Queen of my Hart

by Royal, Emily

  Ye gods! The Alderleys had not been here a full day, and they had already disrupted his marriage.

  He made his way to his wife’s chamber at the back of the house. There was no sign of life inside, not even the flicker of light under the door. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.

  The curtains were drawn, and a shaft of moonlight stretched across the room.

  She was in bed, her face illuminated in the moonlight. She looked like a woodland sprite—too pure for the mortal world.

  She had already fallen asleep—though whether from wine or exhaustion, he didn’t know. Her dress was thrown over the chair's back by the dressing table, together with one stocking. The other lay at his feet on the floor. He picked it up and brought it to his lips. As if she sensed him, she sighed, then rolled onto her side.

  He hadn’t the heart to wake her. She’d had enough of an ordeal for one day, to be woken by the man she professed to fear.

  Her confession had unsettled him. A stern man he might be, but he always believed himself to be fair. True, he relished the notion that his rivals feared him. Fear was often enough to garner victory before the battle began. It prevented opponents from besting him and servants and employees from swindling him.

  But when it came to Meggie—he didn’t want her fear.

  He wanted her trust.

  And her love.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Meggie adjusted her jacket and climbed down the stairs. Elizabeth would, most likely, look down her long, elegant nose at her attire, but Meggie would never understand the need to wear a different dress for each hour of the day.

  The modistes—or whatever they were called—must have been fooling their customers for decades. By cutting gowns and jackets to a slightly different style and fashioning jaunty little hats trimmed with feathers, they’d got away with charging double the price by labeling the ensemble a ‘riding habit.’

  She made her way to the stables and found Ralph adjusting the harness of the gray mare. He lifted his golden head and smiled.

  “Mistress Margaret, you look lovelier each day.”

  “It’s not my appearance I’m concerned with,” Meggie replied, “but whether I’ll fall flat on my face in front of my husband and our guests. They look down on me enough as it is.”

  “Then they’re fools,” Ralph said. “Here, let me help you up.”

  She took his hand, grasped the saddle with the other, and placed a foot in the stirrup, as he’d shown her. Then she launched herself off the ground. He clasped her waist, and for a moment, she felt him squeeze her thigh.

  Then he took the reins and led her across the courtyard where two riders waited. Dexter sat astride an enormous black stallion. His charcoal-gray jacket fitted his form perfectly, complemented by black lapels and hat to match the horse’s pelt. His breeches left nothing to the imagination, hugging his thighs, and his muscles rippled as he steered his mount toward her.

  Next to him, Elizabeth sat atop the steward’s gelding. She wore a habit of bright blue velvet, a military-style jacket with black trim, and a hat topped with an enormous bright blue feather that curled around the brim. Her habit's color emphasized her eyes, and her hair shone in the light of the morning sun.

  They looked the perfect couple.

  Elizabeth took one look at Meggie in her plain gray jacket and dress, and her mouth curled into a smile of triumph. She surpassed Meggie in beauty and elegance. And she knew it.

  “Ah, sister dearest,” she said. “I was beginning to worry you might never join us. I trust the ride won’t be too taxing for you.”

  “I’ll manage,” Meggie replied.

  Dexter’s lip curled into a smile. “You sit well in the saddle, my dear,” he said.

  Elizabeth’s mouth creased into a scowl. “That she does, Dexter, darling, but I intend to do more than just sit this morning. I’ve been looking forward to a good, hard ride with you, but fear my sister is unable to maintain our pace.”

  Ralph came around the corner, astride a brown gelding, and Dexter’s smile disappeared.

  “Is that one of the coach horses?”

  “Aye, it is, master. He takes a saddle well.”

  “And you saw fit to accompany us this morning?”

  Meggie recognized the flare of anger in her husband’s voice, but Ralph seemed oblivious.

  “Begging your pardon, sir, I’m here to accompany the mistress.”

  “Well, really!” Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “Dexter, darling, surely you won’t permit this hobbledehoy to join us? This estate’s turning into a haven for riff-raff.”

  Meggie curled her hands round the reins, and the mare shifted beneath her as if sensing her distress.

  “Pay no heed to her,” Ralph whispered. “She’s nothing compared to you.”

  Dexter shot Elizabeth a look of annoyance, then directed his irritation at Ralph.

  “We can survive without your assistance,” he said. “The nag can take his exercise later, surely?”

  “I want him to stay,” Meggie said.

  Elizabeth cleared her throat, and Dexter rode toward Meggie until their mounts were almost touching.

  “Does my wife contradict me?”

  Meggie squared her shoulders and met his gaze.

  “I do,” she said. “I’m inexperienced in the saddle and wouldn’t wish you to trouble yourself with tending to me when your guest is in such need of attention.”

  He narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

  “In fact,” she said, “I insist Ralph accompany me. While I’ve been alone, he’s taught me how to ride and knows my limitations. You’ve never seen me in the saddle.”

  “I find myself admonished,” he said. “If my wife wishes another to accompany her, then I shall oblige.”

  Meggie caught a glimpse of pleasure on Ralph’s face. Pleasure—mixed with triumph.

