by Royal, Emily
Elizabeth’s maid was unlikely to be treated as such. Meggie had passed the girl on her way to her chamber, and her heart had stung at the way she’d bobbed into a curtsey and mumbled her apology before scuttling off as if she feared Meggie would have her beaten for being seen abovestairs.
She grasped her hair, brushed it out again, and twisted it behind her head, then, holding it in place with her left hand, she picked up a pin with her right and drove it in, wincing at the stabbing sensation. She picked up another and another until there must have been at least a dozen pins in her hair.
Meggie lowered her hands and studied her reflection. Not as elegant as Elizabeth, but a ribbon or two might conceal the imperfections. She reached for a ribbon, and a pin fell out, causing part of her hair to tumble down.
With a cry of frustration, she pulled out the remaining pins, then buried her face in her hands, closing her eyes to stem the tears which threatened to spill onto her dress.
Would she forever be an outsider here? Might she never have a single friend in this world in which she’d been thrust?
“Why can’t they leave me alone?” she cried.
A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped with fright. She jerked her head up and opened her eyes. In the mirror’s reflection, she saw her husband standing behind her, one hand placed on her shoulder, long, lean fingers brushing against her neck. His fingertips caressed her collarbone.
“Hush…”
She blinked, and a single tear beaded and splashed onto her cheek. She wiped it away, ashamed that he witnessed her distress.
“Here,” he whispered. “Let me.”
He picked up the hairbrush, then ran it through her hair with long, smooth strokes. His mouth curled into a smile, then he lifted his gaze to hers.
For the first time since she’d laid eyes on him, the smile reached his eyes. They crinkled slightly at the edges, and their blue color resembled sapphires. As they continued to stare at each other, a light sparkled in his eyes, and an invisible knife pierced her heart.
With his gentle hands caressing her, and a smile to melt the harshest of frosts, he was in danger of capturing her heart.
He resumed his attention on her hair and curled it into a coil, sliding the pins in place with expert fingers as if the task were second nature to him. Then he pinned a ribbon in place and placed both hands on her shoulders to admire his handiwork.
“There!” he said. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
She shook her head. “I could never learn to do that.”
“You can apply yourself to anything if you have the inclination,” he replied. “Any task can be perfected with experience and practice.”
“How were you able to perfect the art of styling a woman’s hair?” she asked.
She could swear she saw a faint flush on his cheeks.
The knife twisted in her heart. The answer was obvious.
“You have performed the task for Elizabeth,” she said, “and, perhaps, your other mistresses.”
His smile slipped, and he broke eye contact.
“But, I never did this,” he whispered.
A warm hand caressed the back of her neck. Tender fingers traced a path along her collarbone, stroking, caressing. Then he began to massage her shoulders. The tips of his fingers ran along the line of her muscles, coaxing her to relax.
“Have you…” she began.
“Hush, wife,” he whispered. He bent his head, and she felt his breath hot against her skin. He nuzzled her neck, and a warm fire radiated through her body.
“Is that better?” he asked, his voice a warm, soft burr.
Overwhelmed by a sensation she could not fathom as his fingers continued to administer to her, she tipped her head back.
“Meggie?”
A small cry erupted from her throat at his use of her name. She tipped her head further back and looked into her husband’s eyes. But she didn’t see the hunger she’d expected. Instead, she saw tenderness.
He lowered his mouth to hers.
“Meggie,” he whispered, his breath warm against her lips. “My own Meggie.”
She had only to move a fraction, and their lips would meet. His mouth curled into a knowing smile, and the hunger returned to his eyes. He knew she wanted him.
She pulled herself free. How could she give herself to him when his lover was, at this moment, preparing to taunt Meggie at the dinner table over her many shortcomings?
“Thank you for your assistance, husband,” she said, forcing the emotion out of her voice. “You should tend to our guests. I shall see you at eight.”
He frowned but nodded and left her chamber as silently as he came. She could swear she almost saw hurt in his expression. But he was incapable of such feeling.
She needed to steel herself for the ordeal to come—a formal dinner with guests who would relish every opportunity to point out her inferiority.
She could weather insults from the Alderleys, for she cared little for their good opinion. But, as for her husband—the man she was in danger of falling in love with…
She could not bear to have her heart broken.
Not again.
Chapter Twenty-One
After James helped him into his dinner jacket, Dexter dismissed the valet. He stood in front of the cheval mirror and stared at his reflection.
He’d traveled an almost impossible distance to reach his present position—from poverty, through hard work and determination, to become the head of one of the leading banks in London.
Where he’d once been thrashed like an urchin and spat at in the dirt, people now looked up as he walked into a room. They might not like him, but they respected him enough to value what he had to say.
He compared his reflection to that of his wife. Her discomfort was evident for all to see—including Alderley and Elizabeth.
Dexter wasn’t so foolish as to be blind to Elizabeth’s games. She’d meant to insult Margaret, and each arrow had met its target. But before he called out Elizabeth’s behavior, he must first find out what Alderley and his daughter were playing at. Was Elizabeth a queen—a powerful piece intended to entrap him? By believing they could behave as they pleased, they were playing into his hands.
