Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,70
she’ll never stop. But, she does write pretty verse.” He smiled, his focus shifting as if remembering happier times. “We used to exchange verses when we were children.”
“You write poetry also?” Meggie asked. “I had no idea what a talented family I’ve married into. You should be the talk of the town.”
The scowl resumed. “I’m nothing,” he said.
“I refuse to believe that,” she replied. “If you value yourself, then others will see your worth. I’ve only known you a few minutes, yet I can see there’s more to you than you care to reveal. In that way, you’re very much like my husband.”
“Like Dex?”
“Exactly,” she said. “He would have the world believe that he doesn’t care. And, in the world he inhabits most of the time, there’s no room for emotion. But when he comes home to me…” she smiled to herself, “…then, he reveals his heart.”
“Well!” he said. “You’re the last woman I’d have expected Dex to choose.”
For the second time, she found herself wanting to ask him whether he meant to insult her or her husband.
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “I meant no insult,” he said. “I don’t make pretty speeches. After all, what right do I have to understand beauty?”
“As much right as anyone else,” she said. “Perhaps—if it’s not too bold to suggest it—you might permit me to inspect your scar? I might be able to do something for it.”
His smile disappeared. “You find me repulsive? Do you offer your services in order to lessen the discomfort you feel when looking at me? I have the remedy for that, madam.” He reached for his mask, and she caught his hand.
“No, she said. “I only offer my help in order to lessen your pain. It matters not what others feel.”
He let out a bark of laughter.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“I never would have believed that the most heartless of all the Harts would find such a compassionate mate,” he said. “Did he court you with gentle words? I wish I’d been there to see it!”
“It wasn’t his decision,” she said, her cheeks warming. “He was tricked into a marriage he didn’t want. Did you not hear the gossip?”
“Where gossip’s concerned, I’m more the subject than a participant,” he said. He took her hand. “Forgive the incivility of a bitter old soldier. For all that Dex is an arse, he has one defining characteristic.”
“Which is?”
“Loyalty,” he said. “Stay true to him, and he’ll remain by your side until he draws his last breath.”
He kissed her hand. “But, on no account must you tell my brother I’ve said that. He’d be unbearable if he knew.”
“Knew what?” a new voice said.
Dexter stood in the doorway.
***
As soon as Dexter spoke, his brother turned to face him. It had been a long time since he’d seen Devon unmasked. The scar on his face was more extensive than he’d remembered.
Guilt needled at him. In a world where appearance ranked above loyalty, he’d abandoned the care of his brother in the pursuit of his goal to ally himself and Delilah with the nobility.
But what had caused him to stop short in astonishment was the fact that his younger brother was smiling. The man who’d not smiled or laughed in years.
Devon lifted his mask and set it in place.
“There’s no need to do that, brother,” Dexter said.
Devon ignored him. “Good day, sister,” he said. “I’ll leave you in your husband’s care.”
“Don’t go on my account,” Dexter said.
“You can’t order me about,” Devon replied. “Not like you did with Daisy, or how you tried and failed with Lilah. There’s only Thea left, now. Will you ruin her life as well?”
“Dev…”
“Save your breath,” Devon said. “I’m not interested. But let me say this, you’ve driven all of us away. Don’t make the same mistake with your wife.”
He bowed to Meggie. “Ma’am.”
After Devon had left, Dexter took his wife’s hands. “I trust he did nothing to upset you.”
“No,” she said. “I like him. I should like to know him better, and…” she hesitated, “…the rest of your family.”
“You’ll see Dorothea when she returns from visiting Delilah in Scotland,” he said. “Lilah herself, I expect, at some point in the future.”
“And Daisy?”
“I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”
As if to lessen the blow of his outburst, he gave her a lopsided grin. “Let us speak of better things. What the devil is that furball sitting in cook’s vegetable basket in the front hallway?”
“I saw Anne Pelham today.”
“And she furnished you with a little friend. Does he have a