Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,28

with that harlot almost as soon as you were old enough to realize what your cock was for.”

Brandy always brought Devon’s temper to the fore. Any other man and Dexter would have called him out—or at least planted a shiner on his face. But Devon had experienced enough in his twenty-five years to be unfazed by physical threats.

“I hardly think you’re in a position to lecture me on obsession, Dev,” Dexter said. “Tell me, what has the Lady Atalanta been up to today? Does she know you creep after her in the shadows?”

Devon jumped to his feet and flung the brandy glass at the door.

“For heaven’s sake!” Dorothea cried. “If you two are going to fight like dogs, do it outside—or better still, down at the docks where I believe such activities take place.”

“Forgive me, Thea,” Devon said. He shot an angry look at Dexter. “I find the company here oppressive. Shall I escort you home?”

“With pleasure,” Thea said.

“Aren’t you accompanying me tonight?” Dexter asked. “Dinner with the Pelhams.”

“I’ve had enough for one day,” Thea said.

“How so?”

“Like it or not, Dexter, none of us have been able to live up to your expectations,” she said. “You value Delilah only because she’s married a title. In your eyes, the rest of us have let you down, and I’ve had my fill of being reminded of it today.”

She swept out of the room on Devon’s arm.

Dexter stood at the window, watching them walk down the street, while Charles continued to clear away the shards of glass and crockery. The poor man had only been in Dexter’s employ for a fortnight. What must he think of them—the notorious Harts who didn’t belong in society?

Dorothea was wise enough to understand the root of Dexter’s ill-temper, but in one aspect, she was wrong. It was Dexter who’d let his siblings down—not the other way round.

And he’d also let his wife down.

Chapter Thirteen

“So, Mr. Hart, what transgressions did your wife commit to warrant her banishment, so soon after your marriage?”

Mrs. Pelham sliced through her beef as if thrusting a sword into the belly of an opponent while focusing her steady gaze on Dexter.

Not only was he subject to criticism from his family—but also his friends.

“Anne, my love!” her husband warned.

“Forgive me, Harold,” she said sweetly. She picked up her wineglass. “To my friend, Delilah,” she said. “May she be one of the few women in the world fortunate enough to be valued and cherished by her husband.”

Pelham rolled his eyes but said nothing. Doubtless, he hoped his wife would leave it at that. But Anne Pelham was an insistent little thing.

“I paid a call on your wife a fortnight ago,” she continued. Her tone was light, but the determined set of her mouth told Dexter another assault was forthcoming.

“Oh, did you?” he asked, his voice just as carefree. He reached for his wine and took a sip. “An excellent claret, Pelham,” he said. “But I suppose, when you deal in the stuff, you develop a more discerning palate.”

“Thank you,” his host said.

“And do you keep the best of your imports for yourself, Pelham? I can imagine many of your clients are unable to discern a fine French wine from something more mediocre.”

Anne gave a little huff, betraying her exasperation at Dexter’s attempt to change the subject.

“I was told your wife was not at home,” she continued. Her husband shot her a warning look, which she ignored. “But she was. I saw her watching me from the parlor window. Had you told her not to admit me?”

“No,” Dexter replied.

“Or had you refused her permission to receive visitors?”

“Of course not!”

“Perhaps she felt ashamed,” she continued. “After all, she’s guilty of the crime of being the wrong Alderley sister.”

“Anne, please!” Pelham admonished. “This is hardly the subject for the dinner table. Hart’s here to mark the occasion of Delilah’s marriage, not be criticized for his.”

“Forgive me.” She resumed her attention to her meal.

But she’d struck a nerve. The day after Margaret had left for the country, Dexter had found Mrs. Pelham’s card in the parlor. Charles had been forthcoming enough to explain that when Mrs. Pelham had come calling, he’d ‘happened upon the mistress hiding behind the curtain.’

The meal concluded, the gentlemen rose to take their port in Pelham’s study, while Mrs. Pelham retired with a glass of Madeira to the drawing room.

Pelham picked up a decanter containing a straw-colored liquid.

“I thought it was fitting to have a glass of whisky in honor of your new brother-in-law,” he said.

Dexter