Page 27 of The Dravenhearst Brides

Mr. Merrick Dravenhearst,

Excuses, excuses. Case in point: you missed our last.

That’s two strikes. You don’t want a third.

Don’t be late.

—A

The creaking of floorboards woke her. The slow, deep groans of a century-old wooden house resting in the still of night.

Margot didn’t move, hardly dared breathe, but she did crack an eyelid. Merrick was there, at the foot of the bed. Slipping into a pair of pants. Tucking in his shirt.

He was dressing. Going out.

She could hardly believe it. Going out in the dead of night, while she—his wife—lay right here in his bed. After he’d promised, mere hours ago, she was safe with him.

Had this man no shame?

Merrick turned his back to her, sliding open a drawer with a whisper. He tucked something shiny into his waistband, shrugging into a jacket immediately after.

One breath later, the room was empty. His footfalls were soft, hurrying down the hallway.

When Margot exhaled, she breathed fire. She could almost see sparks and smoke curling from her nostrils. She sat up in bed, drumming her fingers on the mattress.

A liar. That was who she married. A liar and a cheat.

She continued the slow, rhythmic drumbeat of her fingers. She had options. Her mind cataloged them, increasing in order of escalation.

Pack her things this instant and leave.

Lie in wait to confront him upon return.

Storm outside right now and raise holy hell.

Look for his gun, every good Kentucky man had one, and…

And what?

The growl of the roadster roared to life, and suddenly, Margot was running. Bare feet. White nightdress. Hair unbound. Running through the halls of the manor, down the stairs, her nightgown ballooning behind her.

She flung open the front door just in time to see Merrick slamming the lid over the rumble seat.

“Merrick!” She flew down the steps of the portico, blinking in the harsh glare of the headlights.

“Margot?” He froze where he stood, one hand hovering over the storage latch.

She had half a mind to walk over and slap him. Hard, right across his obnoxiously handsome, stubbled cheek. She summoned every ounce of gumption she had, took four leaping bounds, then raised her hand to strike. “How dare you!”

His reflexes were like lightning, catching her hand before it landed.

“You filthy, rotten, lying piece of—”

“Whoa.” He stumbled away from her. “Margot, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” she shrieked, pointing an accusatory finger. “How could you? Tonight, of all nights. When you promised…you promised to stay with me. To keep me safe.”

“Margot, I have an obligation tonight. One that can’t be rescheduled.” His tone was measured. Resigned.

“An obligation?” She laughed sardonically, tipping her head back. “Is that what you gentlemen call it these days?”

“Call what?” His brow furrowed.

“Stop acting innocent. I’m so sick of your lies. You’ve done nothing but lie to me since the night we met.”

A thunderous scowl overtook his face. He turned his back on her, striding to the driver’s door. “That’s unfair, and you know it. I don’t have time for hysterics right now. We’ll discuss this in the morning when you’re ready to speak calmly. And rationally.”

Hysterics? Oh, this man hadn’t seen hysterics yet.

Margot opened her mouth and screamed. It was shrill and feral, ringing out through the night.

It stopped him dead in his tracks, his shoulders hunching in a flinch. “Goddammit, woman. Are you trying to wake the entire Bluegrass?”

“Maybe if I scream loud enough, she’ll hear me. Where does she live, your little harlot? Does she know you’ve gone and gotten yourself married? Or are you lying to her too?”

“Hold on.” He turned to her, eyes wide. “You think I’m going to a woman tonight?”

“I’ve seen you,” she hissed, moving along the body of the car opposite him. “I’ve seen you sneak out to meet her a half dozen times since our wedding night. Is nothing sacred to you? Not even marriage vows?”

He lifted a finger. “I’ve not broken a single vow I made to you.”

Margot yanked open the passenger door. “Oh, really? Then I suppose you won’t mind if I come along for the ride?”

“Margot, no.”

“Go ahead, Merrick. Gas ’er up. Take me to where your little mistress lives. I’d love to meet her.” She plopped herself in the passenger seat and crossed her legs. She wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t make her.

“I told you, there’s no woman. Heckin’ hell!” He ripped open his door, pausing to check his wristwatch. “You need to get out of the car. Now.”

“No.” She folded her arms. He’d have to drag her out kicking and screaming—and oh, how she’d scream.

“Get out of the car, Margot,” he bellowed.

She’d never heard him raise his voice like that, not to her. The look burning in his eyes was like kerosene, volatile and liquid. Rigged to combust.

She struck a match. “I won’t.”

He let out a scream of his own, raw frustration. “I can’t bring you with me.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

With another exasperated roar and glance at his watch, Merrick took his seat behind the wheel, slamming the door behind him. “Then you better hold on tight. We’re running late.”

As Merrick pulled out of the drive, the tires screeched. Margot was thrust backward, her hair blowing in the wind. He drove like a man possessed, whipping the roadster around winding country roads, fast and hard enough to make the rear tires squeal. Fishtailing.

She’d forgotten he drove like a maniac.

“How far?” She broke the silence.

“Fucking far,” he grunted. “Get comfortable.” He reached behind his back, tugging at his waistband. A silver-barreled revolver glinted in the moonlight. He rested it on his thigh.

“What is that for?” Margot asked, eyes widening with fear.

Oh God, she’d made a terrible mistake. He was going to kill her, wasn’t he? Drive deep into backcountry and dump her body in a shallow grave. For the crows and vultures and maggots to find. Her bones would rot, grow mold, turn to dust. He was going to—

“You’re asking the wrong questions,” he snapped. “I would never hurt you. I don’t have a mistress, and I’m sure as hell not cheating on you, Margot. I’m fucking celibate.”