QUEEN OF MY HART
by
EMILY ROYAL
Chapter One
“Oh, I say, bad luck, Alderley! The bounder must have cheated to best you like that—but considering his origins, we shouldn’t expect anything less.”
Dexter glared at the speaker. Viscount de Blanchard had a reputation for snobbery—among other, less palatable, traits, and, like most of the room, loathed Dexter for nothing more than his humble birthright. After all, what right had the grandson of a blacksmith to attend a society party?
The man across the card table wore a gray pallor. And well, he might. For tonight, Dexter had relieved his enemy of his fortune.
His plan was working. One final move and victory would be his. He cared little for the money. His eye was on the real prize—the woman standing demurely beside her father—the honorable Elizabeth Alderley.
Honorable in title, if not in behavior.
And when Dexter finally took possession of her, he’d use her title to further his business where titles drew investors as surely as carcasses attracted flies.
He lifted his gaze, and Elizabeth’s eyes met his. Her eyes had been described as captivating, but they held a calculating expression as if continually searching for the outcome which best suited her, and to hell with anyone standing in her way.
She curled her lips into a smile—red lips, which she scraped her teeth over to give them a swollen look she clearly imagined to be attractive to the opposite sex.
Foolish woman. Once she became Dexter’s, she’d discover who the true master was in their relationship. She had used her sexuality to increase his need for her, and he’d willingly played along, taking pleasure from her administrations.
Elizabeth would make the ideal wife, for he’d never be at risk of falling in love with her. And he’d enjoy teaching her humility. All those nights she’d given him the cold shoulder to increase his desire, every instance of her flirtations with others to incite his jealousy…
He would teach her what it was like to be on the receiving end of her games — then she’d find out how a true master of seduction operated. Her need would be his plaything. To toy with, to pay her back for how she’d tried to play him.
And to pay her father back for the humiliation Dexter had suffered at that man’s hands—to see Alderley willingly give his precious daughter to the boy he’d once spat on in the dirt.
“Mr. Hart?”
Their host’s voice returned him to the present.
Dexter pulled out his pocket watch, making a great show of staring at it, then he yawned and snapped it shut. “I’m afraid I must be going. I had no idea how late it was.”
He rose to leave. Elizabeth’s smile slipped, and she narrowed her eyes. He’d seen that look on her before—aimed at a servant she admonished, and, lately, directed at Dexter himself as her way of showing disapproval.
She nudged Alderley, and the older man glanced up, a flash of irritation in his eyes. Dexter smiled to himself. If it were any man but Dexter Hart, Alderley would be glad to rid himself of his daughter. At twenty-six, and on her fifth season, with a reputation for being a shrew, she was heading for spinsterhood.
“Papa,” she prompted.
“I have nothing else to wager,” Alderley said. “Everything else is entailed. The bastard’s cleared me out.”
Dexter drew back his chair and stepped away.
“Wait!” Alderley cried. “Give me a chance to win it back.”
“What with?” Dexter asked.
Alderley’s shoulders slumped. “You cannot leave when I have nothing,” he said, a plea in his tone. “Have mercy, for pity’s sake!”
Why was it that the worst bullies turned into sniveling wrecks when bested?
A ripple of unease threaded through the room. Dexter glanced across to where Earl Stiles stood next to their host, a look of disapproval on his face.
But neither man knew the root of the hatred between Dexter and Alderley. Neither knew the scars he bore as a result of the beating he’d sustained as a boy at that bastard’s hands. His back still itched at the memory of the lashes.
Fifteen years was a long time to wait for vengeance on the man who had almost killed him.
He closed his eyes, reliving the memory of the lash slicing into his flesh.
Have mercy, sir!
Mercy! To a filthy brat? You deserve all this and more!
Dexter resumed his seat. “You beg for mercy, Alderley?” He sneered.
“I’ll do anything to win it back!” Alderley cried.
Dexter leaned forward and drummed the table with his fingers.
“There is, perhaps, one thing you might care to wager…” He hesitated, then shook his head. “No—it’s foolish of me to mention it.”
Alderley’s eyes grew bright with desperation. The fish had caught sight of the bait. All Dexter need do was reel him in.
“Tell me,” he said.
Dexter picked up his brandy glass, took a slow sip, then set it down. The room fell quiet as every pair of eyes focused on him. “Very well, Alderley,” he said. “One turn of the card. If you draw high, I’ll return your stake.”
“And if I lose?”
“You’ll give me your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
An expression of horror crossed Alderley’s face.
“M-my daughter?”
“Yes.” Dexter savored his enemy’s horror. “Her hand, with your blessing, delivered to me in front of as many witnesses as I choose, to acknowledge your eagerness to welcome me into your family.”
Elizabeth feigned surprise and gasped, but hunger glittered in her eyes. Their host barked an order, and a footman rushed forward and refilled Alderley’s glass. The old man took it and drained it in a single gulp, then spluttered, his face growing red with rage.
“How dare you!”
Dexter shrugged. “You’re under no obligation, Alderley. I care not either way.”
Alderley glanced at his daughter and narrowed his eyes.
“I’m prepared to be generous,” Dexter continued. “If you lose, I’ll return a portion of your funds in recognition of your daughter’s worth. Shall we say five hundred guineas?”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, letting the idea sink in—that he’d just offered to buy Alderley’s daughter as if she were a commodity.
The trait which served him best in business was patience. The winner in any business deal was the party with less need for it. With countless creditors snapping at his heels, Alderley was at a disadvantage. Dexter merely needed to wait for him to acknowledge it—to himself and the whole company.
Alderley stared at the table for a full minute. Then he lifted his head and met Dexter’s gaze.
The expression in his pale blue eyes was that of sly triumph.
“Very well, Hart,” he said. “We have a deal. One turn of the cards. Highest wins. I’ll wager my firstborn child’s hand in marriage.”
Something about his expression gave Dexter a feeling of unease, as if Alderley had the advantage.
“Not yet, Alderley,” he said. “Your pledge must be legally binding.”
“I hardly think we can draw up a marriage contract tonight,” Alderley scoffed.