The Prizefighter’s Hart by Emily Royal

Chapter Twenty-Four

The carriage drew to a halt, and a diminutive woman stepped out, dressed in a fashionable gown of bright orange.

“Welcome to Sandiford Manor, Lady Hart,” Griffin said, offering his hand. She looked up and smiled.

“Thank you, Mr. Oake.”

Griffin’s wife stood in the doorway next to Rowe.

“Meggie!” she cried.

“Thea!”

The two women ran toward each other and embraced.

Tears of joy ran down Dorothea’s face. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

Dear Lord—was his wife that unhappy?

“And I, you, darling Thea,” Lady Hart said. “What a beautiful house you have! Are you happy here?”

“I’m well, Meggie, as you see,” Dorothea said.

Not very encouraging.

Lady Hart glanced toward Griffin. “I trust you’ve been taking good care of my sister, Mr. Oake.”

He shuffled on his feet uncomfortably. Did every woman in this damned family wish to chew his balls off? What could he say? That his wife was unhappy, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it?

“Of course he’s taking care of me, Meggie!” Dorothea exclaimed. “He’s a good husband.”

There was a little too much insistence in her voice. But if Lady Hart noticed it, she gave no sign.

“You must show me around, Thea,” she said. “If this house is half as beautiful on the inside as it is on the outside. I shall be obliged to call it the most delightful house in the kingdom.”

She looked at Rowe. “You must be Rowena—how delightful!”

Rowe had stood, fidgeting in the doorway, while Dorothea embraced her sister. Now, under Lady Hart’s scrutiny, her mouth downturned into a scowl. She looked like a thundercloud about to break.

But Lady Hart was not to be deterred.

“Thea’s told me so much about you, Rowena. I feel I know you already.”

A ripple of panic crossed Rowe’s expression, and she glanced at Dorothea, who let out a laugh. “There’s no need to worry, Rowena. Meggie’s not Mrs. Ellis.”

“Ugh—Mrs. Ellis!” Lady Hart wrinkled her nose. “She sounded a right miserable old hag. I’ve met women like her. All prim and proper but an evil old witch beneath all that respectability—there’s plenty to be found in London.”

“Are there?” Rowena asked.

“They’re like rats,” Lady Hart said. “You’re always within ten feet of one.”

“But unlike rats, they’re not so easily disposed of,” Dorothea laughed.

Griffin’s skin tightened at the mirth in her voice. She threw back her head, and her eyes sparkled in the sunlight. She was a beautiful creature when she smiled like that!

Lady Hart offered her free arm to Rowe. “Would you join us for tea?”

Rowe glanced at Griffin, uncertainty in her expression. Then she lowered into a curtsey.

“Lady Hart, welcome…”

“Oh, that’s enough of that!” Lady Hart laughed. “I’d like to think among friends I never have to hear that awful name. Lady Hart! Makes me sound like a fat, dowager fossil.”

“How should I address you?” Rowe asked.

“Aunt Meggie will do nicely.”

“Aunt Meggie?”

“Why not? On your papa’s marriage, you gained a new family—and I’m one of them. Now—take my arm. Perhaps you’d be so kind as to show me around.”

To Griffin’s relief, Rowe smiled. She took the proffered arm, and the three of them went inside. After giving instructions to Will to take Lady Hart’s trunk to her chamber, Griffin followed in their wake.

*

“Would you likesome coffee, Lady…I’m sorry…Aunt Meggie?”

Griffin watched as Rowe reached for the coffeepot. The lid rattled—the only indication of her apprehension.

How did she come to be so civil? Not a single profanity for the whole of the day! As for dinner—he’d never seen such table manners.

“I trust you’ve had a pleasant afternoon, Lady Hart,” Griffin said.

“Wonderful, thank you,” she replied. “I found the picture gallery particularly interesting.” She winked at Dorothea, who smiled back.

He couldn’t remember ever seeing his wife this relaxed. Not even at her brother’s house in London.

“Supper was delicious, Thea,” Lady Hart said. “Steak’s so difficult to cook—all the more because it has the illusion of being easy. I must commend the excellence of your cook.”

