Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,73

prospect of meeting the man who’d ruined her, each week, was too much to be borne—and it carried the risk of her being seen. But how could she persuade her husband to part with a thousand pounds?

***

The afternoon stretched into evening, and Dexter hadn’t returned home yet. Alone, with nothing but her imagination for company, Meggie grew restless. What was Georgie planning? Would he carry out his threat if she didn’t give him the money? And would Mr. Peyton tell Dexter he’d seen her with a man?

At length, her fears got the better of her, and she made her way into Dexter’s study where he kept her pin money. She knew she only had to ask for it, but what if he asked what she wanted it for? She’d struggle to lie convincingly, especially to a man such as Dexter, whose striking blue gaze could penetrate her soul.

Her heart thudded as she slid open the top drawer of his desk. Her husband valued trust and honesty above all, and she’d pledged her honesty several times. But she quaked at the thought of him discovering that she’d borne another man’s child—he’d made his views abundantly clear on the matter.

A sheaf of notes was stacked neatly in the drawer. She picked it up and counted them. Just over ninety pounds. It wouldn’t silence Georgie for good, but it was enough to buy his silence for a week.

She spotted an envelope in the drawer with directions penned in Dexter’s bold, clear hand.

Mrs. John Farrow

London Lane

Croxleigh Green

Hertfordshire

The envelope was unsealed. With trembling fingers, she opened it. A note was inside covered in Dexter’s handwriting, together with five-pound notes.

While she suffered guilt from deceiving her husband, was he deceiving her also?

“Margaret?”

She squeaked at the voice and looked up.

Dexter stood in the doorway. He lowered his gaze to the envelope in her hand.

“That’s a private letter,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

“I haven’t read it.”

“I should bloody well hope not.”

“I-I was looking for something,” she said.

He folded his arms and waited. The silence stretched like an empty vat waiting to be filled.

“I needed my pin money,” she blurted. At least that was the truth.

“What for?”

“Must I give a reason?”

“Of course not, but it doesn’t explain why you have my private correspondence in your hand.”

“I…” she broke off, unwilling to continue.

“Well?”

She dropped the letter in the drawer. “I was merely curious,” she said.

“You were a little more than that.” Disapproval lined his features, and she found herself irritated. He was accusing her of snooping, yet he had a secret of his own.

“Who’s Mrs. Farrell?”

He narrowed his eyes. “So, you have read it.”

“Only the direction,” she said. “Why do you send her money?”

“If you suspect me of something, Margaret, pay me the courtesy of saying what it is.”

Unwilling to voice her fears, she shook her head. “I-I don’t know…”

“But I do,” he said, anger flashing in his eyes. “What would you say if I told you that despite pledging my honesty to you, I was sending money to a mistress behind your back? Or, perhaps, that I had sired a by-blow and was funding the brat’s education? Is that what you wish to hear?”

“No, of course not!” she cried.

“Good God, woman, what the devil do you take me for?”

He closed his eyes and wiped his brow. When he opened them again, the anger had been replaced by disappointment.

“Mrs. Farrow is my sister, Daisy,” he said. “She doesn’t have much, and I send her money from time to time. You’re at liberty to read the letter if you require proof.”

She picked up the letter, and he set his mouth into a hard line, then she set it down again. “No,” she said. “I don’t want proof.”

“Then what do you want, Margaret?”

“Nothing. I-I’m sorry, Dexter, I shouldn’t have assumed…”

“No,” he said. “You shouldn’t.”

“Do you want to visit her?”

He sighed and shook his head. “She wouldn’t welcome it.”

“Not even now, you’re married?”

“She doesn’t know.”

“But if you write…”

“I send her money,” he said. “That’s all. Daisy belongs to a different world, and long ago made it abundantly clear that she had no wish to reside in mine. I see no reason to burden her with tales of my life when I was responsible for ruining hers.”

Meggie’s heart ached to see the pain in his eyes. She approached him and took his hand. He stiffened, then relented, and she curled her fingers round his.

“You care for her,” she said. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“Margaret, I’m tired,” he said. “I’ve had a