Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,38

storm her father’s visit might bring.

Milly tidied away the picnic items, then yawned and stretched. “When I get an afternoon off, I pray for good weather. There’s so much to do here!”

“Such as?”

“I love to swim in the lake,” Milly replied, “though Sarah’s too scared of the water. It’s warm enough today—why don’t you try it?” Almost as soon as she spoke, she blushed and lowered her gaze. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, I forgot my place. I shouldn’t be speaking as if you’re my friend. Mrs. Wells has already warned me against it.”

Was this what Meggie’s newfound status had done? Alienated her from people she’d typically choose as friends?

“Nonsense, Milly,” she said. “I don’t see why we can’t be friends—out here, at least, where it doesn’t matter what a few stuffy old lords and ladies think.”

“Then you’ll come for a swim?” Milly asked. “I can help you undress.”

“You mean we should remove our clothes?”

“We can swim in our undergarments,” Milly said. “They’ll dry quick enough if we lay them out on the rock. I’ve done it before.”

The water did look inviting—clear and deep in the center—and Meggie had fond memories of swimming in the river at Blackwood Heath.

But she hesitated. What would her husband think?

“Perhaps I shouldn’t,” she said. “It’s not what the mistress of the house should do.”

“Oh, ma’am!” Milly cried. “Don’t you think it’ll cheer you up? Everyone says I’m a feather-brained fool, but I can see you’re not entirely happy. A little swim doesn’t do nobody any harm.”

“I suppose not…”

“We’ll be out and dry in no time. Nobody will be any the wiser. It can be our little secret. Ralph has gone, and the master isn’t here.”

Meggie couldn’t resist the eager expression on the young maid’s face. Milly had been so disappointed by Ralph’s rebuff that Meggie didn’t have the heart to refuse her invitation.

“Oh, very well,” she said. “Let’s see who makes it into the water first.”

While Meggie fumbled with her gown's laces, she heard a splash as Milly beat her into the water. Stripped to her undergarments, she picked her way across the rocks to the waterfall. Then, taking a deep breath, she clasped her hands together, as if in prayer, and launched herself off the rocks.

The water hit her body like a knife, the cold giving a sharp contrast to the warm spring air. She opened her eyes and thrust out her arms to propel her body toward the bottom of the lake, relishing the feel of the water pulling through her hair. Then, with a kick of her legs, she swam toward the surface where the sunlight shone through the water.

She surfaced and saw Millie’s head bobbing a few feet away.

“You swim so well!” the maid cried. “Can you teach me to dive like that?”

She flicked water at Meggie, and, laughing, Meggie splashed back. The two of them continued, splashing each other and squealing with laughter. It was as if Meggie was, once more, the carefree child she had once been before she’d been forced to grow up.

Milly moved to splash her again.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Meggie laughed and dived underwater. This time, she was going to make it to the bottom and collect one of the stones as a trophy. She kicked out with her legs and brushed her hands over the bed of the lake until she found a small, round stone that fitted her palm perfectly. Curling her fingers round it, she swam back up.

She heard a scream, muffled through the water, and kicked out harder until she resurfaced.

“Milly! Are you all right?”

“Oh, ma’am! I’m so sorry!”

Meggie caught sight of the maid, shivering at the water’s edge, her face pale with terror.

“What’s wrong?” She swam forward until her feet got a purchase on the rocks, then she stood up, the water reaching her waist.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing!” a deep male voice roared.

Meggie looked up and saw two men beside the lake. Ralph stood, arms folded, his eyes on her, a hungry expression in his gaze.

His companion stood half a head taller. Body ramrod straight, hands curled into fists, his face was pale with anger, his brow furrowed, eyes dark.

His expression was one of pure fury—as if he was ready to commit murder.

It was her husband.

Chapter Seventeen

“Where the devil is my wife?”

The journey to Hampshire had only served to darken Dexter’s mood. Two days cooped up in a box, with the prospect of that bastard Alderley’s company for a week, was enough to turn even the