Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,58
groom’s behavior,” she said. She looked up and met Ralph’s gaze, conquering her fear. At length, he colored and looked away.
“I would have you leave this establishment, never to return,” she said. “Mr. Billings can pay your wages up to today. I would not have you accuse us of being uncharitable.”
“And where would I go, mistress?”
“I care not,” she said, “as long as poor Milly nor I set eyes on you again.”
Ralph’s eyes flared with a final burst of defiance.
“Your wife has you fooled, sir,” he said to Dexter. “She’s been mooning over me ever since she arrived and couldn’t wait to spread her legs.”
“That’s enough!” Dexter snapped.
“Mark my words, she’ll betray you,” Ralph continued. “I can see it in your eyes—you don’t trust her.”
Dexter addressed the steward. “Billings, get him out of my sight. Do not pay him—he doesn’t deserve my wife’s generosity. Instruct the gamekeeper to shoot him if he’s seen within ten miles of this estate. Then send Mrs. Wells here when you’re done.”
“Very good.” The steward grabbed Ralph by the arm and marched him out of the room.
Dexter reached for the decanter on his desk and half-filled a beveled glass with brown liquid. Then he pushed it into Meggie’s hand.
“Drink this.”
She tipped the glass up and swallowed a mouthful of liquid. Fire burst on her tongue, and she spluttered as the liquid burned in her throat.
Her arm shook as she set the glass down, and he covered her hand with his.
“May I ask you a question, Margaret?”
“I-I didn’t offer myself to him.”
He shook his head and smiled. “I know,” he said. “No, I want to ask you to do something for me.”
Her heart fluttered. It had taken all her courage to face the man who’d tried to violate her. What else must she do?
He squeezed her hand. “Would you oblige me by moving your belongings to the lady’s chamber?”
“For propriety?”
“No, my dear,” he said. “For me.”
He patted her hand. “I confess I took the liberty of asking Mrs. Wells to arrange it—but don’t take that as an assumption on my part. The decision is yours.”
He lifted his brows, and she saw the plea in his eyes.
“You’d accept if I refused?” she asked.
“I would.” He lifted the glass to her lips. “Finish it,” he said. “The brandy will settle your nerves. Then you must rest. You’ve had an ordeal.”
“What about our guests?”
“I think you deserve a reprieve from the Alderleys. I’ll tell them you’re indisposed.”
“I can face them,” she said.
“I wish to spare you their company, nevertheless,” he said. “I would not have you any more distressed.” He hesitated, then swallowed, as if steeling himself.
“I’m not a man of tender words, Margaret,” he said. “But I pledged to honor, cherish, and keep you. However reluctant I was at the time, I meant every word. You can trust me to abide by my vows.”
He lifted his hand to her face, his eyes narrowing as if he felt her pain. “It would please me very much if you were to grant my request.”
Someone knocked on the door, and he called out.
“Come in!”
Mrs. Wells entered the room.
“Ah, good lady,” he said. “Please escort my wife to…” he focused his gaze on Meggie, hope in his eyes.
“To the lady’s chamber, please, Mrs. Wells,” she said. He smiled at her again, and the tenderness in his deep blue eyes touched her heart.
This brooding, enigmatic man she’d been forced to marry—he concealed a heart beneath the hard, outer shell. And she was in great danger of falling in love.
As she reached the door, she turned to face him
“Dexter?”
His eyes widened at the familiar address, then he smiled.
“Why didn’t you believe him…” she hesitated. “…Ralph?”
“Because you’re my wife.”
“It’s more than that,” she said. “You’re a man of reason, not emotion. Blind faith alone wouldn’t convince you. What was it?”
“If you must know, it was the look on his face,” he said. “I recognized it from years ago—from when a fortune-hunter seduced my sister.”
“Your sister?
“My sister Daisy.”
“What happened to her?”
He cast a glance at Mrs. Wells, who looked away as if averting her eyes and her ears.
“She was seduced,” he said. “She believed herself in love and paid the price. The bastard who ruined her thought he could coerce me into giving him a thousand guineas.”
“A thousand!” she cried. “Who was he?”
“One of Alderley’s servants,” he said. “I confronted Alderley about it, and it earned me this.” He fingered the scar across his chin.
His gaze seemed to cloud over. Then he blinked and focused on