Queen of my Hart

by Royal, Emily

  “Pshah, nonsense! You just need a little reminder—of all those times you screamed my name! I could have given myself to any number of men, but I’ve saved myself for you, darling. Only you…”

  Meggie heard a scuffle, followed by high-pitched laughter. “That’s it, Dex, darling! I knew you were hard for me.”

  “I’m no such thing.”

  “Do you remember when you told me how wet I was for you? That I could spend at the mere touch of your hand?” Her voice lowered to a coaxing, seductive purr. “Would you like to test that assertion now?”

  “Elizabeth, I’m married.”

  “To the wrong sister,” Elizabeth said. “My fool of a father thought he could deceive us both by giving you that little slut instead.”

  Meggie flinched at the insult. Though she was prepared for Elizabeth’s incivility to her face, the insult seemed all the more acute when issued behind her back.

  “What’s done is done,” Dexter said. “We must both make the best of it.”

  “Which is why we should continue where we left off. You owe me that, at least.”

  “I owe you nothing.”

  “I think you do, Dexter. I saved myself for you.”

  He barked with laughter.

  “I’m still a maiden,” she said, “which is more than can be said for the doxy you married.”

  “Elizabeth, you let me take you in every manner possible while preserving your virginity. Physically that makes you a maiden—but an innocent? I think not.” His voice rose in anger. “Look at you—even now, on your knees, desperate to service my cock.”

  Meggie moved toward the door, which was half-open. Her husband stood in the center of the room, arms folded, his back to her. Elizabeth knelt at his feet, face upturned, desire glittering in her eyes. She reached forward and grasped his hips.

  Meggie drew in a sharp breath, and Elizabeth’s gaze slid sideways and focused on her. A slow smile spread across her lips. She parted them and flicked out her tongue, running it along her bottom lip.

  “Surely you’ve not forgotten the pleasures I’ve given you in this very position, Dexter, darling?” she said. “I offer you such pleasure now, such that you might cry my name and say you love me again.”

  “I did not…”

  “Everyone knows that you regret being shackled to that little by-blow,” she said. “Who even knows if she’s Papa’s? Any rutting footman could have sired her.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, “but she’s my wife, and I’m resolved to make the best of it.”

  With her gaze fixed on Meggie, Elizabeth’s smile broadened. “That we must, my poor darling.”

  Meggie could bear it no longer. She withdrew, then turned and broke into a run, almost colliding with the footman who’d just arrived to tend to the door.

  “Take care, ma’am!”

  “Forgive me, I-I must get out…”

  He pulled open the door, and she ran outside, almost tripping as she took the steps two at a time.

  ***

  Dexter gazed at the creature kneeling at his feet.

  How could he have ever thought her desirable? Spiteful desperation exuded from every pore of her corrupted body. What possessed her to believe that she could conquer him by insulting his sweet little wife, then offering herself like a twopenny harlot?

  He’d wondered how far she was prepared to go to degrade herself. But she had surpassed the depths to which even a common a prostitute would plumb.

  Bile rose in his throat, and he reached for her. The triumph in her eyes magnified, and she parted her lips. Then he grasped her shoulders and pushed her back.

  She fell to the ground and parted her legs.

  “You always loved a little roughness to your bedsport, darling,” she said. “I’m glad you’ve rekindled the taste for it.”

  “Get up,” he snarled. “You’re making a fool of yourself. You’re worse than your father.”

  “Dexter darling, I…”

  “I said, get up!” he roared. She flinched at the force in his voice. He grasped her wrist, then yanked her to her feet.

  “The sooner you and your father are out of my house, the better.”

  “You can’t mean that,” she gasped.

  “I mean every word!” he snarled. “Shall I tell your father what a harlot his honorable daughter is?”

  “I’ll tell him you violated me!”

  “Who do you think he’ll believe, Elizabeth? The son-in-law who can foreclose on his debts and turn him out on the street at a whim, or the daughter who bled his coffers dry to satisfy her greed?” He pushed her to the door.

