Her mother squeezed her hand, beaming when they reached the parlour. Then she stepped back and allowed Regina to go in alone.
Inside the small room, Locharr appeared quite uncomfortable. He was a large man, and the gilt chair seemed as if it might crack apart beneath his weight. This was not a man accustomed to delicate furnishings. He greeted her quietly, and she tried to muster a smile.
‘Would you like tea?’ she asked. ‘My mother sent for refreshments.’
‘Aye,’ he answered. ‘That is, if you’re wanting a cup.’
At the moment, anything she might drink or eat would taste like dust, but she nodded. The silence between them was an invisible weight, and try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to speak. The worry over her father was suffocating, and she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Even Locharr appeared unsettled by the lack of conversation.
Regina was grateful when the footman brought in the tea cart. She poured the laird a cup, but the fragile porcelain appeared as if it might shatter in his large hands.
She tried not to overreact to the laird’s physical size. You’re being ridiculous, she tried to tell herself. Lachlan MacKinloch had never done anything to threaten her. She glanced at the window, trying to press back the fear.
‘The weather seems fair enough,’ he said at last, breaking the stillness.
Weather. Yes, that was a safe topic for conversation. She ought to say something. Anything. But the words tangled up in her throat, and she could only manage a nod. Good heavens, she was behaving like someone who was too scared to speak. Which wasn’t entirely true, but just a little bit.
He was asking her something else, but she missed it. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’
‘I asked if there was anything you enjoyed in your spare time. Whist, perhaps?’
He really was trying to make conversation, and she was being a terrible hostess.
Give him a chance, she told herself. Be honest.
She took a sip of her tea. ‘Cards aren’t my favourite pastime, I fear.’
‘Then what? Watercolours? Reading? Hunting boar?’
She choked on her tea at his last suggestion, and laughter caught in her throat. Boar? What had prompted that question? She bit her lip, trying to keep her mirth under command. His humour was entirely unexpected. ‘I cannot say that I’ve ever hunted boar.’
‘Wolves, then?’ he offered. ‘Or dragons, perhaps.’
The laird’s dry teasing did ease the tension between them. A slight smile played at her lips. ‘I have been known to hunt down my cat when she refuses to come in at night. Unfortunately, Belinda believes in staying out all night when she finds mice as her prey.’
‘Is she here now?’
Regina shrugged, not knowing if he truly held an interest in her cat. ‘I imagine she is asleep on my father’s papers in the study.’ The thought of the large feline sprawled across the earl’s desk made her smile deepen.
Now that she was smiling, the laird appeared more relaxed. ‘I thought we could have a word about our meddling fathers.’
And with a single sentence, her mood shifted to wariness. If he had called their fathers meddling, then he was about to discuss their potential marriage. Regina wasn’t at all ready for this conversation. She couldn’t possibly consider a proposal. Not this soon. She hardly knew the man, despite her father’s wishes.
Panic boiled inside her, and it took an effort not to blurt out no. Instead, she forced herself into a voice of calm. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You ken that our fathers wanted to arrange a match between us,’ Locharr said. ‘They were good friends, and it was my father’s dying wish that we be married.’
She knew that, but she couldn’t imagine marrying anyone just now. Why should it matter what their fathers wanted? She was a grown woman, capable of deciding for herself whom she wished to marry.
But your own father may be dying, her conscience warned. Would it not grant him peace if he knew you would be cared for?
The earl alone knew the truth about what had happened that night. He wanted her to be protected, far away from London society. And he was willing to pay a high dowry to ensure that she was wedded to a man who could guard her from all harm.
Lachlan MacKinloch certainly met those terms. The man was large enough to intimidate anyone who dared to threaten her. His very size dominated the room, but it also evoked all the terrible memories she had wanted to push away. Marriage to him might create a sanctuary—but it would also bring back the terror she had spent almost five years trying to forget.
And for that reason, she wanted to refuse. She wasn’t ready to even consider being bound to a man. ‘No,’ she answered hastily. ‘I do not intend to marry.’
Instead of arguing with her, the laird’s face turned thoughtful. He paused for a time, choosing his words carefully. ‘I ken that you have your life here and that you dinna wish to change it. But if you would consider a life in Scotland, I swear to you that I would make no demands upon you as a wife. We would live as friends, and you’d have your own room.’
She stared at him, wondering if she had heard him correctly. Her own room? And...was he implying that he did not intend to touch her? He couldn’t be serious.
‘What about children? What if I don’t wish to—that is, what if—?’ She felt her cheeks flushing with embarrassment, but he seemed to understand her meaning.
‘It could wait several years,’ he promised. ‘We are both young enough, and my first concern is to my clan. The winter was harsh, and they’ve no’ had verra much food. I need to provide for them.’
In other words, he needed her dowry. And he was willing to consider a celibate marriage in return.
For the first
