He sat up.
“So that’s why I was so warm!” she exclaimed.
Her husband was fully clothed, and so was she.
“You fell asleep in my arms,” he said, “and I didn’t want to wake you.”
“But your clothes, Dexter! They’re all creased.”
“Yes,” he said, rolling his eyes. “James will admonish me for taking such poor care of my jacket. Apparently, creases are the devil of a job to smooth out on this material. Still, it’ll keep his mind off other things, such as chasing young Francine about.”
“Francine will be kept equally busy,” Meggie said. “I have a tear in my dress.”
“She’ll think I’ve been ravishing you in the drawing room again.”
“Dexter!” She slapped his arm, and he pursed his lips in mock hurt.
He climbed out of bed and crossed the floor to pick up his boots, which he’d kicked off last night. She rolled onto her side and watched. Though he was fully clothed, she knew what every inch of his skin looked like under those tight-fitting breeches.
Facing her, he crouched to pick up his boots, giving her full view of his taut thighs and the bulge in his breeches. He looked up and winked, and she blushed.
“Much as I wish to climb back into that bed,” he said, “I’m afraid I must be going.”
“Are you going to the bank today?” she asked.
He looked away.
“No,” he said. “I have another errand I must accomplish.”
“Will it take long?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “A few days at most. I can’t say any more.”
“A few days?”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Dexter…”
He silenced her with his lips, claiming her mouth in a soft kiss. Then he dipped his tongue inside her mouth in a slow, sensual dance. A groan bubbled in her throat, and he deepened the kiss. She buried her hands in his hair, running her fingers through his thick locks while he devoured her until there was no air left in the room—nothing left in the world except him.
He broke the kiss, and she looked up at him. His eyes were closed, a small bead of moisture in the corners. Then he opened them, and she was lost in the sea of blue.
“I wish every goodbye could be like this,” he whispered.
“Must it be goodbye?”
“I’ll be back before you’ve begun to miss me.”
He rose to his feet, blew her a kiss, then disappeared through the adjoining door, and she heard James’s muffled exclamation.
Not long after, she heard Francine’s timid little knock on the chamber door, and the maid entered. She took one look at Meggie and uttered an exclamation in a similar tone to her husband’s valet, laced with a similar degree of disapproval.
“Madame! Votre vȇtements! Qu’avez vous fait?”
She smiled at her maid’s scolding and stood meekly while Francine undressed her.
By the time she descended the stairs, dressed in a fresh gown, her hair curled elegantly on her head in Francine’s unique style, Dexter had already gone. She passed the mirror in the hallway, barely recognizing the elegant woman in the reflection from the terrified young bride who’d entered the house almost six months before.
But what purpose did it serve—being transformed into a lady, if she did not have her husband by her side?
Where had he gone?
Chapter Thirty-Five
Each time Dexter saw Alderley Hall, he was reminded of the pain that bastard Alderley had caused his family—the lashes on his back, Lilah’s childhood torment, Daisy’s ruination.
And his wife’s heartbreak.
Meggie deserved to know where her child was buried, so she could say goodbye properly. No parent should have to bury their child—but Dexter’s brave little wife had not even been granted that.
And it was time Alderley paid for what he’d done.
Dexter leaned out of the carriage window and hollered at the driver. With the crack of the whip, the carriage increased in pace and rattled along the road to the hall, the place where Dexter hoped he’d find all the answers.
Alderley must have spotted him coming. Before he reached the main doors, they opened, and a heavily-built footman stood in the doorway.
“The master’s not at home.”
“Did he tell you to say that?” Dexter asked.
The man’s eye twitched, and Dexter laughed. “If you’re going to serve your master properly, you need to be a damn sight better at lying.” He pushed past the footman. “Alderley!” he roared. “Come out, you bloody coward!”
“Sir, I hardly think that’s proper,” the footman said.
“Do I look like I care for propriety?” Dexter demanded. He gestured to a door. “Is that the morning room? I’ll wait in there. If your master prefers to remain not at home, I shall return to London straight away and issue proceedings to foreclose on his debts. The next visitors to Alderley Hall will be the bailiffs.”
Without waiting for a response, Dexter strode into the morning room. The colors looked faded, the curtains frayed, and a distinct smell of damp lingered in the air. A decanter, almost empty, sat on the bureau at the far end of the room. He lifted it up, pulled out the stopper, and sniffed.
Brandy—a cheap one, at that. He set it down, leaving fingerprints on the glass body. He rubbed them together. A thin layer of dust covered his skin, and he wiped his hands on his jacket.
Was this what his old enemy had been reduced to? A crumbling house and a single, thuggish servant?
He approached a chair beside the empty fireplace, then thought better of it when he spotted a dark stain on the seat.
“What do you want?” a voice asked.
Alderley stood in the doorway. He seemed to have aged since Dexter had last seen him. His jacket hung on his frame, and his skin had a grayish pallor as if the evil from within had finally surfaced to rot his body. He leaned on a cane, claw-like fingers curling round the tip.
“Is that how you address family?” Dexter sneered.
Alderley gestured to the chair. “Won’t you sit?”
“I’d rather not,” Dexter said. “I’m not here for tea. Or…” he glanced at the decanter, “...whatever you have which attempts to pass for brandy.”
“Then, why are you here?”
“I’m here about the child,” Dexter said.
Alderley’s eyes narrowed. “What child?”
“Your grandson.”
“I have no grandson.”
Dexter folded his arms. “Must we continue this game?” he asked. “I refer to my wife’s child. The one you took from her.”
Alderley sighed, then shuffled into the room and sat on the stained chair. Dexter could almost hear his joints creak.
“How should I remember what I did?” Alderley asked. “It was nearly ten years ago.”
“So, you did take her child away from her.”
“I did not…”
“Come, come,” Dexter said. “You’ve as good as confessed. You profess to be a man of honor—why not do the honorable thing and tell me the truth?”
“The truth!” Alderley scoffed. “Why should I give the likes of you such favor?”