Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,78
dress tonight,” she said.
His nostrils flared, and he drew in a sharp breath. She moved closer, and her body pulsed as she felt him. The longing had turned into need.
“It’s time we put it to use again, husband. Together with the brandy.”
He closed his eyes, and a low growl rumbled in his chest.
“Then, wife,” he whispered, his voice a low rasp of need, “you shall have anything you wish.”
Three sharp raps sounded on the door, the calling card of the housekeeper, and he withdrew.
“Bloody woman!” he said through gritted teeth. “Why does she always come at the most inopportune moment?”
“I suspect she wishes to discuss the menu,” Meggie said.
“Then I’ll leave you to it.”
He approached the door and opened it. Mrs. Draper stood in the doorway and dipped into a curtsey.
“Mr. Hart, sir…”
“Yes, yes.” He waved his hand at her. “My wife’s all yours.”
Meggie ushered the housekeeper in and listened to her prattle on about the venison stew. But she struggled to hear, for Georgie’s words rang in her ears.
A whore can charge what she likes if she’s prepared to degrade herself.
Tonight, she had prostituted herself to obtain money from her husband.
***
“Bloody hell, Peyton, must we continue this damned game?”
Meggie’s husband sat at the chessboard, brandy glass in hand. The pieces were positioned exactly as they had been at Molineux Manor.
“Didn’t you finish that game?” she asked.
“No, dear lady,” Mr. Peyton said. “And I’ve upped the ante. The victor now stands to gain one thousand pounds from the loser. I cannot understand why your husband won’t concede.”
“Because to surrender is a weakness,” Dexter said. “All games must be played out to the bitter end. If you don’t have the stomach for the kill, then you’ve no right to play.”
“Are you talking about chess, my friend, or life?”
“I’ll leave that for you to decide, Peyton.”
“Perhaps I might assist you?” Meggie asked.
Dexter folded his arms while he studied the board.
Mr. Peyton chuckled. “Look at the pieces as long as you like, Hart, but the game’s over, and you know it.”
“Be quiet!” Dexter growled.
“You see, Mrs. Hart?” Mr. Peyton said. “Your husband isn’t entirely perfect, for he has one fatal flaw.
“Which is?” Meggie asked, not daring to look at the expression on Dexter’s face.
“He’s a sore loser.”
Dexter shot to his feet and scraped his chair back.
“Very well,” he said. “Consider the money a bonus for all your hard work this past twelvemonth.”
Mr. Peyton’s smile slipped. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Begging your pardon, ma’am.” He nodded to Meggie.
“Is this how you save face, Hart, by saying you intended to give me the money anyway?”
“Perhaps,” Dexter said.
“You see, Mrs. Hart?” Mr. Peyton laughed. “See how your husband snatches victory, even in defeat?”
Meggie took the seat Dexter had vacated and studied the chessboard.
“May I play?” she asked.
“You wish to take my place?” Dexter asked.
“Why not? If you’re resigned to losing, then there’s no harm in it.”
“There’s little point when you know so little about the game,” he replied.
She smiled to herself. This was one secret she’d enjoy revealing.
“Very well,” Dexter said. “Do what you can, provided my friend doesn’t object.”
“Would you use your wife to play on my gallantry in an attempt to win?” Mr. Peyton asked.
“I expect no special favors,” Meggie said, “not because of my sex, or…” she glanced at her husband, “…my inferiority of birth.”
To his credit, Mr. Peyton blushed. “Forgive me. I meant no disrespect.”
She gestured to the pieces. “Then let us proceed.”
She moved the white queen across the board.
“Check,” she said.
Mr. Peyton shook his head, sympathy in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’d like to be kind, but there’s one thousand at stake.”
“What did I say about not wanting any special concession?” Meggie asked.
“Very well,” Mr. Peyton sighed. “Hart, your wife demands fair play.” He picked up his knight, moved it to the queen’s position, and knocked the queen sideways.
“Knight takes queen.”
“Never mind, my dear,” Dexter said. “Chess is a complicated game. You made a good effort. Shall I pour you a brandy?”
“No,” she said.
“But you always have a brandy at this hour.”
“I mean, no, you were in an impossible situation.” She picked up a bishop and moved it one square along the diagonal.
“Checkmate.”
Mr. Peyton leaned forward and studied the board.
“I’ll be damned.”
Meggie rose to her feet, and the men followed suit.
“I find I’m a little tired,” she said. “Would you gentlemen excuse me?”
“Not without explaining what you just did,” Mr. Peyton said. “Or did lady luck hand you the victory?”
“I think it was down to my lady wife, rather