Queen of my Hart

by Royal, Emily

  “I deceived him,” she said. “I lied to him, and he’ll never forgive me.”

  He glanced along the street, but George was long gone.

  “I take it the rather handsome man you were grappling with has something to do with it. Have you been unfaithful to Dex?”

  “No!” she cried. “I’d never…” She broke off and shook her head. “It happened before I married your brother.”

  “And you kept it a secret?” He let out a curse. “Dex bloody hates secrets.”

  “N-no, he knows I wasn’t…”

  “He knows you weren’t a maiden?” His expression softened. “He would have realized as soon as…” he hesitated, “…unless you and Dex never…” He shook his head. “I always thought he was a master at bedsport.”

  Her cheeks heated with embarrassment. “He found out the day we married.”

  “That was months ago!” he cried. “Bloody hell, I knew Dex bore a grudge, but he seemed happy with you when I last saw him.”

  “He was,” she said, “until today—when he discovered I had George’s child and concealed it from him.”

  She looked away, unable to bear his disappointment. Strong arms pulled her into an embrace.

  “Oh, Margaret!” he cried. “You ran away rather than face him?”

  “You don’t understand!” she cried. “The last time I saw him that angry, he had a young girl thrashed! He told me he wanted nothing from me but honesty—and I deceived him. But I had no choice. He’s said several times that no man should be expected to forgive such a woman who’d borne another man’s bastard. I had to keep it from him.”

  Devon cursed. “Secrets have a way of coming out,” he said. “You should have told him. Yes, he would have been angry, for he has a vile temper when he doesn’t get his way, but he would have valued your honesty.”

  “You didn’t see him,” she said. “I thought he was going to beat me.”

  “My brother may be many things, Margaret, but he’d never take his hand to you. Why don’t I take you home and speak to him? He won’t touch you with me there.”

  “And when you’re gone?” She shook her head. “I can’t go back.”

  “Then come home with me,” he said. “There’s plenty of room at my lodgings. At least you’ll be safe.”

  “I wouldn’t want to cause trouble between you,” she said. “He might look for me there.”

  “You can’t wander the streets.”

  “I can return home to Blackwood Heath.”

  “You’ll not find a coach at this hour.”

  “Perhaps Mrs. Pelham would take me in until tomorrow.” She nodded to herself. “Yes, Anne will understand. She’s my friend, and her first husband was unkind to her. She told me how he struck her when she spilled his brandy.”

  “Has Dexter been unkind to you?”

  No. He hadn’t. Gruff and brooding, perhaps, but not unkind. Every action he took had been for her benefit. He wasn’t a man of pretty speeches and overt gallantry—but that didn’t mean he loved her any less.

  Had loved her.

  Devon let out a sigh. “Against my better judgment, I’ll take you to your friend, if only to ensure your safety. But my brother will find you eventually. When he sets his mind on something, he won’t stop until he gets it.”

  “Promise me you won’t tell him where I am,” she said.

  “You have my word,” he said. “And we Harts always keep our promises.”

  His words pricked at her conscience and, as if he read her mind, he squeezed her hand. “He’ll come round. I’m sure of it. Give him a chance.”

  Why did he sound as if he were trying to convince himself rather than her?

  ***

  “Margaret! My dear, whatever’s the matter?”

  Anne Pelham ushered Meggie inside the townhouse. “Tippett, go to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Johns for some hot cocoa. Right away!”

  The footman, who’d been staring at Meggie’s disheveled form, bowed and disappeared.

  Anne led Meggie upstairs and into a small parlor. An embroidery frame and half-empty glass of milk sat on the table beside the fireplace, and a small dog snored in the basket on the floor.

  “Oh, Anne, forgive me!” Meggie cried. “I’ve disturbed your evening.”

  “It doesn’t mean I find the disturbance unwelcome,” Anne said. “Though I confess, I’m surprised at seeing you again so soon after we parted company earlier today.”

