Queen of my Hart

by Royal, Emily

  “John, this is my wife, Margaret,” Dexter said. “Meggie, my dear, this is my old friend.”

  John bowed before Meggie and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. “A pleasure, ma’am.”

  “Margaret,” Meggie said, shyly. “You must both call me Margaret. After all, I’m your sister, aren’t I?”

  John and Daisy exchanged glances, then he nodded.

  “Will you stay for supper?” he asked. “I’m sure we have enough to stretch.”

  Daisy colored and looked away. Dexter recognized the shame of a woman struggling to make ends meet.

  As usual, his compassionate little wife took the helm.

  “How about we all dine at the Croxleigh Arms?” Meggie suggested.

  “I don’t know…” Daisy began, but Dexter interrupted her.

  “Please, Daisy,” he said. “Just one meal. Then, if you wish it, we won’t impose on you again. My wife wanted so much to meet you, and I…I find I miss you.”

  “Very well,” she said crossly. “I’ll have to ask Mrs. Weatherby to keep an eye on Rosie, but I dare say she won’t mind. But don’t expect me to dress up in finery, brother. I cannot afford to indulge in silk.”

  Her words might be harsh, but her voice had softened. Perhaps, in time, he may find the sister he’d lost.

  ***

  Dexter stretched out on his back and studied the ceiling. The Croxleigh Arms dated back to Tudor times. He considered the beams which crossed the ceiling, following the uneven, parallel lines.

  The bed shifted, and his wife stretched and yawned. He captured her arms and pulled her on top of him. Her breasts pressed against his chest and her little buds peaked against his skin.

  She squirmed and parted her thighs until he felt her warm, sweet flesh against him.

  “Meggie, you’re a temptress,” he said. “I vowed not to ravish you here, but, by God, woman, you’re enough to tempt any man to sin.”

  She grinned and squeezed her thighs against him.

  “Witch!” he hissed. “Do you want them to hear you scream my name?”

  She pouted, and he thrust his hips upward. She squealed with laughter, and he rolled onto his side, taking her with him. She snuggled into him and placed her head on his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair, and she sighed.

  “Much as I want to lie in this bed and make love to you all day, I fear we must rise,” he said. “I’m anxious to return to London before dark, and I know you’ll wish to see Daisy and John before we leave.”

  “They seem happy,” she said, “and you should forgive yourself. You did what was best for her. It’s plain to see they’re very much in love.”

  “True,” he said. “After her—ruination—I wanted no man to go near her. But John, it seemed, had loved her for years. I nearly beat the living hell out of him when I saw them together, but he was a determined man. He said that even if I broke every bone in his body, he’d not be deterred.”

  He sighed and stroked his wife’s hair. “Were it not for me, John might have courted Daisy, and that bastard Hanson’d have never seduced her.”

  Meggie’s head shot up, a wild look in her eyes. “Hanson?”

  “Yes, do you know him?”

  “I-I’ve heard the name,” she said. “Perhaps Daisy mentioned it at supper last night. Yes, I remember—that was it.”

  She wriggled out of his arms. “We should dress. I’d like to spend as much time with Daisy before we leave.”

  Not meeting his gaze, she climbed out of bed and padded over to the trunk. She pulled out a shift and inspected it. He crept up behind her.

  “Here, let me.” He reached for the garment, and she jumped at his touch. What the devil was wrong with her?

  She turned and let him help her dress, chatting animatedly, her voice overly bright.

  “I hope we’ll see Rosie this morning,” she said. “How old is she?”

  “I’m ashamed to say I have no idea of my niece’s age,” he said. “About four, I think.”

  “And is she…” his wife hesitated, “… John’s daughter?”

  “Yes, thank Christ,” Dexter said. “John might be smitten with Daisy, but not even he’s so lacking in dignity that he’d accept another man’s child—especially that bastard Hanson’s.”

  He held out his shirt.

  “My turn,” he said. She snatched it from him.

  Where had her smile gone?

  “I trust you’re up to James’s standard,” he said. “If you perform a better service, I’ll have to advertise for another valet.”

