Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,14

for Delilah—pregnant out of wedlock and now languishing in Bath, awaiting her confinement with Dorothea—his hopes to align his family with the ton were all but destroyed.

He glanced up and noticed his wife watching him. She looked away and remained motionless in her seat. Perhaps she wasn’t hungry, though he’d heard her stomach growl in the carriage.

He reached for the soup spoon and lifted it. Almost immediately, she did the same, her eyes focused on his hands. He dipped the spoon into the soup and lifted it to his lips. She mirrored the gesture. Her spoon caught the edge of her bowl, and she flinched.

How could he begin to transform her into the type of wife he’d wanted? He needed a hostess to charm dinner guests and prospective clients' wives with her accomplishments in the drawing room while he wooed the men over port and cigars. He had no use for a country milkmaid who couldn’t even cope with consuming a simple bowl of soup.

But she did not entirely lack in charm. The sight of her in that wedding gown had sent a bolt of lust through his body until his breeches became too tight. And now, as she leaned over the soup bowl, he caught a glimpse of the valley between them. His mouth watered at the notion of exploring the flesh concealed beneath her lace tuck, seeking out her little buds. Would they bead for him in anticipation of his touch?

And when he took her to bed—would she blossom like a ripe, pink flower, opening up at his touch? Could he mold her into the shape he desired—fashion her into the perfect bed partner—a willing, eager mate, to spread her legs at his command?

The meal concluded, he rose from his seat.

“It’s time for you to retire while I take my port,” he said. “I’ll send for Mrs. Draper to attend you.

He could almost taste her relief. He issued a stiff bow, then exited the dining room and headed for his study. He needed time away from her to clear the fog of lust, which, if unchecked, would result in him tossing her skirts up and thrusting himself into her from behind over the dining room table.

His manhood twitched in need.

Curse his body! He reached for the decanter and poured a brandy. At all costs, he needed to soothe the raging ardor. He was a large man, and the sight of him fully erect would likely send her into a fit of apoplexy. Though the aristocracy might deem him uncouth, he at least understood that etiquette demanded that his bride not be unconscious with terror when he deflowered her.

***

Meggie stared at the dressing table mirror, but she didn’t recognize the woman staring back. Her hair hung in unruly strands about her face, and her gown sported a green stain down the front.

Her wedding gown. The only fine gown she’d ever had, and now she’d ruined it.

But there was nothing to be gained from self-pity. The sooner she was asleep, the sooner she could face tomorrow and the rest of her life. Her husband might be an unpleasant sort of man and a darkly handsome one at that, but he lacked the air of cruelty which had lingered around Alderley.

She reached behind her back to undo the buttons of her gown. The action lifted the cuff of her sleeve to reveal the bruise on her wrist, the bruise her husband had noticed.

Would he correct her, as Alderley had done? Is that what society husbands did?

She jumped at a knock on the door and paused, her stomach fluttering. A female voice called out.

“Ma’am? May I come in? It’s Mrs. Draper.”

The door opened to reveal a plump woman in an iron-gray dress, a clean white apron, and a bunch of keys hanging from her waist. She was one of the few servants who’d looked at her with kindness—unlike that footman.

“I hope you don’t mind my forwardness, ma’am,” the woman said, “but seeing as you didn’t bring a maid with you, I wondered if you needed assistance.”

“Assistance?” Meggie asked. “What with?”

“With getting undressed, of course.”

“I don’t understand.”

Mrs. Draper shook her head, tutting. “The master could at least have warned us…”

She sighed. “Never mind. Tomorrow I’ll set about finding a maid for you. Do you have any preferences?”

Meggie shook her head. “I-I don’t know. I’ve never…”

A gentle hand touched her shoulder. “Of course, my dear, I understand. We can discuss it tomorrow. Shall I help you tonight?”

Meggie shook her head. Her nightgown was frayed,