by Royal, Emily
“I did no such thing!”
“I care not,” he said. “What matters is that you have the means and incentive to help me. What say you to a small stipend to keep me afloat until I no longer need it?”
She shook her head. “I can’t…”
He gripped her arm. “Yes, you can, Megs. Hart’s wealthy enough to buy half of London. His social status is rising, despite his origins. I wouldn’t think he’d relish the prospect of his wife’s whoring being made public knowledge. Is that incentive enough?”
She tried to pull free, but he tightened his grip.
“My husband knows I was with another man,” she said. “Say what you wish, and be damned!”
He let out a laugh. “There it is!” he cried. “The language of the gutter. Once a scrubby bastard, always a scrubby bastard, eh?” His smile disappeared. “Is poor, trusting Dexter familiar with the old adage that bastards beget bastards?”
“Let me go,” she said. “You’re hurting me.”
“Not until I have an answer,” he said. “Does he know that his wife bore another man’s child?”
Her stomach shriveled into a knot, and she swallowed as a wave of nausea rippled through her.
“Of course, I’ll never know whether the child was mine or not,” he said. “Who knows how many men you spread your legs for? What became of the brat? Did you sell it as your father sold you? How much does a bastard fetch these days?”
She drew her hand back to strike him, and he caught her wrist.
“Careful, lover,” he said. “My face is an asset in my profession. You wouldn’t want to incur further expense by marking it.”
Titan whined at her feet and strained on the lead. Georgie aimed a kick at the little dog, and she jerked the leash away.
“Don’t touch him!” she cried.
“Are you prepared to be reasonable?”
“What do you want?”
“A mere trifle compared to your husband’s wealth. Shall we say a thousand pounds?”
A thousand!
“Georgie, I cannot!” she cried. “I don’t have such a sum.”
“You can pay me in regular installments, say, fifty pounds a week? Surely your beloved gives you pin money?”
“Nowhere near as much.”
“Then you’d better get creative in the bedroom, my dear, and find ways to encourage his generosity. How much do you have now?”
She reached into her reticule and pulled out a sheaf of notes. “Twenty pounds.”
He snatched the notes and pocketed them. “That will have to do,” he said. “I’m prepared to remain silent if you return next week with the next installment.”
“I can’t ask my husband for fifty pounds,” she said. “He’ll wonder what I want it for.”
“That’s your problem,” he said, “and it’ll be eighty pounds, given that your first payment was thirty short. Of course, if you’re able to procure the full thousand, then I’ll consider our business concluded.”
“I say! Mrs. Hart!” a voice called. Meggie turned and saw Oliver Peyton striding along the path.
“I thought it was you,” he said. He glanced at Georgie, curiosity in his eyes. “Who’s this fellow?”
Georgie bowed. “George Hanson, at your service, sir,” he said. “I was assisting this—lady—here, in a matter concerning the training of her dog. Is that not right, Mrs. Hart?”
Meggie glanced at Oliver and felt her cheeks warm under his scrutiny.
“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “Thank you, Mr. Hanson.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” Georgie said. “I must be going. But I look forward to meeting you and your dog next week as arranged.”
He issued a bow and disappeared along the path.
“May I escort you home, Mrs. Hart?” Peyton asked. “You look unwell.”
“No, I’ll be fine, thank you,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble.”
“Nevertheless, I insist.”
Before he could protest, she picked Titan up and, cradling him in her arms, strode out of the park. Only when she arrived home and handed her dog over to Charles did her heart stop fluttering.
The prospect of meeting the man who’d ruined her, each week, was too much to be borne—and it carried the risk of her being seen. But how could she persuade her husband to part with a thousand pounds?
***
The afternoon stretched into evening, and Dexter hadn’t returned home yet. Alone, with nothing but her imagination for company, Meggie grew restless. What was Georgie planning? Would he carry out his threat if she didn’t give him the money? And would Mr. Peyton tell Dexter he’d seen her with a man?
At length, her fears got the better of her, and she made her way into Dexter’s study where he kept her pin money. She knew she only had to ask for it, but what if he asked what she wanted it for? She’d struggle to lie convincingly, especially to a man such as Dexter, whose striking blue gaze could penetrate her soul.
Her heart thudded as she slid open the top drawer of his desk. Her husband valued trust and honesty above all, and she’d pledged her honesty several times. But she quaked at the thought of him discovering that she’d borne another man’s child—he’d made his views abundantly clear on the matter.
A sheaf of notes was stacked neatly in the drawer. She picked it up and counted them. Just over ninety pounds. It wouldn’t silence Georgie for good, but it was enough to buy his silence for a week.
She spotted an envelope in the drawer with directions penned in Dexter’s bold, clear hand.
Mrs. John Farrow
London Lane
Croxleigh Green
Hertfordshire
The envelope was unsealed. With trembling fingers, she opened it. A note was inside covered in Dexter’s handwriting, together with five-pound notes.
While she suffered guilt from deceiving her husband, was he deceiving her also?
“Margaret?”
She squeaked at the voice and looked up.
Dexter stood in the doorway. He lowered his gaze to the envelope in her hand.
