Queen of my Hart

by Royal, Emily

  He reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips. His expression had softened into one of compassion—and love.

  “Not all sacrifices are justified,” he said. “I would never sacrifice my queen, for she is my strength, even though she doesn’t know it.” He cupped her face and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

  “You are my queen, Meggie,” he whispered, “the one piece on my board, which I never wish to be without.”

  She blinked, and her eyes filmed over with moisture.

  “I must yield the spoils to you,” he said. “One thousand pounds. Peyton would never forgive me if I kept it for myself, given that it was you who secured the final victory.”

  One thousand pounds…

  The answer to all her problems.

  “I should like that,” she said. “Would it be mine to spend how I wish?”

  “It is a rather large sum.”

  “I’m thinking of patronizing a charity,” she said. “Mrs. Pelham told me about some of her ventures—such as a shelter for disadvantaged widows.”

  How easily the lie slipped off her tongue! Was this what happened when one had a secret? A small lie was required to conceal it, then a second lie to hide the first—then lie after lie, until the perpetrator had forgotten the truth.

  “How like you, to think of others!” Dexter said.

  He traced a line across the front of her gown, then dipped his finger into the valley between her breasts.

  “Now…where were we?”

  She lay back and lifted her skirts. His smile broadened as she parted her legs, and he unbuttoned his breeches.

  Her release came as soon as he entered inside her, the pleasure magnifying with each powerful thrust. At the moment of his dissolution, he cried out her name and collapsed on top of her, his movement growing weaker until he buried his head in her shoulder and grew still. Before he fell asleep, she heard a faint whisper.

  “I love you, Meggie.”

  She cradled his head in her arms, fighting back the tears. She had won his heart, but at what cost? She’d deceived him and parted her legs for cash.

  She was no better than a harlot, and if he ever discovered the truth, she’d lose his love forever.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Dexter looked up at the knock on the door.

  “What is it?”

  A timid-looking face appeared.

  “Come in,” he said. “I like to know my staff have bodies as well as heads.”

  The clerk shuffled in. “There’s a gentleman to see you.”

  “Does he have an appointment?”

  “N-no.”

  “Tell him to make one,” Dexter said. “Can’t you see I’m busy—what’s your name?”

  “Jenkins, sir. He said he has a large deposit to make and insists on seeing you personally.”

  “How large?”

  “He wouldn’t say, but he said the meeting would be to your advantage.”

  Dexter sighed. “Let him in.”

  Jenkins bowed and disappeared, closing the door behind him.

  Imbecile! A few months ago, Dexter would have dismissed him on the spot. What the blazes was happening to him?

  His wife, that’s what. She’d taught him that there was no shame in a little kindness.

  The door opened again, and a man stepped inside.

  Dexter looked up. “You!” he cried.

  He was more finely dressed than when Dexter had last seen him. He wore a gentleman’s suit, not the livery of a footman of Alderley Hall. But he’d recognize that face anywhere—the finely chiseled lines and the cold gray eyes.

  The man gestured to the chair opposite the desk. “May I?”

  Without waiting for a reply, he drew back the chair and sat, leaning back and crossing his legs with a presence at nonchalance.

  George Hanson.

  George bloody Hanson, the reprobate who’d seduced Daisy, then abandoned her when he’d realized Dexter wasn’t going to give him any money.

  “What do you want, Hanson?”

  “Didn’t your man tell you? I wish to make a deposit.”

  “I hardly think you have sufficient funds to make it worth my while,” Dexter said. “I suggest you leave before I throw you out.”

  Hanson smiled, and Dexter’s fists itched to smash that smug grin off his face. He rose to his feet and reached for the man’s collar.

  “Wait!” Hanson cried. “Will a thousand pounds be sufficient?”

  “Where the devil did you get such a sum from?” Dexter sneered. “Did you steal it?”

  “It was a most generous gift.”

  “Do you think I care?” Dexter asked. “After what you did to my sister? I wouldn’t want your filthy money tainting my bank, however much you have.”

  “Your sister?” Hanson laughed. “This has nothing to do with your sister.”

  “Then, get out.”

  “I’m here about your wife.”

  Dexter froze. “My wife?”

  Hanson folded his arms and gave him a triumphant smile. “Old habits die hard,” he said. “She was a little too quick to give me what I wanted.”

  He picked up Dexter’s inkpot—cut crystal set in gold.

  “May I have this?” He slipped it into his pocket. “Most generous. I’ll wager you’ll be more inclined to give me what I want. Now you’re rubbing shoulders with the high and mighty. For you have further to fall.”

  Dexter gritted his teeth, swallowing the red-hot ball of fury in his throat.

  “What is my wife to you?”

  “My lady patroness,” Hanson said smoothly. “She opened her legs even faster than your sister.”

  “It was you?” Dexter asked. “Dear God! What possessed you to ruin her? Did you expect payment from her father as you did from me?”

  “That old skinflint!” Hanson scoffed. “But I’m sure you’re prepared to be generous. A man can disown his by-blow, but it’s more difficult for a prominent banker to deny the existence of his wife.”

  “You think I didn’t know that my wife lay with another man?”

