Page 86 of A Lady's Heart Deceived
“Why?”
He brushed his hand over the top of her glorious raven mane. Because Maggie was more than just her name. This woman had stormed into his life in a fury, swiftly laying claim to his heart. He had been hers from the very first day. And it meant she would always be more.
“I don’t know how to put it into words—perhaps that’s why it might take me some time to come up with a suitable term. All I know is that you have changed my life. Given it back to me.”
Maggie’s smile grew tremulous. Tears shone in her sapphire eyes. “You can’t possibly imagine for one minute that it hasn’t been the same for me. I was lost before you. My heart had shattered into a thousand pieces. But you put it all back together. Made me whole again.”
“I think I have the right words now. Nothing clever—just pure, honest emotion. From my heart. Maggie Denford, you are my love.My love.Will that do?”
Piers slipped an arm around his wife’s waist and drew her close. Maggie met his gaze and gently nodded.
“Always.”
Epilogue
The wedding was lovely, and he wished Maggie and Piers all the happiness in the world, but Francis Saunders was in a foul mood by the time he left the wedding. A sensible, sober man would have gone straight home; however whisky and his bruised pride spoke louder.
If only my life wasn’t a constant battle with idiots and bloody stubborn neighbors.
It was bad enough having to deal with ships which arrived late at port and clueless captains, but now he had a new and worrying problem on his hands. Someone had taken over the lease of the warehouse next door to Saunders Shipping at London Docks.
The very warehouse he had intended to use when he won the lucrative spice contract, which was shortly to be announced. He had coveted the warehouse for over a year. Done everything to secure the lease. And now someone else had captured his prize.
He hailed a hack and headed east toward the London Docks; causing mischief was at the forefront of his whisky addled mind.
I will show this interloper who is the master of the North Quay.
As soon as he alighted from the hack out the front of Saunders Shipping, warehouse number twelve, Francis saw red. Tossing a coin up to the driver, he slammed the carriage door hard. “I am going to commit bloody murder.”
He continued to curse and utter foul threats as he angrily marched across to the pile of flotsam and jetsam which had been dumped right in front of the door of his warehouse. Barrels and ropes blocked his access to the building.
A note, nailed to the nearest of the barrels, caught his attention. He swiped at it, tearing it away. Holding the letter up close to his face, Francis strained to read it in the dim light.
With paper tightly held in his fist, he marched back toward the entrance of the docks and the gas lights which blazed outside the superintendent’s office. As he drew close, he slowed his steps. There were a few people about the place, the docks were never empty.
Whatever the contents of the note, he didn’t need other people to bear witness to his anger. Trying to calm the rage which boiled within, Francis took a deep breath, then held the letter up to the light.