He glanced at his pocket watch—ten to eight. The last thing he wanted was for Margaret to be on her own with those two vultures. At all costs, he must arrive in the drawing room first. If Elizabeth could insult Margaret in his presence, doubtless, she’d unleash the full force of her spite if he were not in the room.
He entered the drawing room to find his father-in-law pouring himself a glass of Madeira.
“Help yourself, Alderley,” he said. “Though you need no encouragement.”
Alderley flinched, and his lips thinned, but he didn’t rise to the bait.
He must want something from Dexter—and want it badly. Perhaps he could repay the man for his daughter’s insults to Margaret by indulging in a little game—see how far he could push the old bastard.
“You’ve chosen well,” he said, nodding toward the row of decanters on the side-table. “You’ve picked the finest in my collection. Doubtless, it’s not something you’ve been able to afford recently.”
Alderley frowned but did not respond.
“Now we’ve concluded the niceties,” Dexter said, “might you indulge me by explaining why you invited yourself here? I hardly think it came from a desire to further family relations, or whatever story you presented to my wife.”
Alderley drained his glass and reached for the decanter. “That’s always been the problem with you, Hart,” he said, refilling his glass, “a distinct lack of understanding of social traditions.”
Dexter filled himself a glass, then reclined in a chair.
“Come, come, Father,” he said, smiling to himself as Alderley flinched involuntarily at his address, “I doubt you were driven here by social tradition. I’d respect you more if you paid me the compliment of telling the truth. I’ll find out eventually, and it would save a
lot of awkwardness if you were just to tell me now.”
Alderley drained his glass again and set it down with force.
The old bastard was rattled. Good. An opponent was more likely to make a wrong move when ruled by emotions rather than reason.
“Very well,” Alderley said. “I find myself in need of funds.”
Of course!
“You already have a loan,” Dexter said. “A not insubstantial one, for which the interest is due next quarter day and the principal is, I believe, due to be redeemed in two years. Are you looking for an extension?” He smiled at his adversary. “I’d be happy to consider an extension of one year, provided you continue to service the interest on time. My business partner arrives in a few days, and I can instruct him to make the arrangements.”
“I don’t want an extension.”
“You cannot expect my bank to grant a further loan,” Dexter said. “You have nothing else to pledge as security, and, if I may be frank, no banker of sound mind would be willing to grant you an unsecured loan given the extent of your debts.”
“I wasn’t referring to a loan,” Alderley said. “We’re family. It’s not unheard of for a son to subsidize his father.”
Dexter almost choked on his drink.
God’s blood! Did the man believe he’d be disposed to give him the money?
The expression on Alderley’s face confirmed it. A mixture of self-loathing and desperation—self-loathing at having to come cap in hand to a man he despised, and desperation at his mounting debts, most likely caused by Elizabeth’s extravagances.
Was that why Elizabeth had accompanied her father? To persuade him to part with his cash if she parted her thighs?
The woman in question swept into the room, and he flushed at the notion of her whoring herself. Two months ago, he’d have relished the prospect.
But not now—not when he’d caught a glimpse of goodness in a woman, in the shape of his little wife.
Not long after, Margaret entered the room and glanced at Dexter, then Elizabeth and back to Dexter. Most men would bask in the knowledge that his wife believed she had a rival. But not him.
And Margaret didn’t have a rival. Elizabeth might be an exotic bird of paradise, with her brightly colored silks and elegant hairstyle. But, next to her, the diminutive little woman dressed in a plain gown of white muslin surpassed her in beauty, as the sun surpassed a candle. He longed to run his hands through his wife’s hair once more, to toss aside that delicate lace cap, rip out the pins, and bury his hands in her tresses.
Margaret’s beauty came from within. And she was rendered even more desirable by the fact that she had no idea quite how lovely she was.
And Dexter was the only one in the room who recognized it.
He held out his arm. “Margaret, my dear, now you have joined us, shall we lead our guests into dinner?”
Elizabeth’s face fell into a frown. But Margaret smiled at him and placed her hand on his elbow. He squeezed her fingers, then led the party into the dining room.
***
As the final course was placed before him—Mrs. Brown’s lemon sorbet—Dexter’s wife had begun to lose her hunted expression. Save for a remark about the proper use of a fish knife—for which Dexter had responded by saying that table manners could be taught, but nothing could redeem a character that was rotten to the core. Elizabeth had largely left Margaret alone, directing most of her remarks and compliments to Dexter.
“Elizabeth, my dear,” Alderley said as the meal drew to a close, “Perhaps you should retire. You’ve had a tiring day, and if you’re to rise early tomorrow, you must take your rest.”
“Of course, Papa,” Elizabeth said. “I’m looking forward to our ride tomorrow, Dexter. Will your wife be joining us?” She cast a sneer in Margaret’s direction, but Margaret appeared immune to the insult, most likely due to the quantity of wine she’d imbibed.
“I’d love that,” Margaret said. “Ralph’s been giving me lessons. He says I’m most proficient in the saddle.”