  “Men,” Hanson said. “I wasn’t the first. Doubtless, you suffered the same disappointment on your wedding night that I experienced when she offered herself to me. I’m sure we both know when we’re bedding a virgin”

  “You filthy bastard!” Dexter curled his hands into fists.

  “Think about it, Hart,” Hanson said. “What on earth possessed a miser such as Alderley to pay for her upkeep? A woman like her can make a fortune on her back.”

  Dexter reached out and grasped the man’s collar. “Insult my wife again, and I’ll kill you!”

  “Did she tell you about her child?”

  Dexter’s blood froze. “You lie.”

  “Never told you that, did she?” Hanson grinned. “She said it was mine, but who knows? I heard she spread her legs for half the population of Blackwood Heath.”

  The spring snapped. With a roar, Dexter slammed his fist into Hanson’s leering face. Then he grabbed him by his lapels and frog marched him out of the office and down the stairs.

  The footman in the hall barely turned a hair as he opened the doors. Dexter propelled Hanson onto the street with a push, where he fell in a heap on the pavement.

  “Come back here, Hanson, and I’ll have you shot!”

  “What about the money?”

  “Keep the bloody money,” Dexter said. “You’ve lied, seduced, and blackmailed your way to it. But it won’t make you happy. Not for a man like you. For that, I pity you.”

  “And I, you,” Hanson said. “For you’ll never be happy. Not with her.”

  “Get rid of him,” Dexter told the footman. “If he comes again, you’re at liberty to use force.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “And then, tell Mr. Peyton to see to things here. I’m leaving early.”

  “Shall I tell him where you’ve gone, sir?”

  Dexter clenched his hands, but it did nothing to lessen the pain in his heart.

&
nbsp; Neither did it obliterate the fact that Meggie had lied to him—had betrayed him.

  “Tell him I’ve gone home,” he said. “There’s something I need to discuss with my wife.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  When Meggie returned to the house, it was unusually quiet. There should have been more activity upstairs, yet none of the first-floor windows showed any signs of light.

  Perhaps Dexter was working late at the bank or dining at his club.

  Her feet ached. It would be good to sit after a long day’s volunteering with Anne, and with Dexter out of the house, she could allow herself some liberties and take a footbath.

  She smiled at the prospect of sitting in the kitchen with her feet in a tub of hot water, sprinkled with lavender, one of Mrs. Preston’s remedies.

  The door opened as she ascended the front steps, cradling Titan in her arms.

  “Ah, Charles,” she said. “Would you ask Mrs. Draper to arrange a footbath? In the parlor this time, if my husband’s out.”

  “The master’s at home,” the footman said. “He wishes to see you in the study.”

  “Very good,” she said. “Tell him I’ll see him once I’ve settled Titan in his basket.”

  “I’m to take you to him immediately, ma’am.”

  “Charles?” A ripple of apprehension threaded through her. “Is anything wrong?”

  He gestured toward the study. “If you please.”

  The study door was ajar as if Dexter were listening for her return. A solitary candle flickered on the desk in the center of the room. He sat behind it, his face illuminated by the flame.

  “Husband?”

  He reached forward and picked up a beveled glass, the light catching the pattern etched into the crystal.

  She moved closer. “Dexter?”

  “Leave us, Charles,” he said quietly. “Close the door behind you.”

  After the footman left, Dexter gestured toward the chair in front of the desk, and she sat.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “I want to discuss the money.”

  “Is this…” she hesitated, “…about Daisy?”

  “No.”

  “Then what is it about?”

  He lifted the glass slowly and took a sip. His silent control unnerved her more than his raised voice.

  “I was rather hoping you’d tell me.”

  “Forgive me, Dexter. I don’t know…”

  He held up his hand, and her voice died in her throat.

  “I had a visitor today,” he said.

  “At the bank?”

  “A man with one thousand pounds to invest.”

  Icy fingers caressed the back of her neck. “Oh?”

  “Is that not a coincidence? The same sum you obtained from me three nights ago?”

  “I’m sure it’s not an uncommon sum to invest.”

  “Are we going to continue this charade all evening?” he asked. “Please do not insult my intelligence by feigning ignorance. My visitor, as I’m sure you’re aware, was a Mr. George Hanson.”

  She curled her fingers around the arms of the chair.

  “Do you have nothing to say?”

  “It’s not what you think,” she said.

  He frowned. “What do I think?”

  “That I’ve been unfaithful.”

  He remained motionless, staring at her as if trying to read her thoughts. Then he set the glass aside in a slow, deliberate gesture.

  “Untruthful, at least,” he said.

  “I-I thought he’d gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “He said that once he had the money, he wouldn’t tell…” She broke off, her cheeks flaming.

  “Let me guess,” Dexter said. “He promised to leave you alone, and you believed him. Can’t you see that if you pay a man like that to hide your sins, there’s no guarantee he’ll desist?”

  “You knew when we married that I wasn’t…”

  “That you weren’t a maiden? If I recall, I knew no such thing. I had to discover it for myself.” He tapped his finger on the desk. “And now I find you continued to deceive me, even after we pledged to be honest with each other.”

