Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,56

might tell you whether Milly would approve?”

“To hell with Milly,” he said. “It’s you I want.”

She tried to stand, but he grasped her wrist. “Have you not been teasing me with your smiles, little Meggie?”

“No…”

“Yes,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Why else would you wish to spend so much time alone with me? And if your husband’s rutting that haughty creature, why shouldn’t you indulge in a little tumble?”

She wrenched herself free and stepped back. “You should be saying this to Milly. She’s the one who wants you, not I.”

“You think I care for her when I could have you?”

“No, Ralph!” she cried. “You don’t want me! You want a wife—a respectable wife, a family, children…”

He let out a laugh.

“You of all people should understand that a man can sire brats without the need for marriage vows, many of whom go on to do very well for themselves.”

She backed away, but he was too quick for her, and he grasped her arm.

“What right have you to deny me?” he demanded. “You’ve thrown yourself at me at every opportunity—had me dancing to your tune ever since you arrived. Well, now it’s time to pay the piper.”

She struggled, but he tightened his grip, and he forced her onto the kitchen table.

“That’s it, my little filly,” he said. “Time for your next riding lesson. I’ll show you what it’s like to be mounted and ridden hard.”

He jammed his knee between her legs, and she let out a scream. She struggled in his grip, but he was too heavy, his weight pinning her down on the kitchen table.

He clamped his hand over her mouth, and she bit down, hard.

“Bitch!”

Pain exploded in her cheek as he slapped her. She kicked out and rammed her knee into his groin, and he grunted in pain and loosened his grip.

A splintering crash exploded in the air, followed by a roar of fury.

“Stop that at once!”

Ralph relaxed his grip, and Meggie saw two large hands grasp him by the shoulders and throw him across the room as if he were a rag-doll. He landed in a crumpled heap on the floor.

A huge demon stood before her. Hands clenched, his anger radiated off his body. Fire raged in his eyes, and his face was white with fury.

Dexter.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Where the devil was she?

The skin on the back of Dexter’s neck tightened as if foreshadowing a storm.

After escorting Elizabeth back to the main house, he’d gone to the stables in search of his wife. But she’d not returned.

Neither had that bloody groom.

He steered his mount back to the field where Elizabeth had challenged him. The foolish woman had forgotten that a real man never feigned weakness to let a woman best him. He’d beaten her easily to the oak tree, and now she had to persuade her father to part with ten guineas. Doubtless, she’d offer to spread her legs for Dexter instead of paying the debt, and he’d enjoy spurning her.

But, for now, he was faced with the more critical task of finding his wife.

He picked up a trail at the edge of the field—two sets of hoofprints leading to the groom’s cottage. His stomach tightened as he spotted two horses waiting patiently by the door.

What the devil was she playing at?

A scream came from inside.

He dismounted and burst through the door in time to see his wife on her back across the kitchen table, the groom on top of her.

He rushed forward, roaring, and threw the man off her.

Margaret sat up, her face pale save for a darkening bruise on her cheek.

The groom struggled to his feet, and Dexter pulled out his riding crop.

“Stay where you are!” he roared. “What the devil were you doing with my wife?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” came the reply. “You can’t blame a man for taking what’s on offer. And she’s no better than I.”

“You take that back, you bastard!” Dexter roared, raising his crop.

The groom gave a sly smile. “I think she’s the bastard,” he said. “If you’d rather her whoring were not gossiped about, perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

Cold determination replaced hot fury. Dexter curled his hand into a fist behind his back.

“Perhaps something can be arranged,” he said. The groom gave a smile of triumph. Out of the corner of his eye, Dexter saw his wife’s stricken expression.

He stepped toward the groom, the action disguising the movement in his arm, then he punched him square in the face.

The groom fell back, red liquid dribbling from his nose, then collapsed on the