Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,74
busy day and have been looking forward to a quiet evening. Can’t this wait?”
“No,” she said, “it can’t. I should have trusted you. You’ve been nothing but honest with me. I’m sorry, Dexter.”
He drew her close. “I see I must work harder to gain your trust, my love,” he said. “But whatever regrets I have over Daisy, she and I cannot return to how we were before.”
“Yes, you can,” she said. “I believe that if you had the opportunity to see your sister again, you would take it. Can we not visit her?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?” she asked. “We could deliver your letter in person.”
“And if she refuses to admit us?”
“Then at least we’ll have tried,” she said. “Won’t you at least consider it, Dexter? As a favor to me?” She swallowed her guilt and continued. “What better way to gain my trust than to grant me this?”
He cursed under his breath, then caught her chin and tipped her head up until their eyes met.
“Is this what you really want?”
“Yes.”
He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. “Then your wish is my command,” he said. “I’ll do anything you ask in order to prove I’m worthy of your trust.”
He held her against his chest, and she relaxed into his embrace, feeling the steady thud of his heart against her body—a heart that beat for her.
Perhaps, by reuniting him with his sister, she might be able to lessen the guilt of her deception.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As the carriage drew to a halt outside the squat, stone building, Dexter’s wife gave him a smile of encouragement.
This was a bloody mistake. Daisy would turn him away at the door. Meggie would suffer the insult, and he’d be reminded of what a bastard he’d been to his sister when she needed him.
With luck, Daisy was out. But then, his tenacious little Meggie would most likely insist they remain at the Croxleigh Arms until she returned.
He didn’t want to stay another night in that godforsaken inn. The walls were too thin, and though he cared little whether the landlord and the other guests heard his wife screaming in ecstasy as he pleasured her, he didn’t want to subject Meggie to their stares.
Christ—was this what love did to a man?
Meggie had seemed out of sorts for the past few days—ever since he’d caught her in his study. He’d seen her staring out of the window, looking as if she were about to burst into tears—and for the past few meals, she’d not cleared her plate. Perhaps she still felt guilty over being caught with Daisy’s letter. Given her upbringing and treatment at Alderley’s hands, it was no wonder she suffered guilt at almost everything she did.
As for her poor appetite—he smiled to himself over the likely cause. Harold Pelham had told him that Anne had stopped eating the moment she quickened with their first child and that her moods were as interchangeable as a weathercock in a whirlwind.
He took Meggie’s hand and led her to the front door of the cottage. The building next to it bore a sign written in clear, neat letters.
Jon Farrow
Bread and Biscuit Baker
Meggie squeezed his hand in a gesture of comfort. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you.”
He knocked on the door, praying it would be met with silence, but he heard footsteps from within.
The door swung open to reveal a tall woman with black hair and brilliant blue eyes. Small creases lined her face, which was grayer than when he’d last seen her. But she was as beautiful as he remembered—a beauty to torture men’s hearts, he’d said. But in the end, it was Daisy who’d been destroyed.
“Can I help you, sir?” she asked.
He took off his top hat. “Hello, Daisy.”
Her eyes widened.
“I thought I said I never wanted to see you again!”
“Never is a long time.”
“Not long enough for me.” She glanced at Meggie. “So, you’re married?”
“Yes,” he said. “May I introduce you to…”
“Spare me,” Daisy interrupted. “I’ve no wish to be looked down on by you or some fancy heiress.”
“Can we at least continue this conversation inside?” Dexter asked. “I doubt the residents of Croxleigh Green wish to hear our grievances.”
“Of course,” she sneered. “We must maintain appearances. It matters not what’s said or done, as long as it’s behind closed doors. Come in, though I doubt my cottage is grand enough for you and your wife. But the sooner you tell me what you want, the sooner I can disappoint you and send you on