  She lowered her gaze, unable to look at the disappointment in his eyes. The ticking of the clock grew louder. Eventually, he broke the silence.

  “Were you never going to tell me about the brat?”

  She drew in a sharp breath.

  “Deny it if you dare.”

  Meggie shook her head. “I cannot.”

  “That bastard Hanson was the man who ruined my sister. You gave birth to his child!”

  She shrank back under the force of his anger, and he raked his hand through his hair—hair she knew to be soft and silken, hair she loved the feel of under her fingers.

  “I knew you were keeping a secret from me, Margaret,” he said.

  “You did?”

  “Aye, but, fool that I am, I’d assumed you were with child. My child that is, not another’s.”

  Her heart shuddered. “Dexter, surely you’re not accusing me of…”

  She was interrupted by three sharp knocks on the door.

  “For fuck’s sake!” he roared. “Am I to be plagued by everyone today?”

  The door opened, and Charles’s face appeared, pale with fear.

  “Mr. Peyton’s here to see you, sir,” he said.

  “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “He insisted.” The footman flinched as if expecting a blow. “He said there are several documents requiring your signature, which were due to be issued today.”

  Dexter swore.

  “Bloody Hanson! Not content with ruining my wife, his timewasting threatens to ruin my business.”

  The footman glanced at Meggie and widened his eyes.

  Dexter rose to his feet. “Tell Peyton I’ll see him in the parlor,” he said. “As for you,” he turned to Meggie, “Stay in this room until I return. I’ll deal with you later.”

  He ushered the footman out of the study and slammed the door behind him.

  I’ll deal with you later…

  He’d used those same words the day he had Milly thrashed for swimming in the lake.

  Anger replaced fear. How dare he threaten her! Did he think to punish her as he saw fit if she did anything he happened to disapprove of?

  Yes, he did. And the law was on his side. He could do whatever he wanted with her. And nobody would stop him.

  But, worse than the fear of punishment was the knowledge that she’d lost her husband’s trust.

  And his love.

  She rose from her seat and opened the study door. Charles was nowhere to be seen. Raised voices came from the door across the way. This was her chance. She tiptoed across the hallway, pulled open the main doors, and ran out into the street.

  ***

  The sun had disappeared, and Meggie increased the pace to warm her limbs. She should have taken her shawl, but her instincts had told her to leave the house as soon as possible.

  After a while, she heard footsteps from behind, and she stepped up the pace. At the end of the street, she turned and headed toward Hyde Park. The footsteps drew closer, and a ripple of fear threaded through her.

  Someone was in pursuit.

  She turned into a side street and broke into a run, then slammed into a wall of muscle.

  Two hands grasped her arms, and she wrinkled her nose at the stench of cologne.

  “Steady on, lover! Your eagerness is showing,” a familiar voice said.

  She looked up into George Hanson’s eyes. With a cry, she struggled to break free.

  “Kicked you out already, Megs?”

  “Leave me alone!” she cried.

  “Oh, Megs,” he said. “I thought we’d renewed our friendship.”

  “You were never my friend,” she said. “But you’ve made one fatal mistake.”

  “Which is?”

  “You’ve killed the goose, George,” she snarled. “I don’t care who else you tell,
for you’ve told the one person who matters to me. And my husband won’t care enough to buy your silence.”

  He tightened his grip, and she winced.

  “Unhand me,” she said. “Now.”

  “You heard the lady,” a new voice said.

  George’s eyes widened, a hint of fear in their expression.

  Meggie turned to face the newcomer.

  Tall, with thick black hair, he wore a dark cloak capable of melting into the shadows. A mask concealed the upper half of his face.

  His shadow, cast by the moonlight, stretched across the pavement. “Unhand her,” he said, “or you’ll suffer the consequences of assaulting a lady.”

  “Lady!” George scoffed, “she’s nothing but a…ow!” He reeled back as the newcomer slammed his fist into his face.

  “Leave,” he said. “Now. If I see you in London again, I’ll shoot you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” George said. “I’d have you arrested.”

  “A difficult accomplishment from beyond the grave, but you’re welcome to try.”

  George’s eyes widened, and, like all bullies, he quaked in the presence of a stronger opponent. He turned and fled.

  “Major Hart, what are you doing here?” Meggie asked.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Devon Hart replied. “Why are you on the streets at this hour, and why are you buying that man’s silence?”

  She hesitated. His eyes showed compassion, and she believed a loyal heart beat in his chest. But blood ties ran deep. Loyalty to his brother would triumph over any compassion for her.

  She shook her head. “I can’t tell you that,” she said. “I must go.”

  “Has my brother already driven you away?”

  She wiped away the tear which had splashed, unchecked, on her cheek, and a warm hand clasped hers.

  “Forgive me, sister, I can see you’re distressed,” he said. “You’re not obliged to tell me anything. Shall I take you home? Dex will be worried.”

  “I can’t go back.”

  He sighed. “What’s my brother done now?”

  “He’s done nothing,” she said, her voice cracking. “It was me.”

  “A sweet creature like yourself can’t have done anything my brother would disapprove of,” he said. Why don’t I take you home and knock some reason into his addled brain?”