”
“My maid says the pain is excruciating,” Tiffany confided, her face a bit pale now.
Megan snorted. “The girl doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It was more annoying than terrible, and over before you know it. In my case, it merely brought me to my senses, which effectively ruined it for me. Actually, unlike me, you could go on to enjoy the rest.”
“I can’t tell you how relieved I am. I’d been getting more and more nervous as the day approaches.”
Megan recalled her own panic the closer she’d got to Scotland, but for different reasons. Tiffany was assured of Tyler’s love, and fully expected to be blissfully happy in their marriage. Megan still wasn’t assured of anything—except that Devlin liked making love to her now.
“That’s normal. They even have a name for it, wedding jitters. I’m just as nervous about this damn ball Duchy is giving, but they don’t have a name for that.”
“Sure they do. Stark raving—”
“Stop.” Megan laughed. “I’m not that nervous. And you are coming, aren’t you, now that you and Tyler have decided to postpone your wedding trip until the spring?”
“Absolutely. I’ll be the one organizing the search parties—”
“Cut it out, Tiff.” Megan laughed harder. “Sherring Cross isn’t that big.”
“Maybe not, but at least you remember how to laugh. I was beginning to wonder.”
Megan sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything about my problems when your big day is so close.”
“Nonsense. And I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re making problems where none exist. I can’t believe he doesn’t love you, Meg. Every man you meet—”
“Devlin isn’t like them; he’s unique himself. His grandmother told me women have been making fools of themselves over him for as long as she can remember, and I don’t doubt it, because I’ve done the same thing. But all he sees when he looks at me is a spoiled brat.”
“You just get a little impatient sometimes.”
Megan smiled. “Don’t try and put a nice face on it when we both know I’m spoiled rotten.”
“Well, so what?” Tiffany huffed loyally. “I suppose he just shrugs it off when he doesn’t get what he wants?”
Megan stopped, eyes widening. “Now that you mention it, he reacts a bit like I do.”
“Aha, and it stands to reason. If anyone’s bound to be spoiled, a bloody duke would be. He probably had ten nannies running after him as a child, and a host of other servants to see to his every need. You just had one nanny and a father who dotes on you, so if you ask me, he’s probably more spoiled than you are.”
“I’ll be sure to mention that—if I ever get to fight with him again.”
Chapter 42
It was a beautiful wedding, just what Megan had always envisioned for herself—well, hers wouldn’t have been quite so grand as Tiffany’s, or with so many guests, just friends and family in her small parish church. But she’d been denied that because her damned inner voice and curiosity had gotten together to conspire against her common sense.
She was miserable on the way home from the wedding, when she should have been only happy for her friend. Devlin was quiet, too, probably just as miserable, but for different reasons, and that only made her feel worse. He could have had that grand weddi
ng, should have had it. Instead he’d been forced to elope to Scotland.
I ought to shoot you.
Me or him?
You. Better yet, you’re retired. I never want to hear from you again.
Why is it you always get mad and need someone to blame when you feel rotten?
I’m not blaming someone else, I’m blaming you.
Good God, she was losing touch with reality. Her inner voice was not a separate individual. But it was right as usual. Megan really did have a difficult time accepting responsibility for her own misery. And maybe it was time she stopped doing that.
She returned to Sherring Cross the next day—alone. Well, not exactly alone, since she had five strapping servants plus her new maid to escort her. Duchy had gone back earlier in the week, confessing that at her age, she couldn’t tolerate the bustle of London for very long, and she also had a thousand things to do in preparation for the ball.
Devlin was to have accompanied her. After all, the St. James ball was only another four days away. But he canceled at the last moment. Business, he said, that had to be seen to before-hand so that he could remain in Kent for a week or so after the ball.
In Megan’s present mood, she had to wonder if that was true. Business was, after all, a convenient excuse to separate them. And Devlin’s quiet mood yesterday after the wedding had continued for the rest of the day, to include his not coming to her room last night. After seeing how happy Tiffany and Tyler were, perhaps he’d realized that their own “half” marriage wasn’t enough for him either.
The day of the ball began with a frigid storm that was nice enough to clear up before the guests started arriving. It was also the day Megan had picked to make her own announcement, albeit privately. She just hadn’t decided yet whether to sit Devlin down and confess all to him before or after the ball. Either way, she was bound to ruin his day—if he showed up. He hadn’t so far yet, and Duchy was starting to fret.
Megan kept to her rooms for most of the day. Tiffany found her there in the afternoon, the new bride of five days bubbling over with good cheer.
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