“Rowena oversaw supper tonight,” Dorothea said. “Mrs. Morris acted under her direction. Didn’t she, Rowena dear?”

Rowe blushed and smiled.

“Then you’re as talented as Thea said in her letters,” Lady Hart said. “My sister’s not prone to exaggeration, but I have to admit a little skepticism when I read her letters. I hardly dared believe such a paragon existed.”

Rowe glanced at her stepmother. “You wrote good things about me?”

“Her letters are full of you, my dear,” Lady Hart said. “I’ve so looked forward to meeting you—and I cannot wait for you to come to London.”

Rowe picked up a plate laden with shortbread and handed it to Lady Hart, who took one and placed it on her saucer.

Griffin’s heart fluttered. Ye gods! Was that the one shaped like…

Dorothea let out a squeak, but Lady Hart seemed not to notice. She sunk her teeth into the end of the shortbread, and Griffin winced as he felt a twinge of pain in his groin.

Rowe let out a snort, and she lifted her hand to her face as if to hide her smile.

Bloody hell.

“I can’t wait until Madame Dupont sees you,” Lady Hart said.

“Who’s she? A French teacher?”

“She’s a modiste—she makes dresses. She’ll rave over you—I can imagine her now, as soon as she sees the color of your eyes.” Lady Hart threw out her hands in an exaggerated gesture and wiggled her nose. “Ooh la la! Chocolat liquide!”

Dorothea laughed. “You look like a squirrel, Megs! Madame doesn’t speak like that—or twitch her nose.”

“I dare say she twitches her nose a good deal when Easton takes his unfortunate wife to see her.”

“Easton?” Rowe asked. “Who’s that?”

“The Duke of Easton,” Dorothea said. “The stench of cabbage always lingers around him.”

“And a cloud of flies,” Lady Hart added.

“So, he’s found someone to marry him?” Dorothea asked. “Not that dreadful Francis creature! What was her name—Sarah? Atalanta loathes her.”

“And well she might. She gave me the cut direct when I first came to London,” Lady Hart said. “Not that I mind—I’d hate to feel obliged to be civil toward her.”

“You couldn’t be uncivil if you tried, Meggie, darling.” Dorothea smiled. “Leave that sort of thing for Lilah.”

Rowe let out a yawn, then she gasped. “Do forgive me!”

“No—you must forgive us,” Dorothea said. “Your Aunt Meggie and I have so much to catch up on.”

“Come along, Rowe,” Griffin said. “We’d better leave these two ladies to their gossip.”

Dorothea colored and rose “Griffin, I…”

He placed a light hand on her shoulder. “I was jesting,” he whispered. “I know how fond you are of your sister-in-law, and I also know that you’re too considerate to demand to be left in peace to spend time alone with her.” He stroked the skin of her neck with his thumb.

“Let me grant you that peace.”

She looked up and rewarded him with a smile.

“Thank you.”

It was the first time she’d turned her smile on him—a genuine smile of gratitude and pleasure.

It was a smile that touched his heart.

And if he could, he’d see that smile on her face every day for the rest of his life.

*

“Another shortbread, Meggie?”

Thea leaned across the picnic blanket and handed her sister-in-law the plate. Meggie was to be at Sandiford less than a week. The days had flown by, and Thea only wished she could stay for longer.

“They’re delicious,” Meggie said. “Though I can’t say the shape would be acceptable in Dexter’s drawing room. Imagine the look on Lady Cholmondeley’s face!”

“Or Lord Cholmondeley!” Thea giggled. “It might give him a sense of inferiority if he held it against his breeches.”

“Really, Thea, you’re getting quite crude!” Meggie laughed. “I’m seeing a different side to you here. I don’t know whether it’s because you’re now mistress of your own home, or…” A tone of mischief entered Meggie’s voice, “…whether it’s due to that husband of yours.”

“Griffin?”

“He’s quite something,” Meggie said. “He seems friendlier than he was in London. And he’s easy on the eyes, of course. I swear I saw that woman salivating in church on Sunday.”

“What woman?”

“The one who looked like she’d stepped in a cowpat,” Meggie said. “You said she once owned Sandiford Manor?”

