Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,7

But where he’d once hardened at her touch, his skin only tightened in revulsion.

“You cannot want to marry that little harlot,” she pleaded. “Think of your reputation! You’ll be a laughing stock, tied to a woman of no parentage.”

“She’s your sister,” he said, shaking off the offending hand. “You have at least one parent in common.”

“She’s a whore.”

Elizabeth’s voice bore all the cultivated brittleness of a lady, but the coarse expression gave her voice a shrewish tone.

He pushed her aside and strode to the front of the aisle where the vicar stood, waiting. Oliver joined him, and he stood, motionless, staring straight ahead.

The chapel clock struck two, and the doors creaked open, then shut with a bang. The vicar straightened his stance and gave a sigh of relief. Sharp, confident footsteps approached, accompanied by a lighter, softer footfall, moving at an irregular pace, as if their owner were being dragged along.

It seemed the bride was as reluctant as the groom.

“I’ll be damned!” Oliver cried. “Guttersnipe she may be, but she scrubs up well.”

“Spare me the humor,” Dexter growled.

“I’m not jesting,” Oliver replied. “Of all the indignities this union has piled upon your head, I can think of several women who’d be a worse prospect for warming your bed.”

“Perhaps you’d care to take my place.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Oliver laughed. “But it looks as if your reputation has preceded you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never seen a woman so miserable.”

Dexter could no longer resist the temptation. He turned and caught sight of his bride.

Chapter Four

“Do nothing to disgrace my name,” Alderley said. “Do you hear?”

He leaned forward. “I’ll hear you say it, girl.”

Wilkes gripped Meggie’s wrist until tears of pain stung in her eyes.

“Yes, Papa.”

Alderley’s eyes darkened at her flash of defiance. But if she were to be sold as chattel by virtue of being his daughter, then the devil take him if he expected her to address him by his title.

Wilkes released her, and she slumped back in her seat as the carriage swayed to and fro en route to the chapel.

For the past week, she’d been living in a cottage on the Alderley estate, hidden from the main house. Wilkes attended her daily. Her ‘personal footman,’ Alderley had described him. In reality, he was her gaoler, threatening her with punishment if she tried to flee—a punishment he’d carried out with relish.

Instinctively she pulled her sleeve down. The delicate lace cuffs on her bridal gown almost obscured the bruise on her wrist.

Alderley had made it plain that he’d have Mrs. Preston’s school burned to the ground if she defied him.

The carriage halted outside the chapel. Wilkes climbed out, pulling her with him, and led her to the chapel door.

“Give her to me, Wilkes,” Alderley said. “Remain by the door in case of trouble.”

He glanced at Meggie, and she lowered her gaze. What was the point in causing more trouble? It would only earn her another bruise.

Alderley took her wrist and squeezed the bones together.

“Remember what I said,” he hissed.

She nodded, and they set off down the aisle.

A lone woman sat in the front pew, dressed in a crimson gown, and matching wide-brimmed hat. It must be Meggie’s half-sister, the honorable Elizabeth. She glanced over her shoulder, a sneer on her face, then resumed her attention on the front of the chapel.

Four men stood at the end of the aisle, including the vicar, holding an open bible in his hand. Meggie recognized the man to his left as Alderley’s steward. The other two had their backs to her. As Alderley pulled her along, her feet tripping as she tried to keep up, one of them turned and looked at her.

He had an open, expressive face, framed with light blonde hair. Soft, brown eyes crinkled into a warm smile, and she could have wept with relief. Her fears had been unfounded. Friendly, welcoming, and kind—before her stood a man with whom she had a chance at happiness.

He nudged his companion, who turned and stared at her.

The second man stood half a head taller. Thick, dark hair framed angular features. Dark brows formed a slash across his face. His mouth, full and sensual, creased into a scowl. Cold blue eyes fixed on her, anger in their expression. She shivered as if all warmth had been sucked out of the air.

He looked as if he lived in perpetual shadow as if a thundercloud hung continually above him.

In short, he looked the very embodiment of the devil.

A cold slab of ice solidified in her stomach,