  “Tell him and be damned,” he said. “I care nothing for his opinion of me. But I rather think you care a great deal what he thinks of you. If he believes you sullied, whether willing or not, he’ll marry you off to the first man who’ll take you. And I hear Viscount de Blanchard is prowling the marriage mart.”

  Her eyes widened in fear, and he gave her a cold smile at the notion of her being in the power of that fat, sweaty lecher. Her face paled. Were she any other woman, he would have pitied her.

  “What must I do?” she asked.

  “Pack your belongings and instruct your father to do likewise.”

  “What explanation shall I give him?”

  “I care not,” he said. “All that matters is that you’re both out of my house within the hour.”

  “But…”

  “Mr. Billings! Mrs. Wells!” he roared. Elizabeth colored and scuttled out of the study. He followed in her wake and hailed the footman waiting beside the main doors.

  “You there! What’s your name?”

  “Stephen, sir.”

  “Stephen, our guests are leaving,” he said. “Fetch Mrs. Wells, and send Sarah to the mistress’s chamber to let her know.”

  The servant glanced toward the doors, then hesitated.

  “Are you hard of hearing, Stephen?”

  “N-no, sir, but the mistress has gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “Outside, sir. She left a moment ago. She seemed indisposed.”

  “Indisposed?”

  “Yes, sir, she…” The servant hesitated, uncertainty in his expression.

  “Spit it out,” Dexter growled. “I don’t have all day.”

  “She was in a hurry, sir. She was running from the direction of the study…”

  “The study?”

  “Yes, sir. About a minute before you arrived with Miss Alderley. I-I believe she may have heard voices.”

  The footman’s expression told him exactly whose voices Meggie had heard.

  Shit.

  “Where did you say she went?” he asked.

  “I-I don’t know, sir. She ran down the steps as if a pack of dogs was after her.”

  A pack of dogs, indeed. They were all bloody dogs—himself included.

  “Shall I help you find her, sir?”

  “No,” Dexter said. “You can assist Mrs. Wells in ridding me of my guests. I’ll find my wife.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Did he imagine it, or did he sense disapproval in the footman’s voice?

  But he could hardly blame the man. Disapproval was an understatement compared to Dexter’s opinion of himself.

  Where had she gone?

  Hoofbeats crunched on the gravel outside. That was impressive. Billings must have worked a miracle to prepare the Alderley carriage so quickly.

  But there was no carriage. Instead, a single horse stood before the front door, its rider already dismounting.

  It was Oliver Peyton.

  “Good lord!” Dexter exclaimed.

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” Peyton said. “I’m here on your instruction.”

  “So much has happened, I quite forgot.”

  “That’s unlike you!” Peyton laughed. “Perhaps you’ve been distracted by something far pleasanter than the running of a bank. Didn’t I say, your adorable little wife…”

  “Forgive me, Peyton,” Dexter said. “I
have an urgent errand to see to. I trust you’ll make yourself at home in the interim.”

  “Can I help?”

  “If you can dispatch two unwelcome guests, find my wife, and hire a full complement of staff, then I daresay you can,” Dexter said. “Failing that, I’d suggest you let Stephen here show you to my study where you can indulge in a dialogue with my brandy until I return.”

  Leaving his friend open-mouthed at the threshold, he sprinted off toward the forest.

  If he knew his wife at all, there was one place she would go.

  ***

  As Dexter emerged from the woods, he saw a solitary figure sitting beside the waterfall at the edge of the forest lake, dangling her legs in the water.

  “Margaret.”

  She stiffened but did not attempt to look up as he approached. Her body vibrated with tension, but she continued to stare at the water as if by not seeing him, she could will him to disappear.

  He bent down and reached for the ankle of his boot and yanked at it. It hardly budged. How the devil did his valet manage to take the damn things off? He tried again and almost lost his balance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn her head to observe him. He pulled it a third time, and it came off, but he lost his balance and toppled onto his back.