“Lady Gillingham?” Thea shrugged her shoulders. “I take little notice of her.”

“She wrinkled her nose as soon as she saw me.” Meggie sighed. “No doubt the story of my birth has reached her. I was half-hoping she’d insult me to my face to give me leave to reciprocate. But perhaps it’s for the best. One must never call another woman a sharp-nosed old sow—at least not in church.”

Thea giggled. “You’re quite irreverent, Meggie, do you know that? Nothing like the timid creature Dex brought home to London. Don’t tell him I said so, but Dex is good for you—and you are for him, of course.”

“I could never have imagined I’d be so happy!” Meggie said. “Sometimes, I wake up in the morning and wonder if it’s all a dream. Then I feel the bed move, and he’s right beside me.”

“He…” Thea hesitated, unwilling to let the jealousy bleed through into her voice, “…he visits you every night?”

Meggie colored and nibbled on her biscuit. “Forgive me. It’s not done to speak of such things.” She gestured toward the house.

“You must be happy here,” she said. “At least I can reassure Dexter on that front. Your husband adores you.”

“Does he?”

Meggie sat up. “You don’t see it?”

Thea shook her head. The tears, which always seemed just out of reach, now threatened to make an appearance.

“Oh, Thea!” Meggie cried. “You must have noticed the way he looks at you? And—if you’ll permit me to speak of such things—the surest way to tell whether a man wants you is how often he visits your bed.”

Thea turned her head away and focused her attention on the apple tree at the entrance to the orchard. The blossom, tiny dots of pink, gave a soft contrast to the pale green leaves. If the warm weather continued, there would be plenty of apples to fill the cold store.

A light hand touched her arm.

“Thea? Have I said anything wrong?”

Thea shook her head. “No, Meggie. It’s my fault.”

The confusion in Meggie’s eyes turned to understanding.

“He’s not visited you, yet?”

“No,” Thea said. “Did you have to invite my brother to your chamber?”

“When have you ever known Dexter wait to be invited? He knocks loudly, then crashes through the door, regardless—but your husband is different.”

“Is he?”

Meggie laughed. “Of course! Despite having the appearance of a primitive, Mr. Oake is far less likely to take what he wants than Dexter. He lacks that streak of ruthlessness. But he’s a fool to leave you alone. Perhaps he’s shy.”

“Shy? A man like Griffin?”

“Big, powerful men often are,” Meggie said. “And when they value the prize, they become flustered in the struggle to attain it. I dare say your husband thinks you’re too much of a lady for him, so he has no idea what do to with you.”

“But he’s my husband!” Thea burst out. “Why doesn’t he just take what he wants?”

“Do you want to be taken?”

An uncomfortable heat bloomed in Thea’s face. Her face must be as red as the strawberries they’d eaten last night for supper.

“There’s no shame in wanting your husband to make love to you,” Meggie said.

“And how do I achieve that?” Thea asked.

“You must seduce him!”

“Like a wanton?” Thea asked. “Did you have to seduce Dexter?”

“Not at first,” Meggie said. “But I soon learned that he takes much pleasure from being seduced—and gives me much pleasure in return.”

Thea blushed again. Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire.

“Thea! Do I embarrass you?”

Thea shook her head. “No—I just wonder why you never said anything before, about…” she hesitated, bushing again, “…about relations between a man and a woman.”

“You’re married now,” Meggie said. “Before, I saw no reason to speak of something which you might never experience.”

“I might still never experience it.”

“Nonsense!” Meggie cried. “Your husband just needs a little encouragement.”

“Like what?” Thea asked. “How do you encourage my brother?”

Now it was Meggie’s turn to blush. She leaned toward Thea and lowered her voice, though there was nobody around to hear them. Rowena was in the kitchen helping Mrs. Morris—she’d promised to bake a pie for supper before Meggie left for London tomorrow—and Griffin was in the yard, chopping wood.

“Sometimes I strip for him,” Meggie whispered.

“Strip?”

“I remove my garments. Not all at once—he takes pleasure in what he cannot see. A man possesses a vivid imagination where a woman’s body is concerned.”

“You think I should strip for my husband?”

