“I-I wonder,” she said. “Might I ask…”
Her voice trailed away as his head snapped round. She closed her mouth and swallowed.
He raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“Might I ask how far we are from our destination?”
“We’re going to my house in London.”
“I don’t know where that is.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed. For a moment, his expression softened. “I take it you’ve heard of London,” he said, not bothering to wait for a response. “It’s twenty miles from Alderley Hall.”
He turned his head away again.
“How long will it take to…”
“It’ll take as long as it takes,” he interrupted gruffly. Then he hesitated and narrowed his eyes as if in concentration. “Forgive me,” he said. “Would you remind me of your name?”
If she required further proof of her irrelevance, he had just given it.
“Meggie,” she said.
“What the devil’s sort of name is that?”
“Margaret Frances Alder,” she said. “Shall I write it down for you? I can write, you know.”
His eyes flashed, and he leaned forward. She shrank back, and he shook his head and sighed. “With your permission, I shall call you Margaret,” he said. “I cannot abide by an excess of formality.”
She could hardly refuse, for he’d spoken it like an order, rather than a request.
“And,” he said, “my name is…”
“Dexter William Hart,” she finished. “With your leave, I shall call you husband.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Unless you’d prefer sir,” she said. “Or my lord. Or master.”
His eyes darkened. “You’re my wife, not my servant. And I dislike formality. You may call me Dexter.”
“Husband, it is.”
His mouth twitched, and for a moment, she thought he might smile. A twinkle flashed in his eye, a glimpse of the sun hidden behind a thundercloud, which strived to break free.
Then his expression returned to that of indifference, but she now saw it for what it was, the outer shell of a man who concealed his thoughts from the world. Once again, she struggled to understand how Alderley could have bested such a man at cards.
But was indifference worse than anger? Anger implied that she was, at least, worthy of notice.
Back at Blackwood Heath, she’d served a purpose. She’d made a difference to the lives of the children at Mrs. Preston’s school, and Mr. Clayton had appreciated her help.
But the man before her needed no one, least of all Meggie. At best, she was an inconvenience—at worst, a constant reminder of how Alderley had duped him.
The poor end of the bargain.
A tear splashed onto her cheek. She turned her head to conceal her expression and wiped away the tear.
“Margaret.”
She jumped at the harsh tone in his voice but fixed her gaze on the wall of the carriage.
He sighed, and his voice softened. “It seems as if our marriage—and whatever the circumstances, we must call it such—has not begun well.”
He paused as if waiting for a response, but she remained silent. If she spoke, her voice would betray her despair.
“We must make the best of it,” he said.
She closed her eyes as another tear spilled onto her cheek.
He sighed.
“I’m no fool,” he continued. “You’re as reluctant about this arrangement as I. But I consider myself a fair man. I’ll ask nothing of you, other than you abide by the vows you uttered today. I know little of your capabilities, but provided you treat me with respect, I see no reason why we cannot find a suitable degree of contentment in the situation in which we find ourselves.”
His words, spoken in the manner of a business proposal, might have deepened her despair eight years ago. But she’d learned the hard way that the passionless words of a man who disliked her were preferable to the pretty speeches of a man bent on seducing her.
She summoned the courage to look at him. Clear blue eyes stared uncompromisingly at her. Her skin tightened under his frank appraisal, unburdened by social niceties. Raw power vibrated beneath the calm, controlled exterior.
He had no need to seduce. The air around him vibrated with vitality and virility, a mesmerizing power as addictive as any drug. Most likely, businessmen fell over themselves to gain his approval, and women competed to secure his attention.
Her cheeks warmed under his gaze, and her body flushed, sending heat to other parts. He lowered his gaze, and a little pulse of need throbbed deep inside her as if invisible fingers caressed her skin. The breath caught in her throat, and she turned away.
His eyes elicited a secret thrill, the prospect of awakening new sensations…
“Do we have an agreement?” he asked.
“Y-yes,” she said. “I will abide by my vows. And…” steeling courage, she looked at him again to prove she was not afraid, “…and you shall abide by yours.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Then we have an agreement,” he said. “Above all things, I value the truth. In business and,” he gestured toward her, “in a marriage. Abide by that, and I’ll give you no cause to regret our union.”
She leaned back and relaxed, only then realizing she’d been tensing her body. Perhaps there was hope after all.
“Tell me what happened to your wrist, Margaret.” A flicker of compassion gleamed in his eyes.
Instinctively, she reached for her sleeve and pulled it down to conceal the bruise—evidence, as Alderley had said, of her willfulness and disobedience.
The last thing she wanted was her husband’s pity.
And what had Alderley said?
He’ll have you horsewhipped…
“I-I sprained it,” she said. “I slipped and fell.”
Almost at once, his expression hardened, and he sat back, curling a hand into a fist.
He hadn’t inquired out of compassion. He’d been testing her honesty.
And she had failed.
Chapter Seven
Dexter opened his pocket watch and checked the time.
Again.
Where the devil was she? Hadn’t she understood the need for punctuality? Not to mention the fact that he was starving.
He looked up as he heard a noise. Still in her wedding gown, she stood at the top of the staircase with the posture of the unrefined.
It was worse than he thought.
He held out his hand. “Come here, then.”
She hesitated, then descended the stairs and took his hand. Her little fingers were ice cold, and for a moment, he was struck by an overwhelming need to warm them. Then, propriety recalled, he grasped her wrist with his free hand and placed her hand on his arm.
The color rose in her cheeks, but she said nothing, and he led her into the dining room and escorted her to a chair at one end of the table, then took his seat at the opposite end.
A footman entered, brandishing a tureen of soup.
“Do we have guests?” she asked.
“Whatever for? I hardly want to be accompanied on my wedding night.”
“W-what about your family?”
“My sisters are currently residing in Bath,” he said, “and my brother chooses to live elsewhere. We are alone.”