But when an hour had passed, she could not ignore the guests whispering. Her father’s face turned thunderous. ‘I will go and fetch him here myself.’
Regina wanted to tell him no, but her insides felt like ice. He wasn’t coming. She knew it in her heart.
But then, she heard a door opening, and the guests began to murmur. She turned to the door and saw a bold blue and green pattern, and a Highlander crossed to her side. But it was not Lachlan MacKinloch—it was Dalton St George, wearing a kilt. Lord Camford reached for her hand and kissed it. ‘I apologise for being late.’ To the guests, he said, ‘Grant me a moment alone with my bride to grovel at her feet.’
A few women laughed quietly, while other guests who recognised him appeared confused. Before her parents could intervene, Lord Camford took her hand and led her away. ‘Allow me to rescue you,’ he murmured under his breath.
‘Gladly,’ she whispered, following him into the hall. He led her into the music room and closed the doors behind them.
Regina sank into a chair, burying her face in her hands. She didn’t know whether to weep or groan with frustration. ‘Why did you come, Lord Camford?’
‘Because you didn’t read Lachlan’s note, nor any of mine. You refused my calls, and I had no other way to tell you that the laird married someone else.’
‘His governess,’ she predicted, feeling as if the bottom had dropped out beneath her. She had burned his letter without reading it. And he had been trying to call off the wedding. Dear God.
‘Aye,’ Camford answered. ‘I am sorry to be the bearer of such news.’
Her emotions gathered into a tight ball of humiliation, but she managed to say dully, ‘The wedding is off. We’ll send the guests away and be done with it.’ She already felt miserable, and the last thing she wanted was to face everyone else or see the sympathy in their eyes.
But then, this was what she deserved. She had been using the laird as a means of escaping her problems. She hadn’t wanted to marry him, and it was now quite evident that he hadn’t wanted to wed her either. If only she had opened his letter or allowed Camford to pay a call, she would have known the truth.
The viscount came close and knelt at her feet. ‘I know that you wanted to marry him to escape London. Because you’re afraid of your father’s blackmailer.’
She didn’t look at him, so afraid she would break into tears. He took her hands, and she felt her heart begin to pound. ‘But there is no reason why I cannot give you what you’re wanting.’
What did he mean by that? Regina stared into his green eyes, uncertain. Then Lord Camford said, ‘Marry me, instead. I will take you to Scotland, and you can escape London as you wanted to. I will also ensure that no one ever blackmails you or your father again.’
Marry Camford? She blinked at that, a denial rising to her lips. She couldn’t just marry him. Did she think he could just substitute himself as the bridegroom and no one would notice or care? Her father would be furious.
Shock prevented her from answering, though she gaped at him. Camford continued holding her hands, and then she met his penetrating gaze. ‘I know I’m not the man you want. But perhaps you can still be content.’
His words held such gentleness, she felt tears in her eyes. ‘I don’t know.’ She didn’t want him to hold regrets, and certainly a marriage to her would cause him to resent her.
He released her hands and took her face in his hands. The touch of his palms warmed her cheeks, and she felt a flutter within her skin. Every logical thought in her brain simply fled.
‘I’ve stood in Lachlan’s shadow for too long. I won’t be doing so again.’
With that, he leaned in and claimed her mouth in a kiss. His lips were inviting, and heat roared through her. She could hardly breathe as he gently took her mouth, showing her what he wanted. There were no demands, only an offering of himself. When he pulled back, she was trembling, unable to grasp a single thought.
‘I would never force you against your will,’ he said. ‘But I cannot promise not to tempt you.’ With that, he released her and stepped back. ‘Marry me, Regina.’
Chapter Six
Dalton returned to the room of wedding guests, behaving as if nothing had gone wrong. There was outright confusion from many of the onlookers, along with a low murmur of conversation. Some recognised him and were unsure of what was happening. Others were elderly with failing eyesight, and he suspected they didn’t even realise he wasn’t Lachlan MacKinloch. Since he was dressed as a Highlander, they hadn’t looked too closely.
Lord and Lady Havershire appeared stunned by his presence, but neither dared to say a word in front of their friends. The countess seemed if she were about to faint, while Lord Havershire looked ready to call him out with pistols at dawn. The earl was about to say something when his wife suddenly touched his arm and shook her head.
Instead, Dalton waited near the clergyman. He had done everything he could to help Regina save face. And if she did not want to go through with the ceremony, then that was her choice.
It was strange, standing here to wait for her. He’d never dreamed of anything like this—and yet, the stares and whispers didn’t bother him at all. He was here to rescue Regina, whether that meant stealing her away...or speaking his vows in a marriage that he’d hardly dared to imagine.
Within another minute, she opened the doors and walked through the crowd of people to stand before him. Slowly, she extended her hand