“Not all at once,” Meggie said. “Start with your…” she glanced over her shoulder, “…start with your breasts.”

Thea drew in a sharp breath and lifted her hand to her throat. “My…”

Meggie nodded. “Dexter loves to caress them—and you cannot believe how much I like it. The sensations he brings about are quite astonishing. My whole body comes alive, not only with the sensation but with anticipation of what’s to come.”

Thea’s breath caught in her chest. “Oh, dear,”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Thea. You have a lovely figure, though you keep it hidden. You should be proud of your body.”

“Pride is a failing, Meggie,” Thea said. “It leads to an exaggerated opinion of one’s worth.”

“That’s vanity, Thea darling, and you’re the least vain creature I know. There’s nothing wrong with taking pride in your body.”

“I have no wish to make myself look pretty for a man,” Thea said.

“A commendable philosophy,” Meggie said, “but with one failing.”

“Which is?”

“It leads to self-loathing. You must love yourself for others to love you. There’s nothing wrong with having confidence in who you are.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a slattern,” Thea said.

Meggie threw back her head and laughed. “A slattern! You’re the last person in the world I’d call slatternly.”

“Nevertheless, I doubt I’ll be able to seduce my husband.”

“All you need is a little courage,” Meggie said. “Something to soften the hard edges of inhibition. I suggest brandy.”

“Brandy?”

“Or whisky, if you’re averse to drinking your husband’s brandy. I know Lilah gave you a bottle when you married. Or does your husband keep his liquor under lock and key?”

“He hardly touches it,” Thea said. “I’ve never seen him drink, except a little wine at mealtimes. He showed no interest in Lilah’s whisky. In fact, it’s still in my chamber.”

“Excellent!” Meggie said. “All you need do is drink some, then you’re ready to seduce him.”

“How much should I drink?”

Meggie shrugged her shoulders. “Two—maybe three glasses? Enough to swell your courage, but not so much as to lose your reason.”

“Will it work?”

Meggie laughed. “Of course it will! If a man looks at a woman the way your husband looks at you, all you need do is show him a little flesh, and then he’ll be under your spell.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to do anything I’d regret.”

Meggie took Thea’s hand and kissed it. “Trust me,” she said. “When you’ve discovered the pleasures of making love, the only regret you’ll have is that you didn’t do it sooner.”

*

“The carriage isready, Lady Hart.”

“Thank you, Will. You’ve looked after me admirably during my stay.”

Griffin watched as the young man blushed, then scuttled outside to wait beside the carriage. Will was smitten with Lady Hart.

She was no ordinary society woman—and she was all the better for it.

As was Griffin’s wife.

During Lady Hart’s stay, Dorothea had never seemed happier. Rowe, too, had relaxed in their guest’s company, her initial shyness having disappeared as soon as Lady Hart had taken her into her arms and kissed her warmly on both cheeks. One couldn’t help being disarmed by her innocent charm. Sir Dexter was a damned lucky bastard.

As was Griffin.

They reached the carriage, and Rowe approached Lady Hart, a parcel in her hand.

“Something for your journey, Aunt Meggie.”

“I hope it’s something sweet,” Lady Hart replied. “Four hours in a carriage is too long to go without something to eat.”

“It’s shortbread,” Rowe said. “I made it myself. There’s enough for you and Sir Dexter—and your children.”

Oh no…

The last thing Griffin wanted was Sir Dexter in a rage when he opened the packet to find cock-shaped biscuits.

“My favorite!” Lady Hart cried. “I trust you’ve fashioned them into interesting shapes?”

Rowe had the grace to blush—the little hellion!

“I’ve cut them into stars and flowers,” she said. “I thought the children would appreciate them.”

Beside him, Thea visibly relaxed and exhaled. She met Griffin’s gaze, and he winked. The smile she rewarded him with ignited a flame that threatened to burst in his breeches.

“I mustn’t open them until I’m home,” Lady Hart said with an exaggerated sigh. “Once I do, I’ll not be able to stop eating them—and Dexter would be most disappointed.”

“My brother can weather a little disappointment,” Dorothea said. “It wouldn’t do for him to get his own way all the time.”

