“Five hundred guineas is a lot of money,” she said. “I may fear my husband, but I’d rather ask him to give the money to Mrs. Preston’s school than to you.”
“You ungrateful little bastard!” Alderley’s voice had risen in pitch, “When I think of everything I’ve done for you!”
Fearing for his wife’s safety, Dexter broke into a run.
“Everything you’ve done?” she cried. “You sold me to your enemy to pay off your debts, with no regard for my safety or happiness. And as such, I no longer belong to you—I am the property of Dexter Hart.”
Dexter reached the drawing room and burst through the door.
“What the devil’s going on here?” he roared.
His wife and Alderley stood in the center of the room. Alderley’s face was a bright shade of puce, and he looked as if he was going to have a heart attack at any moment. Beside him, Margaret’s face was ashen. Her eyes widened as Dexter approached her.
“My daughter and I were having a private conversation,” Alderley said.
“A wife should not have secrets from her husband,” Dexter replied. “I’m sure there was nothing you said to her, which I shouldn’t be a party to.”
“Dexter,” Margret pleaded, “I…”
“Margaret, I think you should retire,” Dexter said. She flinched at the sharpness in his voice, but he needed her out of the room so he could deal with Alderley himself.
He took her hand, squeezed it, and then bent his head, placing his mouth near her ear.
“Trust me,” he whispered. She glanced at her father, then back to Dexter, and nodded. The trust in her eyes was almost his undoing. How could she place such faith in him—merely because he’d asked her to?
He waited until she exited the room before addressing his father-in-law.
“You’re to leave my wife alone from now on,” he said, his voice flat and even. “And if I hear of any harm coming to the school at Blackwood Heath, I’ll deal with the perpetrators in such a manner that they will regret their actions until they draw their last breath.”
Alderley paled with anger but at least had the good sense not to argue.
“Is what I have said in any way unclear?” Dexter demanded.
“No.”
“And I trust you’ll abide by your promise not to molest my wife further?”
“I promised, didn’t I?” Alderley snapped. “I’m a man of honor and will abide by my words.”
“Good,” Dexter said. “Then I suggest we retire and forget this conversation took place. We can at least be civil to each other for the remainder of your stay. But once you’re gone, any request to set foot on my property again should come through me, and not my wife.”
“Very well,” Alderley said. Not bothering to bow, he swept past Dexter and disappeared down the corridor.
Ye gods! The Alderleys had not been here a full day, and they had already disrupted his marriage.
He made his way to his wife’s chamber at the back of the house. There was no sign of life inside, not even the flicker of light under the door. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.
The curtains were drawn, and a shaft of moonlight stretched across the room.
She was in bed, her face illuminated in the moonlight. She looked like a woodland sprite—too pure for the mortal world.
She had already fallen asleep—though whether from wine or exhaustion, he didn’t know. Her dress was thrown over the chair's back by the dressing table, together with one stocking. The other lay at his feet on the floor. He picked it up and brought it to his lips. As if she sensed him, she sighed, then rolled onto her side.
He hadn’t the heart to wake her. She’d had enough of an ordeal for one day, to be woken by the man she professed to fear.
Her confession had unsettled him. A stern man he might be, but he always believed himself to be fair. True, he relished the notion that his rivals feared him. Fear was often enough to garner victory before the battle began. It prevented opponents from besting him and servants and employees from swindling him.
But when it came to Meggie—he didn’t want her fear.
He wanted her trust.
And her love.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Meggie adjusted her jacket and climbed down the stairs. Elizabeth would, most likely, look down her long, elegant nose at her attire, but Meggie would never understand the need to wear a different dress for each hour of the day.
The modistes—or whatever they were called—must have been fooling their customers for decades. By cutting gowns and jackets to a slightly different style and fashioning jaunty little hats trimmed with feathers, they’d got away with charging double the price by labeling the ensemble a ‘riding habit.’
She made her way to the stables and found Ralph adjusting the harness of the gray mare. He lifted his golden head and smiled.
“Mistress Margaret, you look lovelier each day.”
“It’s not my appearance I’m concerned with,” Meggie replied, “but whether I’ll fall flat on my face in front of my husband and our guests. They look down on me enough as it is.”
“Then they’re fools,” Ralph said. “Here, let me help you up.”
She took his hand, grasped the saddle with the other, and placed a foot in the stirrup, as he’d shown her. Then she launched herself off the ground. He clasped her waist, and for a moment, she felt him squeeze her thigh.
Then he took the reins and led her across the courtyard where two riders waited. Dexter sat astride an enormous black stallion. His charcoal-gray jacket fitted his form perfectly, complemented by black lapels and hat to match the horse’s pelt. His breeches left nothing to the imagination, hugging his thighs, and his muscles rippled as he steered his mount toward her.
Next to him, Elizabeth sat atop the steward’s gelding. She wore a habit of bright blue velvet, a military-style jacket with black trim, and a hat topped with an enormous bright blue feather that curled around the brim. Her habit's color emphasized her eyes, and her hair shone in the light of the morning sun.
They looked the perfect couple.
Elizabeth took one look at Meggie in her plain gray jacket and dress, and her mouth curled into a smile of triumph. She surpassed Meggie in beauty and elegance. And she knew it.
“Ah, sister dearest,” she said. “I was beginning to worry you might never join us. I trust the ride won’t be too taxing for you.”
“I’ll manage,” Meggie replied.
Dexter’s lip curled into a smile. “You sit well in the saddle, my dear,” he said.
Elizabeth’s mouth creased into a scowl. “That she does, Dexter, darling, but I intend to do more than just sit this morning. I’ve been looking forward to a good, hard ride with you, but fear my sister is unable to maintain our pace.”
Ralph came around the corner, astride a brown gelding, and Dexter’s smile disappeared.
“Is that one of the coach horses?”
“Aye, it is, master. He takes a saddle well.”
“And you saw fit to accompany us this morning?”
Meggie recognized the flare of anger in her husband’s voice, but Ralph seemed oblivious.
“Begging your pardon, sir, I’m here to accompany the mistress.”