Ralph? The arrogant young groom?
“I’m sure this Ralph is an obliging fellow,” Elizabeth said. “I love a good hard ride. What say you, Dexter?”
“Ralph is our head groom,” Dexter growled, “and the most natural person to teach my wife how to ride.”
Elizabeth sipped her wine. “Does Margaret possess a riding habit? I would lend her one of mine, though I doubt she’d be able to button it up. Madame Deliet is renowned for her close fits.”
Madame bloody Deliet again. Why did Elizabeth insist on dropping that woman into the conversation?
Elizabeth rose to her feet, and the men followed suit.
“If you’ll forgive me, I shall retire,” she said, glancing at her father. “Dexter, thank you for a wonderful dinner. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She swept out of the room, and Margaret visibly relaxed.
“Join me for a brandy, Alderley?” Dexter asked. “I’ve a bottle in the library.”
“I’d be delighted,” came the reply, “if I may be excused for a few minutes.”
It came as no surprise that Alderley needed the privy—the man had imbibed two bottles of wine tonight. It was a wonder he was still standing.
Dexter rose. “Margaret, we’ll join you later in the drawing room.”
“As you wish,” she replied.
Dexter made his way to the library and poured himself a drink. By the time he’d finished it, Alderley was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the old fool had passed out while taking a piss. That would give the gossips something to laugh at.
But it wouldn’t do to let the sly old bastard wander about the house unaccompanied. Who knew what he was up to?
He set his glass aside and went in search of him. Raised voices came from the drawing room.
“I won’t! You can’t make me!”
Margaret’s voice.
“Ungrateful little bastard!” Dexter recognized Alderley’s harsh tones. “All you have to do is ask him. One simple question. After everything I’ve done—you selfish little brat!”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
A pause, then she let out a mirthless laugh. “Oh, I see. You asked, and he refused. What on earth makes you think I’ll succeed?”
“Because you’re his wife,” came the reply. “Women can be put to use.”
“Haven’t you used me enough?” she cried. “And what—you expect me to whore the money from him? You’ll find yourself disappointed, Father. As the Honorable Elizabeth so eloquently put it on my wedding day, a husband expects his wife to spread her legs for free.”
Alderley let out an exclamation, but Dexter barely heard it. Anger pulsed in his ears at the crude expression. What else had that poisonous witch said to Margaret?
“You will ask him,” Alderley said, coldly, “or it’ll be the worse for you. Remember what I said about the school.”
“You’ve threatened me enough,” she replied. “There’s nothing more you can do.”
“Isn’t there? I can turn your precious Mrs. Preston and her grubby little brats out on the street. All because you’re a coward—too afraid to ask your husband for a little money.”
“Five hundred guineas is a lot of money,” she said. “I may fear my husband, but I’d rather ask him to give the money to Mrs. Preston’s school than to you.”
“You ungrateful little bastard!” Alderley’s voice had risen in pitch, “When I think of everything I’ve done for you!”
Fearing for his wife’s safety, Dexter broke into a run.
“Everything you’ve done?” she cried. “You sold me to your enemy to pay off your debts, with no regard for my safety or happiness. And as such, I no longer belong to you—I am the property of Dexter Hart.”
Dexter reached the drawing room and burst through the door.
“What the devil’s going on here?” he roared.
His wife and Alderley stood in the center of the room. Alderley’s face was a bright shade of puce, and h
e looked as if he was going to have a heart attack at any moment. Beside him, Margaret’s face was ashen. Her eyes widened as Dexter approached her.
“My daughter and I were having a private conversation,” Alderley said.
“A wife should not have secrets from her husband,” Dexter replied. “I’m sure there was nothing you said to her, which I shouldn’t be a party to.”
“Dexter,” Margret pleaded, “I…”
“Margaret, I think you should retire,” Dexter said. She flinched at the sharpness in his voice, but he needed her out of the room so he could deal with Alderley himself.
He took her hand, squeezed it, and then bent his head, placing his mouth near her ear.
“Trust me,” he whispered. She glanced at her father, then back to Dexter, and nodded. The trust in her eyes was almost his undoing. How could she place such faith in him—merely because he’d asked her to?
He waited until she exited the room before addressing his father-in-law.
“You’re to leave my wife alone from now on,” he said, his voice flat and even. “And if I hear of any harm coming to the school at Blackwood Heath, I’ll deal with the perpetrators in such a manner that they will regret their actions until they draw their last breath.”
Alderley paled with anger but at least had the good sense not to argue.
“Is what I have said in any way unclear?” Dexter demanded.
“No.”
“And I trust you’ll abide by your promise not to molest my wife further?”
“I promised, didn’t I?” Alderley snapped. “I’m a man of honor and will abide by my words.”
“Good,” Dexter said. “Then I suggest we retire and forget this conversation took place. We can at least be civil to each other for the remainder of your stay. But once you’re gone, any request to set foot on my property again should come through me, and not my wife.”
“Very well,” Alderley said. Not bothering to bow, he swept past Dexter and disappeared down the corridor.