  Mr. Pelham appeared in the doorway. “I thought I heard voices,” he said. He looked at Meggie, and his eyes widened. “Is everything all right?”

  Meggie jumped to her feet. “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I should go.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Anne said. “Harold, leave us.”

  “But…”

  “Shoo!” she cried, waving her hands at him.

  He rolled his eyes, then disappeared. Anne smiled indulgently. “He may be the master of the house, but, unlike most husbands, he has the good sense to know when he’s not wanted.”

  Meggie bit her lip, and tears stung her eyes.

  “Meggie!” Anne cried, taking her hands. “Whatever’s the matter? You were so happy earlier today.”

  Her face paled. “Has something happened to Mr. Hart?”

  “N-no, Dexter’s well.”

  “Does he know you’re here?”

  “No!”

  Anne’s eyes widened.

  “Forgive me,” Meggie said. “I-I’d rather he didn’t know.”

  “Whatever for? Has he done something?”

  “It’s what I did,” Meggie said. “He’s so angry. He…” Meggie caught her breath, and Anne drew her into her arms. “Don’t say any more,” she whispered. “There’s plenty of time to talk once you’ve had your cocoa.”

  Her friend’s gentle kindness was more than Meggie could bear. Anne stroked her hair, uttering soothing words as tears stung Meggie’s eyes.

  After the footman arrived with the cocoa, Anne drew up a chair, settled Meggie into it, and placed a shawl round her shoulders. Then she settled into her chair and resumed her embroidery. The sound of the needle pushing in and out of the frame, together with the gentle crackling of the fire, soothed Meggie’s distress, together with the sweet aroma of the cocoa.

  Meggie lifted the cup to her lips. Steam swirled above the sweet, brown liquid, and she detected a whiff of brandy. She took a sip, then relaxed back, cradling the cup in her hands.

  Footsteps approached, and Anne rushed to the door. Meggie closed her eyes, taking in the crackle of the fire as she heard whispers.

  “Harold! What did I tell you?”

  “Is Mrs. Hart all right?”

  The voices lowered to a murmur of whispers, then Meggie heard the door close, and a rush of silk as Anne resumed her seat.

  “It seems Harold needs another lesson in knowing when his presence is not required,” she said.

  Meggie sat up. “What did he want?”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Anne said. “He’s promised to leave us in peace for the rest of the evening.” She looked up from her embroidery and focused her gaze on Meggie.

  “You can speak freely here,” she said. She resumed her attention on her needle.

  “Or not,” she continued, “as you prefer. But I’ll say that any reasonable man would understand that an innocent woman can be blamed for events that are out of her control.”

  “And you think my husband a reasonable man?” Meggie asked.

  “My dear,” Anne said. “Men—your husband in particular—have no conception of how they appear to others when they’re angry. But your husband is a man of honor. He may not be the most personable man of my acquaintance, but he’s a rational creature, driven by reason, not emotion.”

  “What of his feud with my father?” Meggie asked. “That was driven by vengeance, not reason.”

  “You think your husband wishes to seek vengeance on you?” Anne asked. “Did you set out to hurt him?”

  “No.”


  “Do you harbor hatred for him?”

  Meggie shook her head. “I love him.”

  “Then tell him,” Anne said. “He has no reason to doubt your honesty.”

  Meggie looked away.

  “The best thing you can do is talk to him,” Anne continued. “You’ll have to do the talking. He’s a man of action, not words. But there’s nothing you can have done that he won’t forgive.”

  “I-I can’t,” Meggie said. “Not now.”

  “You needn’t worry about your husband tonight,” Anne said, “but you cannot avoid him forever.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Where the bloody hell was she?

  There was no sign of Meggie in the study. Doubtless, she’d seen fit to hide in her chamber.

  The first rush of fury had been tempered by the terrified look on his wife’s face. In truth, his anger was directed at that bastard Hanson. How could one man have caused such ruination? His beloved sister, and his equally beloved wife, had been duped into falling in love with that scoundrel.