  She stiffened.

  “Are you well?”

  Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Yes,” she said. “I merely felt a little queasy. Too much wine last night, I expect.” She gave him a watery smile and helped him with his shirt.

  She was harboring a secret, and he knew what it was.

  But he’d let her reveal the happy news in her own time.

  Chapter Thirty

  Georgie Hanson counted the notes, then slipped them into his pocket, which he gave a satisfied pat.

  “Very obliging, Megs,” he said. “I’m glad we’ve rekindled our relationship.”

  Titan looked up at him, lips curled in a snarl. Meggie picked the pug up and cradled him in her arms.

  “That concludes our business,” she said.

  “Oh, Megs!” He clutched his chest in mock hurt. “Leaving so soon? Would you abandon an old friend?”

  “We were never friends,” she said. “I was an innocent, and you a seducer.”

  “Oh, you wound me!”

  “You knew what you were about,” she said. “You flattered me into your bed, and I believed your lies.”

  “You said you loved me, Megs,” he said. “That’s the vocal equivalent of offering up your cunny.”

  She winced at the profanity. “You disgust me!”

  In a blur of movement, he grasped her elbow and propelled her off the path.

  “Let me go. You’re hurting me!”

  He brought his face close. “It takes two to fuck, Megs. Have you told Dexter that you love him? Perhaps I should ask him myself.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Would you wager your marriage on it? I’ll be writing to him to offer my services, and could ask him then.”

  “I’ve told you before, my husband has a valet.”

  “Poor James isn’t so steady on his feet,” he said, “He’s forever running back and forth to Savile Row to add to his master’s ever-expanding collection of cravats. What if he were to trip and break his ankle?”

  He released her, and she stepped back and rubbed her arm.

  “You see the harm that can arise from you not obliging me, Megs?” He shook his head. “Let’s say one hundred next week, shall we?”

  “One hundred? We agreed on fifty a week.”

  “I underestimated my needs.”

  She longed to slam her fist into his face and wipe off the self-satisfied grin, but she had no wish to draw attention to herself with so many people milling about the park.

  “Very well,” she sighed. “I’ll find you another hundred.”

  “Of course, if you’re disposed to present me with a thousand, then we can conclude our relationship.”

  “A thousand?” she asked. “But I’ve given you a hundred already—there’s nine hundred left.”

  He tutted and wagged his finger at her. “Oh, Meggie, Meggie,” he said. “You have it all wrong. As your beloved Dexter would say, think of the thousand as the capital sum, representing your debt to me. What you are paying me now merely represents the interest on that capital.”

  “That’s not what…”

  “Hush,” he said, silencing her with a raised hand. “If you struggle to understand the concept of capital and interest, I could ask Dexter to explain it to you.” He blew her a kiss. “In the meantime, I’ll bid you adieu, and shall look forward to our next—liaison.”

  He curled his tongue round the final word and licked his lips
. She fled, her cheeks flaming. He’d always had the ability to discompose her. When they were younger, his gallant attentions had caused butterflies in her stomach. But now, her skin crawled at the thought of him.

  Before she reached the park gates, she caught a glimpse of Anne Pelham and her husband. The epitome of the loving couple, they walked arm-in-arm while Anne held her free hand over her belly. Mr. Pelham raised his hand in salute, but Meggie forged ahead, pretending not to see them. Anne Pelham was a dear friend, but she was unnervingly astute. She had recognized Meggie’s distress the day she’d first spotted Georgie in the park and would unearth her secret in no time.

  ***

  Dexter was waiting for Meggie as she arrived home.

  “My dear, where have you been?” he asked, an edge to his voice.

  “Must I obtain permission before venturing out?”

  “Of course not,” he said, “but we have a guest for dinner unless you’ve forgotten?”

  Guilt needled at her, and she took his hand. “Forgive me,” she said. “I’ll be ready long before Mr. Peyton arrives. Might I ask a favor, first?”

  “Anything.”

  “I-I wondered if you might oblige me with a little more pin money.”

