by Royal, Emily
“Do not desist on my account,” she said. “I’d like to watch.”
“Very well,” Dexter said. “Do you remember what I showed you—about how pieces move?”
She smiled, and he swore he saw mischief in her eyes.
Oliver needed no further encouragement. He was clearly eager to win his fifty guineas. He set out the pieces, moving them in a position to resume their game.
Dexter studied the board. As he’d remembered from when they’d reached this point before, his white pieces were surrounded by Oliver’s black ones. Any move he made would result in losing a significant piece, and Oliver had already taken both his castles and one bishop.
“I have you stumped!” Oliver said. “What shall I spend my fifty guineas on?”
“How about some humility?” Dexter growled.
Oliver chuckled. “You should concede the game now, rather than wait for me to move in for the kill. At least then, you save face by telling yourself you might have had a chance.”
Dexter gritted his teeth in frustration. A slim hand was placed on his shoulder, and a gentle fingertip caressed the skin of his neck.
“Husband, might I make a suggestion?”
“Go ahead,” he said. “The game is lost.”
“Why not move your queen?”
“Where to?”
“There.” She pointed across the board. “You’ll place the king in check.”
“No, that won’t work,” Dexter said. “His knight can take my queen. I’ve lost enough pieces as it is.”
“Very well.” She withdrew and took a chair beside the fireplace.
Oliver followed suit. “Perhaps you’re right, Hart,” he said. “We’ll conclude our game another time. Your poor wife won’t want to witness the endgame unless she’s a patron of blood sports.” He nodded toward the pianoforte in the corner of the room. “Do you play, Mrs. Hart?”
She colored and shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”
“Accomplishment is overrated,” Dexter said, noticing her stricken expression. “I find there are other qualities to be valued in a wife.”
A smile danced in her eyes. Perhaps she might trust him after all.
Perhaps she might not be averse to him visiting her chamber tonight.
***
Dexter listened at the chamber door, hearing soft footsteps and the rustle of linen. He closed his eyes and imagined his wife, slipping her naked body between the sheets. He hardened almost immediately, catching his breath.
When silence fell, he opened the door.
The room was dark save for a solitary candle. His wife lay in the bed, the sheet drawn up to her chin, staring at the canopy.
“Meggie.”
She sat up, eyes widening.
“Dexter?”
“May I join you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I had hoped…” She averted her gaze.
His heart leapt. She wanted him!
“So had I,” he said. “I’ve been hoping and wishing for so long. Will you grant my wish, Meggie?”
She drew the sheet aside, revealing her body. His mouth watered at her shapely form. He unbuttoned his breeches and let them fall to the floor. His manhood sprang in eagerness to bury itself inside her.
Her eyes widened, then she smiled—an invitation.
Tonight, he would claim her as his—truly his. For she was giving herself freely.
***
Meggie woke and blinked in the sunlight. She’d forgotten to draw the curtains, and the window of the lady’s chamber looked full east, catching the light of the dawn. She rolled onto her side, and a pair of warm, strong arms caught her and held her body against a broad chest.
She closed her eyes, reliving the night before when her husband had taken her to heights of pleasure she never believed existed. He had touched every inch of her skin until her whole body blazed with need. With gentle commands and tender words of praise, he’d coaxed her into submission, then, when she could bear the wait no longer, he eased himself into her.
When he’d cried her name, her heart burst with love and pride. This beautiful man, who revealed so little of himself, who the world thought was cold and hard—he was not. He trusted her enough to bare his soul.
And he was hers. All hers.
“Mmm…” his voice rumbled in her ear.
“If only I could wake up every day like this.” He shifted his body, and she felt him, hard and hot, against her back.
“How shall I bid you good morning?” he murmured, his voice still laden with sleep. “Shall we break our fast in bed?”
He cupped a breast, and her nipple beaded against his palm.
“My wife shares my appetite.”
“Dexter, I’m not hungry, I…oh!” she cried out as he dipped his hand between her thighs.
“I beg to differ,” he said, his voice deepening. “My wife is ravenous.”
She shifted her thighs to accommodate him, and he murmured his approval and moved his fingertips along her flesh. Deep inside her, pleasure flared, and she tilted her head back.
He slipped his finger inside her, and her body rippled with pleasure. He captured her cries with his mouth, plunging his tongue in, devouring her. When her climax subsided, she relaxed into his arms, and he sighed, his breath warming the skin of her neck.
“I wish I could stay here forever.”
Her stomach flipped at his words. London was calling to him. His eyes had lit up with eagerness last night when Mr. Peyton discussed the bank. Now the Alderleys had gone, Dexter had no reason to remain in the country.
“Forgive me, Meggie,” he said, “for disrupting your life yet again, so soon after everything you’ve endured.”
“You’re leaving for London,” she said, flattening her tone to temper her emotion.
She freed herself from his embrace.
“Aren’t you pleased?” he asked. “It’s sooner than I’d planned, but I think you’re ready.”
“For what?”
“There’s much to do,” he continued. “You’ll find yourself under scrutiny, and though you’re beautiful to me in the dowdiest of gowns, I trust you’ll permit me a little indulgence.”
