Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,22
felt only shame at the memory when faced with the purity of his wife’s expression.
Would he never be free from Elizabeth?
“Get on with it,” he growled.
The light in his wife’s eyes died. She reached for the decanter and tipped it up, soaking a piece of linen. He wrinkled his nose at the smell.
Whisky—disgusting stuff. Fit for cleaning the silverware, and little else.
“Hold still,” she said. “This might hurt.”
“I know that.”
She pressed the soaked linen against his palm. A sharp sting caught him unawares as if a knife were being drawn across his hand.
“God’s teeth, woman!” he roared. “Did you have to do that?”
“It’s necessary to prevent putrefaction.”
“Don’t tell me you’re a doctor.”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she continued to clean the wound, then dropped the blood-soaked bandage on the tray. He turned his head away and swallowed. When he looked back, he saw she watched him, understanding in her eyes. Yet she said nothing of his weakness. She dipped her fingers into the honey and smeared it over his palm.
“To aid healing,” she said, anticipating his question. “It forms a barrier over the wound.”
“It’ll make my hand taste sweet if nothing else.”
She smiled and picked up another strip of linen, then bound his hand, finishing with a neat knot.
“Where did you learn to do that?” he asked.
“At Mrs. Preston’s.”
“Who the devil is Mrs. Preston?” Shame at his weakness at the sight of his own blood fueled the harsh tone to his voice. She frowned, and for a moment, he glimpsed, once again, the fire in her eyes.
“She runs the school.”
“What school?”
“The school at Blackwood Heath,” she said. “The one my father threatened with ruination if I didn’t marry you.”
She stood, rolling up the rest of the bandages, and moved toward the desk where she set the tray next to the chessboard.
He lifted his bandaged hand. “Thank you,” he said.
She gave a tight smile, then gestured to the chessboard. “This is beautiful.”
“Don’t touch the pieces,” he said.
“I wouldn’t move them without your leave,” she replied, an edge of irritation in her voice. “I presume you’re playing a game with someone.”
“Have you heard of chess?”
She nodded.
“Do you know how the pieces move?”
A smile curled at the corner of her mouth. “A little.”
“Shall I show you?” he asked. “I can teach you the basics, but the game of chess itself is somewhat complex.”
“Oh?”
He could swear he heard amusement in her voice.
“It’s a game of tactics and strategy,” he said. “Not something most women would be able to understand.”
Her smile disappeared. “You think women lack understanding?”
“Most women of my acquaintance believe themselves to be masters of manipulation,” he said. “But they lack the foresight or understanding to form a strategy for success.”
“Perhaps that’s a function of your choice of female acquaintances rather than a general rule applicable to the whole of my sex.”
For such an ignorant creature, her level of perception unnerved him.
“Perhaps it is,” he said, “but it needn’t concern you. You’re leaving for Hampshire tomorrow.”
“I thought we were leaving the day after?”
“I’m staying here,” he said. “I have business to attend.”
“You’re not coming?”
“You needn’t worry,” he said. “You’ll be safe on the road. I have a private coach and will instruct my men to watch over you at all times.”
“And you want me gone?”
He averted his gaze before she could assault his heart with those pleading eyes of hers.
She sighed. “May I ask you a question?”
“That depends on the question.”
“Had you married Elizabeth, would you have sent her away?”
“No,” he sighed. “But Elizabeth is not…”
“A bastard?”
“I’d prefer you didn’t use such language.”
“But it’s true, is it not?”
“By taking names to yourself, you give them credibility,” he said. “You are my wife, and as such, should command respect. Who you were before that is of no consequence. Nevertheless, it would be better for both of us if you retired to the country, and I remained here.”
“Very well.”
She bobbed a curtsey, then left the room.
Yes—it would be better if she left for the country. Why, then, did he regret his decision to send her away?
Chapter Eleven
Meggie jerked awake. The carriage door opened to reveal a footman.
“Ma’am?”
She rubbed her eyes and sat up, stretching to ease the ache in her back.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“We’ve arrived,” he replied. “At Molineux Manor.”
Thank the Lord.
The journey had taken the better part of three days, and she’d had nothing but her own company to amuse herself with. In addition to the boredom, she’d battled the fear of being accosted on the open road. Tales of highwaymen had been rife