Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,64

said. “I doubt she’ll be interested in our game.”

“My, my, you have changed! The parson’s noose has done you good if you’ve gained the inclination to be considerate.” Oliver rose to his feet. “And here’s the lady in question.”

Margaret stood in the doorway, discomfort in her expression as she looked from Oliver to Dexter and back again. But Oliver, with his easy charm and grace, approached her and issued a deep bow.

“Charmed, Mrs. Hart,” he said. “I’m delighted to see you looking so well. I had feared for your well-being after you were shackled to this reprobate…” He gestured toward Dexter, then lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “…but I believe that, despite appearances to the contrary, a flesh-and-blood heart might lurk inside that overly broad chest of his. What say you?”

She gave him a shy smile and held out her hand, and Oliver lifted it to his lips.

Dexter rose to his feet.

“That’s enough, Peyton,” he said. “Despite your manifest charms, I fear my wife is immune to them.”

“Not completely,” she said.

“Nevertheless.” Dexter offered his arm. “Shall we dine?”

She flashed him a quick smile, and he squeezed her hand in encouragement.

You’re looking well.

And she was. Mrs. Wells had worked a miracle, concealing the bruise on her face, and the Alderleys’ departure had restored her confidence.

***

It was plain to see that Oliver Peyton was smitten with Dexter’s wife.

But the man posed no threat. He reminded Dexter of himself a few weeks before, when he’d visited Harold and Anne Pelham and had felt like an outsider among a loving couple. But tonight, Dexter was part of the couple, and Oliver the outsider.

Dexter’s wife rose to her feet, and the two men followed suit.

“I’ll leave you gentlemen to your brandy.”

“No, let us accompany you,” Dexter said.

“But custom dictates…”

“I think we can dispense with formalities tonight,” Dexter said. “I would not have you lonely.”

They retired to the drawing room. Oliver crossed the floor to the chessboard and set out the pieces.

“Can’t that wait until tomorrow?” Dexter suggested, glancing at his wife.

“Do not desist on my account,” she said. “I’d like to watch.”

“Very well,” Dexter said. “Do you remember what I showed you—about how pieces move?”

She smiled, and he swore he saw mischief in her eyes.

Oliver needed no further encouragement. He was clearly eager to win his fifty guineas. He set out the pieces, moving them in a position to resume their game.

Dexter studied the board. As he’d remembered from when they’d reached this point before, his white pieces were surrounded by Oliver’s black ones. Any move he made would result in losing a significant piece, and Oliver had already taken both his castles and one bishop.

“I have you stumped!” Oliver said. “What shall I spend my fifty guineas on?”

“How about some humility?” Dexter growled.

Oliver chuckled. “You should concede the game now, rather than wait for me to move in for the kill. At least then, you save face by telling yourself you might have had a chance.”

Dexter gritted his teeth in frustration. A slim hand was placed on his shoulder, and a gentle fingertip caressed the skin of his neck.

“Husband, might I make a suggestion?”

“Go ahead,” he said. “The game is lost.”

“Why not move your queen?”

“Where to?”

“There.” She pointed across the board. “You’ll place the king in check.”

“No, that won’t work,” Dexter said. “His knight can take my queen. I’ve lost enough pieces as it is.”

“Very well.” She withdrew and took a chair beside the fireplace.

Oliver followed suit. “Perhaps you’re right, Hart,” he said. “We’ll conclude our game another time. Your poor wife won’t want to witness the endgame unless she’s a patron of blood sports.” He nodded toward the pianoforte in the corner of the room. “Do you play, Mrs. Hart?”

She colored and shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

“Accomplishment is overrated,” Dexter said, noticing her stricken expression. “I find there are other qualities to be valued in a wife.”

A smile danced in her eyes. Perhaps she might trust him after all.

Perhaps she might not be averse to him visiting her chamber tonight.

***

Dexter listened at the chamber door, hearing soft footsteps and the rustle of linen. He closed his eyes and imagined his wife, slipping her naked body between the sheets. He hardened almost immediately, catching his breath.

When silence fell, he opened the door.

The room was dark save for a solitary candle. His wife lay in the bed, the sheet drawn up to her chin, staring at the canopy.

“Meggie.”

She sat up, eyes widening.

“Dexter?”

“May I join you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I had hoped…” She averted