  “Have you already spent what I’ve given you?”

  She averted her gaze. “I want to send a little more to Daisy,” she said, “and Mrs. Preston’s always in need of new books at the school.”

  “You don’t have to explain yourself, Meggie,” he said. “Will fifty pounds suffice?”

  “May I have a hundred?”

  “Good Lord!” he exclaimed, laughing. “Don’t tell me my frugal little wife is turning into an extravagance! I trust you don’t intend to follow Elizabeth’s example and bleed me dry as she has done her father.”

  She blinked back a tear, and he squeezed her hand.

  “Meggie, my love,” he said. “I jest.”

  She looked into his eyes and saw the longing.

  “I-I could wear the orange silk dress tonight,” she said.

  His nostrils flared, and he drew in a sharp breath. She moved closer, and her body pulsed as she felt him. The longing had turned into need.

  “It’s time we put it to use again, husband. Together with the brandy.”

  He closed his eyes, and a low growl rumbled in his chest.

  “Then, wife,” he whispered, his voice a low rasp of need, “you shall have anything you wish.”

  Three sharp raps sounded on the door, the calling card of the housekeeper, and he withdrew.

  “Bloody woman!” he said through gritted teeth. “Why does she always come at the most inopportune moment?”

  “I suspect she wishes to discuss the menu,” Meggie said.

  “Then I’ll leave you to it.”

  He approached the door and opened it. Mrs. Draper stood in the doorway and dipped into a curtsey.

  “Mr. Hart, sir…”

  “Yes, yes.” He waved his hand at her. “My wife’s all yours.”

  Meggie ushered the housekeeper in and listened to her prattle on about the venison stew. But she struggled to hear, for Georgie’s words rang in her ears.

  A whore can charge what she likes if she’s prepared to degrade herself.

  Tonight, she had prostituted herself to obtain money from her husband.

  ***

  “Bloody hell, Peyton, must we continue this damned game?”

  Meggie’s husband sat at the chessboard, brandy glass in hand. The pieces were positioned exactly as they had been at Molineux Manor.

  “Didn’t you finish that game?” she asked.

  “No, dear lady,” Mr. Peyton said. “And I’ve upped the ante. The victor now stands to gain one thousand pounds from the loser. I cannot understand why your husband won’t concede.”

  “Because to surrender is a weakness,” Dexter said. “All games must be played out to the bitter end. If you don’t have the stomach for the kill, then you’ve no right to play.”

  “Are you talking about chess, my friend, or life?”

  “I’ll leave that for you to decide, Peyton.”

  “Perhaps I might assist you?” Meggie asked.

  Dexter folded his arms while he studied the board.

  Mr. Peyton chuckled. “Look at the pieces as long as you like, Hart, but the game’s over, and you know it.”

  “Be quiet!” Dexter growled.

  “You see, Mrs. Hart?” Mr. Peyton said. “Your husband isn’t entirely perfect, for he has one fatal flaw.

  “Which is?” Meggie asked, not daring to look at the expression on Dexter’s face.

  “He’s a sore loser.”

  Dexter shot to his feet and scraped his chair back.

  “Very well,” he said. “Consider the money a bonus for all your hard work this past twelvemonth.”

  Mr. Peyton’s smile slipped. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Begging your pardon, ma’am.” He nodded to Meggie.

  “Is this how you save face, Hart, by saying you intended to give me the money anyway?”

  “Perhaps,” Dexter said.

  “You see, Mrs. Hart?” Mr. Peyton laughed. “See how your husband snatches victory, even in defeat?”

  Meggie took the seat Dexter had vacated and studied the chessboard.

  “May I play?” she asked.

  “You wish to take my place?” Dexter asked.

  “Why not? If you’re resigned to losing, then there’s no harm in it.”

  “There’s little point when you know so little about the game,” he replied.

  She smiled to herself. This was one secret she’d enjoy revealing.

  “Very well,” Dexter said. “Do what you can, provided my friend doesn’t object.”

  “Would you use your wife to play on my gallantry in an attempt to win?” Mr. Peyton asked.