“That’s a private letter,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet.
“I haven’t read it.”
“I should bloody well hope not.”
“I-I was looking for something,” she said.
He folded his arms and waited. The silence stretched like an empty vat waiting to be filled.
“I needed my pin money,” she blurted. At least that was the truth.
“What for?”
“Must I give a reason?”
“Of course not, but it doesn’t explain why you have my private correspondence in your hand.”
“I…” she broke off, unwilling to continue.
“Well?”
She dropped the letter in the drawer. “I was merely curious,” she said.
“You were a little more than that.” Disapproval lined his features, and she found herself irritated. He was accusing her of snooping, yet he had a secret of his own.
“Who’s Mrs. Farrell?”
He narrowed his eyes. “So, you have read it.”
“Only the direction,” she said. “Why do you send her money?”
“If you suspect me of something, Margaret, pay me the courtesy of saying what it is.”
Unwilling to voice her fears, she shook her head. “I-I don’t know…”
“But I do,” he said, anger flashing in his eyes. “What would you say if I told you that despite pledging my honesty to you, I was sending money to a mistress behind your back? Or, perhaps, that I had sired a by-blow and was funding the brat’s education? Is that what you wish to hear?”
“No, of course not!” she cried.
“Good God, woman, what the devil do you take me for?”
He closed his eyes and wiped his brow. When he opened them again, the anger had been replaced by disappointment.
“Mrs. Farrow is my sister, Daisy,” he said. “She does
n’t have much, and I send her money from time to time. You’re at liberty to read the letter if you require proof.”
She picked up the letter, and he set his mouth into a hard line, then she set it down again. “No,” she said. “I don’t want proof.”
“Then what do you want, Margaret?”
“Nothing. I-I’m sorry, Dexter, I shouldn’t have assumed…”
“No,” he said. “You shouldn’t.”
“Do you want to visit her?”
He sighed and shook his head. “She wouldn’t welcome it.”
“Not even now, you’re married?”
“She doesn’t know.”
“But if you write…”
“I send her money,” he said. “That’s all. Daisy belongs to a different world, and long ago made it abundantly clear that she had no wish to reside in mine. I see no reason to burden her with tales of my life when I was responsible for ruining hers.”
Meggie’s heart ached to see the pain in his eyes. She approached him and took his hand. He stiffened, then relented, and she curled her fingers round his.
“You care for her,” she said. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“Margaret, I’m tired,” he said. “I’ve had a busy day and have been looking forward to a quiet evening. Can’t this wait?”
“No,” she said, “it can’t. I should have trusted you. You’ve been nothing but honest with me. I’m sorry, Dexter.”
He drew her close. “I see I must work harder to gain your trust, my love,” he said. “But whatever regrets I have over Daisy, she and I cannot return to how we were before.”
“Yes, you can,” she said. “I believe that if you had the opportunity to see your sister again, you would take it. Can we not visit her?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?” she asked. “We could deliver your letter in person.”
“And if she refuses to admit us?”
“Then at least we’ll have tried,” she said. “Won’t you at least consider it, Dexter? As a favor to me?” She swallowed her guilt and continued. “What better way to gain my trust than to grant me this?”
He cursed under his breath, then caught her chin and tipped her head up until their eyes met.
“Is this what you really want?”
“Yes.”
He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. “Then your wish is my command,” he said. “I’ll do anything you ask in order to prove I’m worthy of your trust.”
He held her against his chest, and she relaxed into his embrace, feeling the steady thud of his heart against her body—a heart that beat for her.
Perhaps, by reuniting him with his sister, she might be able to lessen the guilt of her deception.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As the carriage drew to a halt outside the squat, stone building, Dexter’s wife gave him a smile of encouragement.
This was a bloody mistake. Daisy would turn him away at the door. Meggie would suffer the insult, and he’d be reminded of what a bastard he’d been to his sister when she needed him.
With luck, Daisy was out. But then, his tenacious little Meggie would most likely insist they remain at the Croxleigh Arms until she returned.
He didn’t want to stay another night in that godforsaken inn. The walls were too thin, and though he cared little whether the landlord and the other guests heard his wife screaming in ecstasy as he pleasured her, he didn’t want to subject Meggie to their stares.
Christ—was this what love did to a man?
Meggie had seemed out of sorts for the past few days—ever since he’d caught her in his study. He’d seen her staring out of the window, looking as if she were about to burst into tears—and for the past few meals, she’d not cleared her plate. Perhaps she still felt guilty over being caught with Daisy’s letter. Given her upbringing and treatment at Alderley’s hands, it was no wonder she suffered guilt at almost everything she did.
As for her poor appetite—he smiled to himself over the likely cause. Harold Pelham had told him that Anne had stopped eating the moment she quickened with their first child and that her moods were as interchangeable as a weathercock in a whirlwind.
He took Meggie’s hand and led her to the front door of the cottage. The building next to it bore a sign written in clear, neat letters.
Jon Farrow
Bread and Biscuit Baker
Meggie squeezed his hand in a gesture of comfort. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you.”