“Indulgence?”
“As soon as we arrive in London, I’ll secure an appointment with the best modiste in town.”
“I’m going with you?”
“Of course!” he said. “Do you think I want you anywhere else but at my side?”
“But I thought…”
“You thought I wanted you tucked away out of sight?” He shook his head. “My love, I sent you here to protect you. Despite the outward appearance of finery, London society is somewhat savage, and I had no wish to see you devoured by the creatures that inhabit it. But I’ve come to realize that my little wife is stronger than she looks and can deal with anything.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, his eyes glistening with pride. “I will be by your side to fight for you.”
As if ashamed he’d revealed his feelings, he patted her hand and rose from the bed.
“We should dress for breakfast, or Peyton will begin to wonder what we’re doing.” He shot her a mischievous grin. “But, given how you screamed my name last night, he’ll be a simpleton if he doesn’t know.”
He moved across the floor, his naked body exuding the casual, easy grace of a panther. Then he turned his back, and she let out a cry.
A crisscross pattern of scars covered the flesh.
“Dexter—your back!”
He picked up his shirt and slipped it on.
“Forgive me,” he said. “It’s been so long. I sometimes forget they are there.”
“Do they trouble you?”
“Sometimes in the cold weather, they itch a little. The only trouble they give me is knowing that the man who administered them was never brought to justice. I had to seek my own retribution.”
“Who was he?” she asked.
He sighed and averted his gaze. “Can’t you guess?”
Her
wrist ached in memory of Alderley’s vice-like grip, the day he’d instructed his brutish footmen to discipline her.
“My father,” she whispered.
He nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Few people know.” He narrowed his eyes as if in pain.
She reached out and caught his hand. “Will you tell me now?”
The bed shifted under his weight as he sat on it. “There’s little to tell,” he said. “It happened when I was nine years old when we lived in the shadow of the Alderley estate. My sister Lilah was caught up in a scrape involving Alderley’s son and his friend. They caught her playing in the woods and tormented her. She came home, crying, bruised, and scratched. She’s always been a tough little fighter—more than a match for two boys. But I couldn’t let it rest. Our parents had died, and Lilah was my responsibility. I demanded an audience with Lord Alderley.”
He shook his head. “I was naïve enough to believe we lived in a fair world and that men in authority understood the difference between right and wrong.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“Alderley accused me of spreading lies about his son and had me thrashed.” He closed his eyes, furrowing his brow. “Twenty lashes, and I remember every one. They say the pain can be borne, provided the skin doesn’t break. Alderley broke the skin on the second lash. After that, all I saw was blood. I thought that if I focused on the blood at my feet, I could forget the pain. But I failed. I was weak—and for months afterward, all my dreams were filled with blood and fire.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry.”
He covered her hand with his own and caressed it, then met her gaze. Her heart almost broke at the vulnerability in his expression.
“Even now, I cannot bear the sight of blood,” he said. “The slightest drop and I find myself unable to breathe.”
“Then, when you cut your hand, the day after our wedding…”
“It took all my strength not to pass out,” he said. “But you were there, with your soft voice and kind hands, despite how afraid you must have been that day.”
He lifted his lips into a smile, and his eyes sparkled. “I think, even then, I was already beginning to fall in love with you.”
She took his face in her hands and pulled him to her for a kiss.
“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me,” she said. “It must have been hard for you.”
“No, not hard,” he whispered. “I find it the easiest thing in the world to trust you, Meggie.
He held his palm up, his fingers splayed out.
“Take my hand.”
She took it, and he interlocked his fingers with hers. He tightened the grip until his fingertips dug into her hand, and she did likewise.
“Let us pledge, here and now,” he said, “that there shall be no more secrets from each other. As a mark of our faith—and love.”
She nodded, and he captured her mouth in a kiss. Then he rose from the bed.
“You have no idea how much it means to me, Meggie, to have someone in this world I can trust completely.”
He blew her a kiss and disappeared through the adjoining door to his chamber. Not long after, she heard the murmur of voices as his valet helped him dress.
He trusted her—he loved her!
But the thrill in knowing that he did, was tempered by the fear that he’d discover her secret—the secret she dared not tell him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A light breeze rippled in the trees as Dexter strolled alongside the Serpentine, his wife on his arm. Though he received the occasional haughty stare, many of the couples they passed were civil enough to exchange a word or two.
Each time someone drew near, his wife’s hand tightened its grip on his arm. Though he took pleasure knowing she viewed him as a source of strength, he also knew that she needed to learn to weather London independently.
And a public excursion was the best way to achieve that.
“How are you bearing up, my dear?” he asked.
“It’s not as bad as I feared,” she said. “Some of the people are quite friendly. I particularly liked the tall lady with the red hair.”
“Countess Stiles,” Dexter said. “The earl was the first of the upper ton to bank with me.”
“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” she continued. “I couldn’t begin to compare to her in a ballroom.”
“Nonsense!” he said. “You’ll outshine them all in your new gowns.”
She blushed. “You’ve been far too generous, Dexter,” she said. “First the school, then the gowns…” She shook her head. “As for the pin money, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with it.”