  “I expect no special favors,” Meggie said, “not because of my sex, or…” she glanced at her husband, “…my inferiority of birth.”

  To his credit, Mr. Peyton blushed. “Forgive me. I meant no disrespect.”

  She gestured to the pieces. “Then let us proceed.”

  She moved the white queen across the board.

  “Check,” she said.

  Mr. Peyton shook his head, sympathy in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’d like to be kind, but there’s one thousand at stake.”

  “What did I say about not wanting any special concession?” Meggie asked.

  “Very well,” Mr. Peyton sighed. “Hart, your wife demands fair play.” He picked up his knight, moved it to the queen’s position, and knocked the queen sideways.

  “Knight takes queen.”

  “Never mind, my dear,” Dexter said. “Chess is a complicated game. You made a good effort. Shall I pour you a brandy?”

  “No,” she said.

  “But you always have a brandy at this hour.”

  “I mean, no, you were in an impossible situation.” She picked up a bishop and moved it one square along the diagonal.

  “Checkmate.”

  Mr. Peyton leaned forward and studied the board.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  Meggie rose to her feet, and the men followed suit.

  “I find I’m a little tired,” she said. “Would you gentlemen excuse me?”

  “Not without explaining what you just did,” Mr. Peyton said. “Or did lady luck hand you the victory?”

  “I think it was down to my lady wife, rather than lady luck,” Dexter said.

  Meggie approached the door, aware of two pairs of eyes following her. When she turned, her husband and his friend both stared at her, lips parted.

  “I wonder if you’d be obliging and close your mouths, gentlemen?” she asked. “I find myself reminded of the biology lessons I used to give at the school at Blackwood Heath.”

  If anything, they parted their lips further.

  “Mrs. Preston had a book on wildlife,” she explained. “To this day, I remember a beautiful illustration of wide-mouthed frogs.”r />
  She dipped a curtsey and exited the room before either man could answer.

  As Meggie reached her chamber, she heard a door slam, followed by hurried footsteps, then her husband burst into her chamber.

  “Dexter, I…”

  He grasped her shoulders and crashed his mouth into hers. She parted her lips, and he slid his tongue in, claiming her. He groaned as he feasted on her, his strong hands holding her firm. Then he pushed her back until she fell onto the bed.

  “God forgive me, Meggie, what you do to me!” He fumbled at his necktie and threw it onto the floor, then began to unbutton his shirt. “Oh, to hell with it!”

  He fisted his hands in the shirt and ripped it open, and buttons clattered to the floor. Then he reached for her skirts, and she grasped his wrists.

  “Dexter, no.”

  Raw, primal lust flashed in his eyes, but he stopped.

  “Is this not what you want?”

  Dear lord, yes, she wanted him! The smoldering gazes he’d cast in her direction over dinner had sent shockwaves of desire through her. When he’d licked the sorbet spoon, devouring her with his eyes, she imagined the feel of his tongue on her flesh and squeezed her thighs together to ease the ache, praying that Mr. Peyton didn’t notice her state of arousal.

  “Do you want me because I’ve earned you a thousand pounds?” she asked. “If so, what does that make me?”

  “A damned clever woman, “he said, “and the best wife a man could hope for.” He reached for her skirts again.

  “Do you think me a harlot?”

  “God, no, Meggie,” he said. “I’ve wanted to make love to you all evening. Had Peyton not been with us, I’d have swept that sorbet aside, spread you over the table, and feasted on you instead.”

  Her insides throbbed at the image of him crawling over the dining room table.

  He sighed. “How did you know how to win the game?”

  “I studied chess at the school,” she said. “I learned the moves from one of the books there.”

  “But what you did tonight wasn’t the mere execution of moves. There were very few pieces left, and you moved one of them right into the path of Peyton’s knight.”

  “I sacrificed it,” she said. “To force him to move his knight out of the way and weaken his defenses. I learned a long time ago that sacrifice was the key to victory. And, if necessary, you sacrifice your most powerful piece to gain a strategic advantage.”