He knocked on the door, praying it would be met with silence, but he heard footsteps from within.
The door swung open to reveal a tall woman with black hair and brilliant blue eyes. Small creases lined her face, which was grayer than when he’d last seen her. But she was as beautiful as he remembered—a beauty to torture men’s hearts, he’d said. But in the end, it was Daisy who’d been destroyed.
“Can I help you, sir?” she asked.
He took off his top hat. “Hello, Daisy.”
Her eyes widened.
“I thought I said I never wanted to see you again!”
“Never is a long time.”
“Not long enough for me.” She glanced at Meggie. “So, you’re married?”
“Yes,” he said. “May I introduce you to…”
“Spare me,” Daisy interrupted. “I’ve no wish to be looked down on by you or some fancy heiress.”
“Can we at least continue this conversation inside?” Dexter asked. “I doubt the residents of Croxleigh Green wish to hear our grievances.”
“Of course,” she sneered. “We must maintain appearances. It matters not what’s said or done, as long as it’s behind closed doors. Come in, though I doubt my cottage is grand enough for you and your wife. But the sooner you tell me what you want, the sooner I can disappoint you and send you on your way.”
He took Meggie’s hand and followed his sister inside.
The parlor was neat and tidy, with a homely feel. Bright coverings adorned the furniture with matching curtains. Several children’s drawings lined the walls. Meggie sat in a chair and took in her surroundings, her mouth curving into a smile as she looked at the pictures.
“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Farrow,” she said.
“My apologies, it’s not what you’re used to,” Daisy replied.
Dexter rolled his eyes—why did his sister have to be so bloody prickly?
Meggie gave a nervous smile. “Where I grew up, we had no parlor,” she said. “My home consisted of two rooms, which I shared with three others.”
“You never told me that, Margaret,” Dexter said.
“You never asked,” she replied. “When I was moved to Blackwood Heath, we had a small parlor, but it wasn’t as comforting as your sister’s.”
“Why has Dexter brought you here?” Daisy asked. “Does he want to show you how far he’s risen in the world?”
“You’ve hardly fallen, Daisy,” he said. “John’s a businessman, as am I. Therefore, we are equals.”
“Equals!” she scoffed. “All you do is send money with impersonal little notes as if I were a dirty secret. Admit it, Dexter—you’re ashamed of me, and you always have been. Which is why you strove to marry a woman like her.”
She gestured toward Meggie. “How much did you get for this one?” she asked. “You once said you’d take no woman for less than thirty thousand and a title. A perfect heiress for my perfect brother—not like the sister who disgraced the family.” She turned to Meggie. “I trust you were worth it, Mrs. Hart, for your sake. I know better than anyone what it’s like to suffer Dexter’s disappointment.”
Dexter jumped to his feet.
“For heaven’s sake!” he roared. “Say what you like about me, but I’ll not let you insult my wife! If you must know, Margaret has no fortune, no title, and was brought up in disgrace. I was duped into marrying her in a game of cards! Does that give you satisfaction?”
Daisy folded her arms. Some of the fight had gone from her eyes.
“You’ve insulted your wife more than I,” she said. “No woman wishes to be told that she was wagered in a game of cards, or that her husband was tricked into marrying her.”
He glanced at Meggie, whose cheeks were flaming.
Christ! Why had he been so foolish! But Daisy always had the ability to get under his skin and drive him to act on impulse.
“Does my brother speak the truth?” Daisy asked.
Meggie nodded and gave a rueful smile. “I’ve learned enough of your brother to know that he always speaks the truth, often to the detriment of himself and everyone else.”
The corner of Daisy’s mouth twitched into a smile, and Dexter caught a glimpse of the sister he had lost.
“Then let me apologize on his behalf,” she said.
Meggie returned the smile. “There’s no need. There’s something refreshing in brutal honesty. I have learned that your brother’s rather…” she gave Dexter a saucy glance, “…savage exterior, conceals a good heart.” She lowered her voice. “Of course, it’s not a discovery I’m inclined to share with the rest of the world.”
Daisy flicked her gaze from Meggie to Dexter. “Ha!” she cried, smiling. “I believe you may have met your match, Dex. Are you happy with her?”
“Very,” Dexter replied. “I trust you’re as happy as I am. How is John? Is he well?”
“He is,” Daisy said, “but he misses his best friend.”
“Oh!” Meggie cried. “The baker! So that’s why you’re so proficient at making bread.”
Daisy folded her arms. “Don’t tell me you’re employed in your kitchen, brother.”
Footsteps approached, and a man’s face appeared at the door.
“I thought I heard voices.” His eyes widened as he recognized Dexter.
“Good God!” he cried. “Dex!” He rushed forward, arms outstretched. Dexter rose to his feet, and his old friend drew him into an embrace and clapped him on the back.
“It’s been too long, Dexter,” he said. “Far too bloody long.”
“Aye,” Dexter said. John Farrow—the most loyal man on earth, and the only man worthy of Daisy. How he’d missed his old friend!
John released him and wiped his hands. “Begging your pardon,” he said, glancing at Meggie. “Dex, aren’t you going to introduce us?”