That morning, he’d taken her to Madame Dupont’s and ordered three day dresses, three evening gowns, and a riding habit. Silencing his wife’s protests over the expense, he’d explained to the modiste that every whim should be catered to. Madame Dupont, with her easy charm and maternal nature, took Meggie under her wing, and soon, his little wife’s shyness had disappeared. The two women spent the morning chatting as if they were old friends, while Madame’s assistants took Meggie’s measurements. They were to return for a fitting in a week, and Dexter found himself looking forward to the simple pleasure of spending a morning in a shop with his wife.
His former self would have laughed at him for being a milksop. But he lifted her hand to his lips, not caring whether the other occupants of the park saw what a happy man he was.
“Your pin money is yours to spend as you wish,” he said.
“But I have everything I want. Can’t you keep it, then I’ll ask if I want money?”
“You shouldn’t have to ask,” he said. “But if you prefer, I can set it aside for you.”
“I’d like that,” she said. “After all, you’re a banker, so it makes sense for you to employ your skills at home. Perhaps you’ll grant me a little interest each quarter day.”
She smiled up at him, mischief twinkling in her eyes.
Yes, he was a very happy man, indeed.
A familiar couple appeared ahead—a diminutive lady, holding a small dog in her arms, blonde curls peeking out from beneath her bonnet, together with a tall man dressed in a smart light brown jacket and cream-colored breeches.
“Ah, the Pelhams,” Dexter said. “The very people I want you to meet. Mr. Pelham is a business associate. He’s responsible for that rather fine brandy we’ve been enjoying.”
His wife blushed, and his manhood twitched at the memory. Last night he’d brought a glass of brandy to bed and proceeded to shake droplets of the fiery liquid over his wife’s naked body before lapping them up with his tongue.
“I must ask Pelham to supply me with another bottle,” he said casually. “We’ll have exhausted our supplies in a week or so.”
“Dexter…” Her voice spoke of discomfort, but he could see she was aroused.
The Pelhams drew near, and she tightened her hold on him.
“Hart!” Pelham cried. “I knew it was you! I’d heard you were in town. Anne and I have been eager to call on you.”
“Then why haven’t you?” Dexter asked.
Anne Pelham glanced at Meggie, who appeared distressed.
“I thought it best if we give your lovely wife time to familiarize herself with London,” she said. “It can be a rather hostile environment if one doesn’t know who one’s friends are.”
“May I introduce my wife, Margaret,” Dexter said. He turned to Meggie. “My dear, this is Mr. and Mrs. Pelham.”
“A pleasure to meet you at last,” Mrs. Pelham said. “I was most sorry I missed you when I first called—just before you left for the country.”
Dexter’s wife stiffened, and Dexter recalled Charles’s account of the day Meggie had hidden behind the curtains to avoid visitors.
But Anne Pelham’s nature was capable of coaxing the most terrified mouse out of its nest. She offered her arm to Meggie.
“Shall we?” she asked. “If yo
u would permit it, Mrs. Hart, I’d love to show you my favorite parts of the park. I’ve made it my mission to seek out those hidden little spots that are shunned by those who come to the park merely to show themselves off to the world. I suspect you’re a woman after my own heart.”
Meggie looked at Dexter and raised her eyebrows in question, and he smiled encouragement. Anne Pelham was just the sort of woman to put her at ease.
Meggie took the proffered arm, and the women set off ahead of the men.
“Fate has chosen well for you, my friend,” Pelham said. “I almost didn’t recognize you today. You were actually smiling.”
“I’ve been known to smile,” Dexter said.
Pelham scratched his chin in an exaggerated gesture. “Now let me see…” he hesitated, as if in concentration. “Ah, yes! December the fourth 1822. Your lip twitched a little. I believe it was reported in the Times.” He grinned. “Then there was the momentous occasion in the Spring of 1823. An unconfirmed report of both corners of your mouth lifting. That report, I believe, made it as far as the Dundee Courier.”
“That’s enough, Pelham,” Dexter said.
His friend laughed. “I jest because it pleases me to see your content. I rather suspect you’ve discovered the secret which few are party to?”
“Which is?”
“That a man can fall in love with his wife.”
“I want her to be happy here,” Dexter said. “She has no friends to speak of.”
“She’s found one friend at least. My Anne seems quite taken with her,” Pelham said. “There’s your sisters, also, and of course, she’ll have children to occupy herself with.”
“Children?”
Pelham grinned. “You have the look of a well-served husband, and she, the satisfied wife. I’ll wager you’ll soon be announcing a new arrival. As it is…” he lowered his voice, “…Anne informed me this morning that I’m to be a father again. And take it from me, there’s nothing more glorious than a woman with child.”
“Congratulations,” Dexter said.
“I look forward to the day when I can rename my business Pelham and Sons. Perhaps the same will happen to you.”
Hart and Sons…
Dexter watched his wife, taking in her delicate curves concealed beneath her skirts. Might she be carrying his son, even now? At that moment, she turned her head and laughed at something Anne Pelham said, her face illuminated with mirth. How might she look when she gave him a child?
