As if ashamed he’d revealed his feelings, he patted her hand and rose from the bed.
“We should dress for breakfast, or Peyton will begin to wonder what we’re doing.” He shot her a mischievous grin. “But, given how you screamed my name last night, he’ll be a simpleton if he doesn’t know.”
He moved across the floor, his naked body exuding the casual, easy grace of a panther. Then he turned his back, and she let out a cry.
A crisscross pattern of scars covered the flesh.
“Dexter—your back!”
He picked up his shirt and slipped it on.
“Forgive me,” he said. “It’s been so long. I sometimes forget they are there.”
“Do they trouble you?”
“Sometimes in the cold weather, they itch a little. The only trouble they give me is knowing that the man who administered them was never brought to justice. I had to seek my own retribution.”
“Who was he?” she asked.
He sighed and averted his gaze. “Can’t you guess?”
Her wrist ached in memory of Alderley’s vice-like grip, the day he’d instructed his brutish footmen to discipline her.
“My father,” she whispered.
He nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Few people know.” He narrowed his eyes as if in pain.
She reached out and caught his hand. “Will you tell me now?”
The bed shifted under his weight as he sat on it. “There’s little to tell,” he said. “It happened when I was nine years old when we lived in the shadow of the Alderley estate. My sister Lilah was caught up in a scrape involving Alderley’s son and his friend. They caught her playing in the woods and tormented her. She came home, crying, bruised, and scratched. She’s always been a tough little fighter—more than a match for two boys. But I couldn’t let it rest. Our parents had died, and Lilah was my responsibility. I demanded an audience with Lord Alderley.”
He shook his head. “I was naïve enough to believe we lived in a fair world and that men in authority understood the difference between right and wrong.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“Alderley accused me of spreading lies about his son and had me thrashed.” He closed his eyes, furrowing his brow. “Twenty lashes, and I remember every one. They say the pain can be borne, provided the skin doesn’t break. Alderley broke the skin on the second lash. After that, all I saw was blood. I thought that if I focused on the blood at my feet, I could forget the pain. But I failed. I was weak—and for months afterward, all my dreams were filled with blood and fire.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry.”
He covered her hand with his own and caressed it, then met her gaze. Her heart almost broke at the vulnerability in his expression.
“Even now, I cannot bear the sight of blood,” he said. “The slightest drop and I find myself unable to breathe.”
“Then, when you cut your hand, the day after our wedding…”
“It took all my strength not to pass out,” he said. “But you were there, with your soft voice and kind hands, despite how afraid you must have been that day.”
He lifted his lips into a smile, and his eyes sparkled. “I think, even then, I was already beginning to fall in love with you.”
She took his face in her hands and pulled him to her for a kiss.
“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me,” she said. “It must have been hard for you.”
“No, not hard,” he whispered. “I find it the easiest thing in the world to trust you, Meggie.
He held his palm up, his fingers splayed out.
“Take my hand.”
She took it, and he interlocked his fingers with hers. He tightened the grip until his fingertips dug into her hand, and she did likewise.
“Let us pledge, here and now,” he said, “that there shall be no more secrets from each other. As a mark of our faith—and love.”
She nodded, and he captured her mouth in a kiss. Then he rose from the bed.
“You have no idea how much it means to me, Meggie, to have someone in this world I can trust completely.”
He blew her a kiss and disappeared through the adjoining door to his chamber. Not long after, she heard the murmur of voices as his valet helped him dress.
He trusted her—he loved her!
But the thrill in knowing that he did, was tempered by the fear that he’d discover her secret—the secret she dared not tell him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A light breeze rippled in the trees as Dexter strolled alongside the Serpentine, his wife on his arm. Though he received the occasional haughty stare, many of the couples they passed were civil enough to exchange a word or two.
Each time someone drew near, his wife’s hand tightened its grip on his arm. Though he took pleasure knowing she viewed him as a source of strength, he also knew that she needed to learn to weather London independently.
And a public excursion was the best way to achieve that.
“How are you bearing up, my dear?” he asked.
“It’s not as bad as I feared,” she said. “Some of the people are quite friendly. I particularly liked the tall lady with the red hair.”
“Countess Stiles,” Dexter said. “The earl was the first of the upper ton to bank with me.”
“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” she continued. “I couldn’t begin to compare to her in a ballroom.”
“Nonsense!” he said. “You’ll outshine them all in your new gowns.”
She blushed. “You’ve been far too generous, Dexter,” she said. “First the school, then the gowns…” She shook her head. “As for the pin money, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with it.”
That morning, he’d taken her to Madame Dupont’s and ordered three day dresses, three evening gowns, and a riding habit. Silencing his wife’s protests over the expense, he’d explained to the modiste that every whim should be catered to. Madame Dupont, with her easy charm and maternal nature, took Meggie under her wing, and soon, his little wife’s shyness had disappeared. The two women spent the morning chatting as if they were old friends, while Madame’s assistants took Meggie’s measurements. They were to return for a fitting in a week, and Dexter found himself looking forward to the simple pleasure of spending a morning in a shop with his wife.
His former self would have laughed at him for being a milksop. But he lifted her hand to his lips, not caring whether the other occupants of the park saw what a happy man he was.
“Your pin money is yours to spend as you wish,” he said.
“But I have everything I want. Can’t you keep it, then I’ll ask if I want money?”
“You shouldn’t have to ask,” he said. “But if you prefer, I can set it aside for you.”
“I’d like that,” she said. “After all, you’re a banker, so it makes sense for you to employ your skills at home. Perhaps you’ll grant me a little interest each quarter day.”
She smiled up at him, mischief twinkling in her eyes.
Yes, he was a very happy man, indeed.