  They set off at a leisurely pace, following the path through the forest. But before they reached the lake, they veered to the left and out into a field. Elizabeth urged her mount forward.

  “What say you, Dexter?” she asked. “How about a wager to brighten a dull day?”

  “What do you have in mind, Miss Alderley?”

  She lifted a gloved hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun and scanned the horizon.

  “There!” She pointed ahead. “That large oak. Ten guineas say I make it there and back first!”

  He glanced at Meggie. “I don’t think it’s wise…”

  Meggie waved her riding crop at him. “Go,” she said. “I’ll be all right.”

  “Then,” Elizabeth said, “with your wife’s permission…”

  She gave the gelding a hearty kick on the flank, and the animal raced ahead. Dexter spurred his mount on, less savagely, in her wake.

  How on earth could a woman move at such a pace, riding side-saddle, and not lose her seat?

  Elizabeth’s mount reached the opposite edge of the field, and she spurred it toward the perimeter hedge. The animal launched itself into the air and cleared the hedge, shortly followed by Dexter on his stallion.

  “That’s the last we’ll see of them,” Ralph said. “I’m sorry, I should have known this would happen.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Meggie said brightly. “At least now, I feel no pressure to ride harder than I’m able to.”

  “You have the makings of a very accomplished rider,” Ralph said, drawing his mount close. “Very accomplished indeed.”

  “Were it not for your guidance, I’d have no skill at all.”

  “Oh no,” he replied. “You have a natural ability most women lack. But I look forward to giving you many more lessons in the art of riding if that is what you wish.”

  “You know it is,” she said.

  “Then let us enjoy our lesson unencumbered by those who would look down on us.” He steered his mount in the opposite direction, and Meggie followed.

  She’d been dreading today and the prospect of being sneered at by the Alderleys. Se
eing her husband riding with his former lover tore at her heart. But with her friend at her side, she might salvage some pleasure from the excursion.

  An hour later, there was no sign of Dexter or Elizabeth. Meggie’s thighs ached with the ride, but Ralph was so kind and generous with his praise, she hadn’t the heart to tell him she wanted to return to the house.

  “This is the furthest we’ve ridden,” she said, hoping he would take the hint.

  “I thought the time had come to test the extent of your stamina,” he said. “If you’ll oblige me a little longer, I know somewhere we can rest.”

  Shortly after, a small building with a thatched roof came into view. Though it looked sound, it had a desolate appearance. A climbing rose bush surrounded the front door but had not been well-tended—not like the roses Mrs. Preston had been so particular about at her cottage in Blackwood Heath.

  “Who lives here?” Meggie asked.

  “I do.” He pointed ahead with his riding crop. “Can you see the roof of the main house? Behind the trees? We’ve come full circle.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Meggie said. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep my seat.”

  He dismounted and held out his hands. “Down you come,” he said. “You’ll be unsteady after such a long ride. Just relax into my arms.”

  She took his hands, and he pulled her off the saddle. As soon as she landed, her ankle gave way, and she pitched forward. He caught her in his arms and held her close.

  “Steady, Meggie!” he laughed. She ought to admonish him for the familiar address, but she was done with propriety for one day.

  “Can you walk?” he asked.

  She tested her foot. “My ankle’s a little stiff, but I don’t think I’ve sprained it.”

  “Good.” He took the reins of her mount. “Let me tether the horses, then we’ll get you inside.”

  “Shouldn’t we return to the main house?”

  “We’ll do that when you’ve rested,” he said. “Unless the groom’s cottage is insufficiently grand for you?”

  “Hardly that,” she laughed. “It’s twice the size of the house I grew up in.”

  “Excellent!” he said. “Now, if you’re willing to let yourself inside while I see to the horses, you’ll find some of Mrs. Brown’s lemonade in the kitchen—and some of her fruitcake.”

  Though she knew it was improper, where was the harm in going inside? Here, she could pretend that she’d never been elevated to a status where she was expected to look down on others.

  Inside, the cottage was tidy, but it lacked the little touches that turned a place into a home. The kitchen furniture was purely functional—a small wooden table with four chairs and a cracked sink containing a single, dirty pan. It was the home of a single man. Meggie smiled at the thought of the inevitable transformation that would take place when Ralph married Milly. She would do everything she could to help the couple. She could furnish the place with curtains for a splash of color and stock the kitchen with new pans.

  A stoneware bottle sat by the sink, and Meggie opened it and sniffed the contents. Lemons—sweet and sharp. She looked about and found two cups, then filled each one, placed them on the table, and waited.

  When Ralph entered the kitchen, his eyes widened as he saw the cups on the table.

  “It’s not for you to serve me,” he said.

  She waved aside his protest. “Today, I’m a friend, not your mistress.”

  “Then let us drink to friendship.” He lifted his cup, touched hers, then drained the contents.

  “You have a charming cottage here,” Meggie said.

  “It serves a purpose.”

  “It should do more than that,” she said. “It needs a woman’s touch to make it a home.”

  “And you’re the woman to do it?”

  “There’s much I can do, Ralph, for when you decide to take a wife.”

