Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,61

Dexter. I saved myself for you.”

He barked with laughter.

“I’m still a maiden,” she said, “which is more than can be said for the doxy you married.”

“Elizabeth, you let me take you in every manner possible while preserving your virginity. Physically that makes you a maiden—but an innocent? I think not.” His voice rose in anger. “Look at you—even now, on your knees, desperate to service my cock.”

Meggie moved toward the door, which was half-open. Her husband stood in the center of the room, arms folded, his back to her. Elizabeth knelt at his feet, face upturned, desire glittering in her eyes. She reached forward and grasped his hips.

Meggie drew in a sharp breath, and Elizabeth’s gaze slid sideways and focused on her. A slow smile spread across her lips. She parted them and flicked out her tongue, running it along her bottom lip.

“Surely you’ve not forgotten the pleasures I’ve given you in this very position, Dexter, darling?” she said. “I offer you such pleasure now, such that you might cry my name and say you love me again.”

“I did not…”

“Everyone knows that you regret being shackled to that little by-blow,” she said. “Who even knows if she’s Papa’s? Any rutting footman could have sired her.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “but she’s my wife, and I’m resolved to make the best of it.”

With her gaze fixed on Meggie, Elizabeth’s smile broadened. “That we must, my poor darling.”

Meggie could bear it no longer. She withdrew, then turned and broke into a run, almost colliding with the footman who’d just arrived to tend to the door.

“Take care, ma’am!”

“Forgive me, I-I must get out…”

He pulled open the door, and she ran outside, almost tripping as she took the steps two at a time.

***

Dexter gazed at the creature kneeling at his feet.

How could he have ever thought her desirable? Spiteful desperation exuded from every pore of her corrupted body. What possessed her to believe that she could conquer him by insulting his sweet little wife, then offering herself like a twopenny harlot?

He’d wondered how far she was prepared to go to degrade herself. But she had surpassed the depths to which even a common a prostitute would plumb.

Bile rose in his throat, and he reached for her. The triumph in her eyes magnified, and she parted her lips. Then he grasped her shoulders and pushed her back.

She fell to the ground and parted her legs.

“You always loved a little roughness to your bedsport, darling,” she said. “I’m glad you’ve rekindled the taste for it.”

“Get up,” he snarled. “You’re making a fool of yourself. You’re worse than your father.”

“Dexter darling, I…”

“I said, get up!” he roared. She flinched at the force in his voice. He grasped her wrist, then yanked her to her feet.

“The sooner you and your father are out of my house, the better.”

“You can’t mean that,” she gasped.

“I mean every word!” he snarled. “Shall I tell your father what a harlot his honorable daughter is?”

“I’ll tell him you violated me!”

“Who do you think he’ll believe, Elizabeth? The son-in-law who can foreclose on his debts and turn him out on the street at a whim, or the daughter who bled his coffers dry to satisfy her greed?” He pushed her to the door.

“Tell him and be damned,” he said. “I care nothing for his opinion of me. But I rather think you care a great deal what he thinks of you. If he believes you sullied, whether willing or not, he’ll marry you off to the first man who’ll take you. And I hear Viscount de Blanchard is prowling the marriage mart.”

Her eyes widened in fear, and he gave her a cold smile at the notion of her being in the power of that fat, sweaty lecher. Her face paled. Were she any other woman, he would have pitied her.

“What must I do?” she asked.

“Pack your belongings and instruct your father to do likewise.”

“What explanation shall I give him?”

“I care not,” he said. “All that matters is that you’re both out of my house within the hour.”

“But…”

“Mr. Billings! Mrs. Wells!” he roared. Elizabeth colored and scuttled out of the study. He followed in her wake and hailed the footman waiting beside the main doors.

“You there! What’s your name?”

“Stephen, sir.”

“Stephen, our guests are leaving,” he said. “Fetch Mrs. Wells, and send Sarah to the mistress’s chamber to let her know.”

The servant glanced toward the doors, then hesitated.

“Are you hard of hearing, Stephen?”

“N-no, sir, but the mistress has gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Outside, sir. She left a moment ago. She seemed