“But,” Lady Hart said, “if I return with a little treat for him, then he’ll reward me in other ways.”

Was he imagining it, or did her eyes glimmer with a hint of wickedness? Did this innocent-looking little thing hide a passionate heart?

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Dorothea said.

“It’s not forever,” Meggie replied. “You’ll be coming to London very soon. And, Rowena, my dear, don’t forget, you’re to address my husband as Uncle Dexter.”

Dorothea giggled. “I hope I’m there to see his face when that happens!”

“Oh dear,” Rowe said. “Perhaps I oughtn’t.”

“You most definitely ought,” Lady Hart said. “My husband might growl at strangers, but among family, he’s gentler than my pug—though I wouldn’t recommend setting him on my knees, and I know for a fact that he dislikes being scratched behind his ears.”

“Meggie!” Dorothea laughed again.

Bloody hell! Did she do it deliberately to ignite Griffin’s passions until he could no longer contain them? If she threw back her head one more time to laugh—exposing that long throat of hers, and stretching her gown across her breasts—he’d spend in his breeches like a teenager in a brothel.

As it was, he could see her ripe, round form through the thin fabric of her gown—the delicate turn of her ankles, moving up to her beautifully proportioned calves, then widening out into shapely thighs, which begged to be parted…

Lady Hart turned her attention to Rowe once more.

“Don’t forget, my dear, as soon as you arrive in London, you must go straight to Madame Dupont to see about your wardrobe. Then I’ll introduce you to my friends. Lady Stiles is charming, and she paints excellent likenesses. Would you like to sit for your portrait?”

“I don’t know,” Rowe said.

“I’m sure your likeness would do a much better job of gracing the portrait gallery here at Sandiford,” Lady Hart said. “The Gillingham family were a gruesome-looking lot, were they not? I daresay the beard I spotted on Lady Gillingham’s portrait was a marked improvement, seeing as it hid all those chins.”

Rowe giggled, and Lady Hart embraced her. “My children will adore you.” She turned to Griffin. “Billy is eager to meet the famous Mighty Oak—my brother Devon has spoken of little else. I’m afraid you’ll find yourself obligated when you come to London.”

“Obligated?” he asked.

“You promised to teach him an uppercut—not that I know what that is.”

“It’s a move during a fight,” Dorothea said. “A punch which travels upward at force and connects with the chin.” Her tone grew breathless, her eyes bright. “When executed properly, it can fell an opponent with a single blow. It can only ever achieve success at close range, so it requires daring as well as skill.” She let out a sigh. “I’ve never seen anything so magnificent. I…”

She broke off and blushed.

Dear Lord—the passion with which she’d spoken—it was enough to drive a man wild with need! It wasn’t the feigned interest that doxies used in order to secure coin. It was the raw, unbridled passion of a woman who took pleasure from the mere physical prowess of another.

Lady Hart cleared her throat. “I can see why Devon wishes to master the move,” she said. “And now, I must take my leave. I don’t want to be on the road when it’s dark.”

She held out her hand to Griffin, and he kissed it.

“I look forward to seeing you in London, Mr. Oake,” she said, her face taking on a note of steel. “Dexter is most anxious to see you again—to be assured that you’re taking good care of Thea. Now—permit me to say goodbye to my sister.”

Considering himself dismissed, he bowed, then stepped back. Lady Hart drew Dorothea into her arms.

“’Til we next meet, darling,” she said. “Courage.”

She whispered something, and Dorothea glanced at Griffin, then nodded.

Then Lady Hart climbed into the carriage, and it set off. Before long, the hoofbeats had faded into the distance.

“Come along, Rowena,” Dorothea said, her voice catching. “Shall we take a turn round the garden before supper? I’m sure those strawberries we spotted yesterday will have ripened enough to be picked.”

Rowe took her arm, and they disappeared into the garden.

What had Lady Hart whispered into his wife’s ear when they parted?

Griffin thrust his hands into his pockets and returned to the house. The tension in his body needed to be eased—and what better way than to spend the evening chopping wood? With luck, the physical exertion would take his mind off the burning need to bury himself between his wife’s thighs.