  “Shit.”

  Aware of her eyes on him, he removed the second boot—much easier now he was positioned like an upended turtle—then pulled his stockings off. Then he stood up, brushed himself down, and sat beside her. He dipped his feet into the water and drew in a sharp breath.

  Bloody hell, that was cold!

  The corner of her mouth twitched in a smile.

  “Margaret,” he said.

  The smile disappeared.

  He took her hand. “Meggie?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Forgiveness.”

  She sighed. “What purpose would it serve? Will it absolve you of your sins such that you consider yourself at liberty to commit them once more?”

  He lifted her hand to his lips. She didn’t resist, but, if anything, that pierced his heart even more. She believed the worst of him, yet she was resigned to his attentions. Overcome with shame, he released her hand. He had no right to touch her—or even look her in the eyes.

  “I cannot begin to think what you imagine I’ve done,” he said, “and I have no right to expect you to believe me now.”

  She made no move. But she didn’t slap him—neither did she push him into the lake.

  Which he saw as a good sign.

  “But,” he continued, “I will explain what you witnessed if you have no objection.”

  He waited for her response, but she said nothing. The silence stretched, forming an uncomfortable void which he felt compelled to fill with words.

  Was this what his rivals felt when he adopted the same tactics in the boardroom? Stony silence was the most effective method of coercing a man into saying what he intended to keep to himself.

  Once again, he was reminded of how different his wife was from every other woman he’d met.

  “I confess that Elizabeth and I were lovers before you and I married,” he began, “but on my honor, I have remained faithful to you…”

  “No,” she said.

  A needle pricked at his heart. Was he too late?

  “Meggie, forgive me.”

  She turned to face him. “No, Dexter,” she said. “If you wish to tell me what happened, you must look at me. Only then will I be able to decide whether you’re speaking the truth.”

  He lifted his gaze to hers, and his body shivered with discomfort. He always believed that he could meet anyone’s gaze—intimidate them by looking into their eyes until they looked away. But, at this moment, his wife’s opinion was the only thing that mattered. To look into her eyes and see her disappointment—and her innocence—staring into his tainted soul…

  It was going to be one of the most challenging acts of his life. Yet, if he was to deserve her, he had to do it.

  He offered his hand. “May I?”

  She nodded, and he took her little hand in his, caressing her palm with his thumb.

  “On my life, Meggie, I swear I’ve been true to you. I have a past—we both do—but what matters is now. You are the only woman I want, Meggie. Now and forever.”

  “But what I saw, what I heard…” She shook her head. “You cannot deny that.”

  “No, I can’t,” he said. “When Elizabeth heard you were indisposed, she accosted me, and…” He hesitated, his cheeks warming with shame, but he owed her the truth. “She offered herself. I wanted to see how far she would humiliate herself to get what she wanted, how far her jealousy and her greed would take her.”

  He shook his head. “It was wrong of me, I know, but it served a purpose, for she has shown her true colors.”

  “I never doubted her true nature,” she said.

  “I know, my love,” he replied. “Rest assured that from now on, you’ll never have to see her again—either of them.”

  She lifted her brows in question.

  “I sent them packing,” he said. “They may be your blood relations, but blood means nothing without respect or love. With luck, by the time we return to the house, they’ll be gone.”

  “Return to the house?”

  “Will you come back with me?”

  “Is that an order?”

  “No,” he said. “It’s a request. You’re free to do whatever you want, Meggie.”

  He lifted his hand to the bruise on her face. Her eyes narrowed, but she did not flinch.

  “My poor little lamb,” he said. “What hurt you’ve suffered—all because of me!”

  “My face will heal.”

  “Ah, but your heart.” He caressed her face with his fingertips, then lowered his hand to her breast. Her heartbeat thrummed faintly against his palm.

