Queen of my Hart - Emily Royal Page 0,86

offer of sanctuary,” Devon said. He let out a mirthless laugh. “She thought you’d seek retribution if you knew I’d helped her. She knows you well.”

Dexter itched to wipe the sneer off his brother’s face.

“Where is she!” he roared.

“Losing your temper won’t win her back,” Devon said. “Leave her be until you’ve calmed down unless you want to lose her.”

“I must speak with her,” Dexter said. “She’s my wife.”

“Think of her needs, not yours,” Devon placed a hand on Dexter’s shoulder and squeezed it.

“Trust me, brother,” he said. “Go home.”

Devon turned his back and loped off down the road, as silent as a phantom. In a matter of moments, he’d disappeared into the shadows.

Dexter thrust his hands into his pockets. It was bloody freezing. He turned round and made his way back to the house.

“I say, Hart!” a familiar voice cried.

Was the whole world abroad tonight?

Harold Pelham was running toward him. “There you are!” he cried. “I’ve just been to see you.”

“About what?”

“Your wife.” He clutched onto Dexter’s shoulder and bent over, gasping for air. “I’m going to be in so much trouble.”

“Dear God!” Dexter cried. “Is she hurt?”

“N-no…” Pelham drew in a deep breath. “I’ve not run that fast in years…”

“Pelham, are you all right?”

“Not all of us have your physique,” Pelham said. “I ran all the way here. Your housekeeper thought I was going to expire on your floor.”

“What the devil’s going on?” Dexter asked.

“Your wife’s safe.”

Thank the Lord!

“Why do you look so distressed?” Dexter asked.

Pelham grimaced. “Because I’m going to get my ballocks chewed off for this. Anne swore me to secrecy.”

“Over what?”

“Your wife’s with us,” he said. “I pray Anne will forgive me, but you have a right to know.”

“Then I must go to her.”

A hand clasped his arm.

“Don’t go in like a charging bull, Hart, or I’ll regret telling you.”

“Then why did you tell me?” Dexter sneered. “To keep your banker sweet?”

“You can be an utter arse sometimes, Hart,” Pelham said. “I’m telling you because you’re my friend.”

“Has she told you what happened?”

“She was very distressed when I saw her, but my Anne will coax the truth out of her with kindness. You should try it.”

Dexter’s cheeks warmed with the notion of the gentle Mrs. Pelham knowing his business.

“Have you done something to be ashamed of?” Pelham asked.

When Dexter didn’t respond, his friend patted him on the shoulder.

“I’d advise you to take the gentle approach,” he said. “It’s better to use a sweet bait to snare the woman you love.”

“Love?”

Pelham laughed. “You may lack self-awareness, but the rest of us can see that which you’re blind to.”

“You returned to London a changed man,” he said. “The only difference was that you had that sweet woman by your side. For the first time, I saw you look upon another human being with tenderness. If that’s not evidence enough, then the fear in your eyes tonight, followed by the relief when you realized she was safe, would convince even the most hardened cynic of how deeply you love your wife.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Dexter asked.

“Come back with me now and talk to her,” Pelham said. “You’ll be doing me a favor, for I’ll need someone to share the brunt of Anne’s anger.”

“Your wife can curse me all she likes,” Dexter said, “as long as she releases my wife back into my care.”

“I wish you luck, my friend,” Pelham said. “I wish us both luck.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

“Another cocoa, Meggie, dear?”

Meggie shook her head and stroked the pug on her lap.

“Lady Guinevere has taken a liking to you,” Anne said. “Titan looks a lot like her,” she continued, setting her embroidery aside. “He has a patch of white fur under his chin, just there…”

She leaned over to tickle the pug’s chin.

“Who’s mama’s good girl, then?” The dog gave a little yap, and Anne laughed. “All right, you can have a treat, for you’ve taken good care of my friend tonight.” She glanced at the clock over the fireplace. “It’s getting late.”

“Would you rather I left?” Meggie asked. “I have no wish to impose or cause trouble between you and Mr. Pelham.”

“Harold does what I tell him,” Anne said. “But I think it’s time to retire.” She took Meggie’s hand. “Things will look better in the morning.”

The door opened, and Harold Pelham appeared.

Anne rose to her feet. “Is all well, my love?” she asked. “You look out of sorts.”

That he did, hair disheveled, face flushed, his expression could almost be described as guilty.

A shadow moved behind him, and Anne recoiled.

“Harold!