  “Is there?” His voice lowered, and he leaned over the table and took her hand. “What can you do for me?”

  “Well...” she hesitated, “…for you and Milly.”

  “Milly?”

  “You’re going to marry her, aren’t you?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “That little milkmaid?”

  “You must know she’s sweet on you.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “That’s not sufficient reason to marry her.”

  “But you want a wife, surely?”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Companionship.”

  “I can find companionship anywhere,” he said. “All I need for that is a willing pair of arms and a woman eager to warm my bed.”

  She recoiled at his words. “Respectability, then,” she said.

  “My pardon,” he said, smiling. “I spoke out of turn. Of course, I’ll marry, and doubtless, Milly shall be my choice. But you must admit that by keeping her guessing, I stand to gain from it by increasing her desire.”

  “That seems rather underhanded,” Meggie said.

  “It’s a game all women play.” He moved to take the seat next to her. His thigh bumped against her leg, and she stiffened.

  “You’re not adverse to a little game-playing yourself,” he said.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Even now, you seek to tempt me to increase my desire.” He placed his hand on her thigh. “Don’t you realize there’s no need to play games with me?”

  His eyes darkened, and he drew close. She stiffened in fear and forced a laugh.

  “You jest, Ralph!” she said. “Perhaps you seek to understand the best way to court a young woman so that I might tell you whether Milly would approve?”

  “To hell with Milly,” he said. “It’s you I want.”

  She tried to stand, but he grasped her wrist. “Have you not been teasing me with your smiles, little Meggie?”

  “No…”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Why else would you wish to spend so much time alone with me? And if your husband’s rutting that haughty creature, why shouldn’t you indulge in a little tumble?”

  She wrenched herself free and stepped back. “You should be saying this to Milly. She’s the one who wants you, not I.”

  “You think I care for her when I could have you?”

  “No, Ralph!” she cried. “You don’t want me! You want a wife—a respectable wife, a family, children…”

  He let out a laugh.

  “You of all people should understand that a man can sire brats without the need for marriage vows, many of whom go on to do very well for themselves.”

  She backed away, but he was too quick for her, and he grasped her arm.

  “What right have you to deny me?” he demanded. “You’ve thrown yourself at me at every opportunity—had me dancing to your tune ever since you arrived. Well, now it’s time to pay the piper.”

  She struggled, but he tightened his grip, and he forced her onto the kitchen table.

  “That’s it, my little filly,” he said. “Time for your next riding lesson. I’ll show you what it’s like to be mounted and ridden hard.”

  He jammed his knee between her legs, and she let out a scream. She struggled in his grip, but he was too heavy, his weight pinning her down on the kitchen table.

  He clamped his hand over her mouth, and she bit down, hard.

  “Bitch!”

  Pain exploded in her cheek as he slapped her. She kicked out and rammed her knee into his groin, and he grunted in pain and loosened his grip.

  A splintering crash exploded in the air, followed by a roar of fury.

  “Stop that at once!”

  Ralph relaxed his grip, and Meggie saw two large hands grasp him by the shoulders and throw him across the room as if he were a rag-doll. He landed in a crumpled heap on the floor.

  A huge demon stood before her. Hands clenched, his anger radiated off his body. Fire raged in his eyes, and his face was white with fury.

  Dexter.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Where the d
evil was she?

  The skin on the back of Dexter’s neck tightened as if foreshadowing a storm.

  After escorting Elizabeth back to the main house, he’d gone to the stables in search of his wife. But she’d not returned.

  Neither had that bloody groom.

  He steered his mount back to the field where Elizabeth had challenged him. The foolish woman had forgotten that a real man never feigned weakness to let a woman best him. He’d beaten her easily to the oak tree, and now she had to persuade her father to part with ten guineas. Doubtless, she’d offer to spread her legs for Dexter instead of paying the debt, and he’d enjoy spurning her.

  But, for now, he was faced with the more critical task of finding his wife.

  He picked up a trail at the edge of the field—two sets of hoofprints leading to the groom’s cottage. His stomach tightened as he spotted two horses waiting patiently by the door.

  What the devil was she playing at?

  A scream came from inside.

  He dismounted and burst through the door in time to see his wife on her back across the kitchen table, the groom on top of her.

  He rushed forward, roaring, and threw the man off her.

  Margaret sat up, her face pale save for a darkening bruise on her cheek.

  The groom struggled to his feet, and Dexter pulled out his riding crop.

  “Stay where you are!” he roared. “What the devil were you doing with my wife?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” came the reply. “You can’t blame a man for taking what’s on offer. And she’s no better than I.”

  “You take that back, you bastard!” Dexter roared, raising his crop.

  The groom gave a sly smile. “I think she’s the bastard,” he said. “If you’d rather her whoring were not gossiped about, perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

  Cold determination replaced hot fury. Dexter curled his hand into a fist behind his back.

  “Perhaps something can be arranged,” he said. The groom gave a smile of triumph. Out of the corner of his eye, Dexter saw his wife’s stricken expression.

  He stepped toward the groom, the action disguising the movement in his arm, then he punched him square in the face.