  “Sometimes it’s the invisible injuries that give rise to the most lasting damage,” he said. “I would not have you suffer a broken heart.”

  “Dexter…” She reached up, and he caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. With his other hand, he caressed her breast, and her nostrils flared. A taut little bud beaded against his palm.

  “Dexter…”

  He withdrew his hand. “Forgive me. I have no right.”

  She curled her fingers round his hand, and he closed his eyes to temper his hope.

  “Will you come home with me, Meggie?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He pulled her into an embrace and placed a kiss on her forehead.

  “I promise, Meggie, that I’ll do everything in my power to regain your trust.”

  She said nothing.

  He couldn’t expect her to trust him overnight, but the almost indistinguishable nod against his chest told him that he’d made the first step.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “I’ll be damned—you’ve had an eventful few days, haven’t you, Hart?”

  Oliver Peyton held his glass out for a refill, and Dexter obliged.

  “How goes it at the bank, Peyton?”

  “I can spot your evasion tactics a mile off,” Oliver laughed. “All’s well. We have two new clients—a viscount and a baronet.”

  Dexter wrinkled his nose.

  “They’re not to be sneered at,” Oliver said, “especially the baronet. He’s a wealthy merchant who’s brought with him a substantial fortune.”

  “Then you’ve done well. Perhaps I should send you straight back to London to continue the good work.”

  “You’ve evicted enough guests for today, methinks.”

  “Alderley’s only reaping his rewards,” Dexter said.

  “Talking of rewards,” Oliver said, “shall we resume our match? I can set up the board after dinner.”

  “I hardly think tonight’s the time for chess.”

  “That’s only because I have you cornered. Come on, Hart—there are fifty guineas at stake. You wouldn’t begrudge me the opportunity to finally beat you at chess, would
you? Besides, this has the makings of an epic game. It’s perfect for my book.”

  “My wife will be joining us,” Dexter said. “I doubt she’ll be interested in our game.”

  “My, my, you have changed! The parson’s noose has done you good if you’ve gained the inclination to be considerate.” Oliver rose to his feet. “And here’s the lady in question.”

  Margaret stood in the doorway, discomfort in her expression as she looked from Oliver to Dexter and back again. But Oliver, with his easy charm and grace, approached her and issued a deep bow.

  “Charmed, Mrs. Hart,” he said. “I’m delighted to see you looking so well. I had feared for your well-being after you were shackled to this reprobate…” He gestured toward Dexter, then lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “…but I believe that, despite appearances to the contrary, a flesh-and-blood heart might lurk inside that overly broad chest of his. What say you?”

  She gave him a shy smile and held out her hand, and Oliver lifted it to his lips.

  Dexter rose to his feet.

  “That’s enough, Peyton,” he said. “Despite your manifest charms, I fear my wife is immune to them.”

  “Not completely,” she said.

  “Nevertheless.” Dexter offered his arm. “Shall we dine?”

  She flashed him a quick smile, and he squeezed her hand in encouragement.

  You’re looking well.

  And she was. Mrs. Wells had worked a miracle, concealing the bruise on her face, and the Alderleys’ departure had restored her confidence.

  ***

  It was plain to see that Oliver Peyton was smitten with Dexter’s wife.

  But the man posed no threat. He reminded Dexter of himself a few weeks before, when he’d visited Harold and Anne Pelham and had felt like an outsider among a loving couple. But tonight, Dexter was part of the couple, and Oliver the outsider.

  Dexter’s wife rose to her feet, and the two men followed suit.

  “I’ll leave you gentlemen to your brandy.”

  “No, let us accompany you,” Dexter said.

  “But custom dictates…”

  “I think we can dispense with formalities tonight,” Dexter said. “I would not have you lonely.”

  They retired to the drawing room. Oliver crossed the floor to the chessboard and set out the pieces.

  “Can’t that wait until tomorrow?” Dexter suggested, glancing at his wife.