Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,51

truth. I’ll find out eventually, and it would save a lot of awkwardness if you were just to tell me now.”

Alderley drained his glass again and set it down with force.

The old bastard was rattled. Good. An opponent was more likely to make a wrong move when ruled by emotions rather than reason.

“Very well,” Alderley said. “I find myself in need of funds.”

Of course!

“You already have a loan,” Dexter said. “A not insubstantial one, for which the interest is due next quarter day and the principal is, I believe, due to be redeemed in two years. Are you looking for an extension?” He smiled at his adversary. “I’d be happy to consider an extension of one year, provided you continue to service the interest on time. My business partner arrives in a few days, and I can instruct him to make the arrangements.”

“I don’t want an extension.”

“You cannot expect my bank to grant a further loan,” Dexter said. “You have nothing else to pledge as security, and, if I may be frank, no banker of sound mind would be willing to grant you an unsecured loan given the extent of your debts.”

“I wasn’t referring to a loan,” Alderley said. “We’re family. It’s not unheard of for a son to subsidize his father.”

Dexter almost choked on his drink.

God’s blood! Did the man believe he’d be disposed to give him the money?

The expression on Alderley’s face confirmed it. A mixture of self-loathing and desperation—self-loathing at having to come cap in hand to a man he despised, and desperation at his mounting debts, most likely caused by Elizabeth’s extravagances.

Was that why Elizabeth had accompanied her father? To persuade him to part with his cash if she parted her thighs?

The woman in question swept into the room, and he flushed at the notion of her whoring herself. Two months ago, he’d have relished the prospect.

But not now—not when he’d caught a glimpse of goodness in a woman, in the shape of his little wife.

Not long after, Margaret entered the room and glanced at Dexter, then Elizabeth and back to Dexter. Most men would bask in the knowledge that his wife believed she had a rival. But not him.

And Margaret didn’t have a rival. Elizabeth might be an exotic bird of paradise, with her brightly colored silks and elegant hairstyle. But, next to her, the diminutive little woman dressed in a plain gown of white muslin surpassed her in beauty, as the sun surpassed a candle. He longed to run his hands through his wife’s hair once more, to toss aside that delicate lace cap, rip out the pins, and bury his hands in her tresses.

Margaret’s beauty came from within. And she was rendered even more desirable by the fact that she had no idea quite how lovely she was.

And Dexter was the only one in the room who recognized it.

He held out his arm. “Margaret, my dear, now you have joined us, shall we lead our guests into dinner?”

Elizabeth’s face fell into a frown. But Margaret smiled at him and placed her hand on his elbow. He squeezed her fingers, then led the party into the dining room.

***

As the final course was placed before him—Mrs. Brown’s lemon sorbet—Dexter’s wife had begun to lose her hunted expression. Save for a remark about the proper use of a fish knife—for which Dexter had responded by saying that table manners could be taught, but nothing could redeem a character that was rotten to the core. Elizabeth had largely left Margaret alone, directing most of her remarks and compliments to Dexter.

“Elizabeth, my dear,” Alderley said as the meal drew to a close, “Perhaps you should retire. You’ve had a tiring day, and if you’re to rise early tomorrow, you must take your rest.”

“Of course, Papa,” Elizabeth said. “I’m looking forward to our ride tomorrow, Dexter. Will your wife be joining us?” She cast a sneer in Margaret’s direction, but Margaret appeared immune to the insult, most likely due to the quantity of wine she’d imbibed.

“I’d love that,” Margaret said. “Ralph’s been giving me lessons. He says I’m most proficient in the saddle.”

Ralph? The arrogant young groom?

“I’m sure this Ralph is an obliging fellow,” Elizabeth said. “I love a good hard ride. What say you, Dexter?”

“Ralph is our head groom,” Dexter growled, “and the most natural person to teach my wife how to ride.”

Elizabeth sipped her wine. “Does Margaret possess a riding habit? I would lend her one of mine, though I doubt she’d be able to button it