  With Daisy, Hanson had wanted to get his hands on Dexter’s fortune. Most likely, with Meggie, Hanson had been after Alderley’s.

  As for the child…

  It took two to make a child. Why, then, should his wife feel the need to conceal it from him? She must have known he’d understand.

  Or would she?

  He thought back to the day he’d explained Daisy’s history. His relief that she’d not fallen pregnant had stemmed from his hatred of Hanson, not out of any disgust at what Daisy had done. Yet, his harsh words to Daisy had driven her away.

  And now he’d done the same to Meggie.

  “Charles!” he roared. “Mrs. Draper!”

  Hurried footsteps approached as the footman and housekeeper arrived.

  “Have you seen your mistress?”

  “Is she not in the study, where you ordered her to remain?” the footman asked.

  Mrs. Draper gave him a sharp nudge.

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” Charles said, lowering his gaze.

  Christ—were the staff afraid of him also?”

  “She must be in her chamber,” Dexter said. “Mrs. Draper, will you fetch her for me?

  “Very good, sir.”

  “And tell her there’s no cause for concern.”

  The housekeeper exchanged a glance with the footman before bobbing a curtsey and disappearing upstairs.

  Five minutes later, she’d not returned.

  “Go after her, Charles,” Dexter said, crossly.

  The footman disappeared after the housekeeper.

  When they returned, Meggie was not with them.

  “Is my wife indisposed?” Deter asked. “Or, perhaps…” he swallowed his pride, “…she doesn’t wish to see me?”

  “She’s not there.”

  “Where the devil is she?”

  “She’s not in the house, sir.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “He speaks the truth,” Mrs. Draper said. “We’ve searched everywhere.” She glanced at the door. “She must have gone out.”

  “Why the devil would she do that?”

  The servants exchanged glances.

  His wife—his little Meggie—had run off into the night.

  A small ball of fur appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “Titan!” Mrs. Draper said. “Where’s your mistress?”

  The dog trotted down the stairs, then stopped at Dexter’s feet and looked up with wide brown eyes.

  “Where is she, Titan?” he asked.

  The animal whined. Dexter stooped to pick him up, and the animal’s lip curled in a snarl.

  “Come here, boy.” Dexter held out his hand. With a sharp bark, the dog gave him a nip.

  “Ouch!” Dexter recoiled. He looked down to see two puncture wounds on his hand. A droplet of blood swelled on his finger.

  “Shit!” he cursed. “Godforsaken animal!”

  The footman picked up the little dog and cradled him defensively as if expecting Dexter to thrash the creature.

  “Dear God, Charles!” he cried. “Stay where you are. What sort of man do you think I am?”

  He grimaced. Bloody hell, that bite stung!

  “Titan meant no harm, Mr. Hart, sir,” the footman said. “All animals bite when frightened.”

  Or they flee.

  What had Devon said?

  You’ve driven all of us away. Don’t make the same mistake with your wife.

  Dexter had made that mistake. Rather than endure the wrath of a judgmental, bad-tempered husband, she’d chosen the dark of the night and the streets of London.

  “Charles,” he said. “Fetch my coat.”

  ***

  Where would he even begin to look for her? She liked exploring Hyde Park—she’d often spoken of taking her dog there. But would she go alone?

  Halfway down the street, a familiar figure loomed out of the darkness. Clad in a black cloak and living in the shadows, his brother looked every bit the mythical beast.

  “Devon!” he cried. “Have you seen my wife?”

  “Why on earth would I have seen her?”

  Devon’s voice held more than the usual note of challenge.

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “What makes you think that?” Devon sneered. “Perhaps she’s come to realize what sort of man you are.”

  “And what sort of man am I?”

  “Bad-tempered, uncongenial, and with an unhealthy obsession with decorum to the detriment of kindness or compassion.”

  “Bloody hell, Devon, you do know where she is!” Dexter fisted his hands. “Tell me what you’ve done.”

  “I’ve done nothing.”

  “Don’t play games with me!” Dexter cried. “Where is she?”

  His voice caught in his throat, and the challenge in his brother’s eyes died. Devon had always been the physically stronger of the two brothers. But his scarred, gruff exterior hid a gentle soul.

  Perhaps Devon should have married Meggie instead. With his kind heart, he’d never have broken hers. But Devon pined for another—a woman he could never have.

  “Go home, Dex,” he said. “Your wife is safe.”

  “Is she at your lodgings?”

  “She refused my offer of sanctuary,” Devon said. He let out a mirthless laugh. “She thought you’d seek retribution if you knew I’d helped her. She knows you well.”

  Dexter itched to wipe the sneer off his brother’s face.

  “Where is she!” he roared.

  “Losing your temper won’t win her back,” Devon said. “Leave her be until you’ve calmed down unless you want to lose her.”

  “I must speak with her,” Dexter said. “She’s my wife.”

  “Think of her needs, not yours,” Devon placed a hand on Dexter’s shoulder and squeezed it.

  “Trust me, brother,” he said. “Go home.”

  Devon turned his back and loped off down the road, as silent as a phantom. In a matter of moments, he’d disappeared into the shadows.

  Dexter thrust his hands into his pockets. It was bloody freezing. He turned round and made his way back to the house.

  “I say, Hart!” a familiar voice cried.

  Was the whole world abroad tonight?

  Harold Pelham was running toward him. “There you are!” he cried. “I’ve just been to see you.”

  “About what?”

  “Your wife.” He clutched onto Dexter’s shoulder and bent over, gasping for air. “I’m going to be in so much trouble.”

  “Dear God!” Dexter cried. “Is she hurt?”

  “N-no…” Pelham drew in a deep breath. “I’ve not run that fast in years…”

  “Pelham, are you all right?”

  “Not all of us have your physique,” Pelham said. “I ran all the way here. Your housekeeper thought I was going to expire on your floor.”

  “What the devil’s going on?” Dexter asked.

  “Your wife’s safe.”


  Thank the Lord!

  “Why do you look so distressed?” Dexter asked.

  Pelham grimaced. “Because I’m going to get my ballocks chewed off for this. Anne swore me to secrecy.”

  “Over what?”

  “Your wife’s with us,” he said. “I pray Anne will forgive me, but you have a right to know.”

  “Then I must go to her.”

  A hand clasped his arm.

  “Don’t go in like a charging bull, Hart, or I’ll regret telling you.”

  “Then why did you tell me?” Dexter sneered. “To keep your banker sweet?”

  “You can be an utter arse sometimes, Hart,” Pelham said. “I’m telling you because you’re my friend.”

  “Has she told you what happened?”

  “She was very distressed when I saw her, but my Anne will coax the truth out of her with kindness. You should try it.”

  Dexter’s cheeks warmed with the notion of the gentle Mrs. Pelham knowing his business.

  “Have you done something to be ashamed of?” Pelham asked.

  When Dexter didn’t respond, his friend patted him on the shoulder.

  “I’d advise you to take the gentle approach,” he said. “It’s better to use a sweet bait to snare the woman you love.”

  “Love?”

  Pelham laughed. “You may lack self-awareness, but the rest of us can see that which you’re blind to.”

  “You returned to London a changed man,” he said. “The only difference was that you had that sweet woman by your side. For the first time, I saw you look upon another human being with tenderness. If that’s not evidence enough, then the fear in your eyes tonight, followed by the relief when you realized she was safe, would convince even the most hardened cynic of how deeply you love your wife.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” Dexter asked.

  “Come back with me now and talk to her,” Pelham said. “You’ll be doing me a favor, for I’ll need someone to share the brunt of Anne’s anger.”

  “Your wife can curse me all she likes,” Dexter said, “as long as she releases my wife back into my care.”

  “I wish you luck, my friend,” Pelham said. “I wish us both luck.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Another cocoa, Meggie, dear?”