For a long moment, she did not answer. Her nerves were palpable, but he did not press her for more. Instead, she blew out the candle and set it upon a nearby table. He felt her slight weight as she sat upon the mattress.
‘I came to talk to you,’ she murmured. ‘And I wanted no one to overhear what I have to say.’ She pulled the coverlet over her as if it were a shield. In the darkness, he could hear the swift tempo of her breathing.
Dalton turned to his side, resting his head upon his hand. The soft rose scent of her body revealed the soap she had used in her bath. He longed to pull her into his arms, to press his mouth against her nape and feel her backside nestled against him. But that would only terrify her, for he was naked beneath the sheets.
‘I am listening,’ he said. She had come to him of her own free will, and he intended to offer whatever she needed.
‘I need to tell you what happened to me,’ she whispered. ‘Why I am afraid to be touched.’ Her voice held fear, and he remained still, knowing what this cost her. Though he suspected what she was about to say, he would be careful not to frighten her more.
His hand curled over hers, offering silent reassurance. She took his palm and squeezed it, though she kept her face turned from him.
‘I never intended to tell you,’ she began. ‘But I feel that I should. I know you are wondering why my father was being blackmailed, and I am trusting you to keep this secret.’
He stroked the edge of her palm with his thumb. ‘I will never speak of it to anyone. You have my word.’
She took a deep breath, as if gathering her courage. ‘Almost five years ago, when I made my debut, there was a baron who was kind to me. Lord Mallencourt was his name.’ Her words held a slight tremor, and she gripped his hand tighter.
Dalton didn’t recognise the name, but he could feel the tension emanating from Regina. She paused a moment and then continued. ‘He flirted with me and made me feel as if he adored me above all others. I was only eighteen, and I believed every word he said.’
He knew the sort of man she was describing—an arrogant rake who believed he was entitled to a woman’s affections. Regina let go of his hand suddenly, curling away from him. ‘One night, my mother and I were at a ball. My father was returning home that night from his travels, so he was not with us. I danced with Lord Mallencourt, and afterwards, he asked me for my hand in marriage. I was impulsive and agreed to wed him. He wanted to speak to Papa right away, even though it was late.’
‘This was before your father intended a betrothal between you and Locharr?’ Dalton clarified. He wasn’t certain when the laird and Regina’s father had made their arrangement.
‘It was, yes. Our fathers were friends, but they had not yet finalised a match between us.’ She took a breath to steady herself. ‘I believed I was in love with Lord Mallencourt, and I was overjoyed by the prospect of marriage. He was an impulsive man, and he wanted to ask Papa for my hand that very night. I agreed and told Mother that I had a headache and was leaving. Lord Mallencourt drove me home in his carriage, and he stole kisses along the way. I was wanton in my behaviour, and I kissed him back.’
She gripped his hand harder, drawing his arm around her as if to shield herself. Dalton pressed a kiss against her shoulder. ‘You don’t have to say any more, if you are afraid.’
She was silent for a long pause. Then she said, ‘I don’t want to say it. But you need to understand why I am so afraid.’
His mood tightened, for he wasn’t about to give up on her. But more, he held the need for vengeance on behalf of her honour. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her. But he knew if he dared to touch her now, it would only cause her to shrink away.
Regina’s voice broke in a sob, and she admitted, ‘He took me home, but Papa had not yet arrived. Lord Mallencourt insisted on waiting, though it was entirely too late at night for him to be there. Our footman, Frederick, was not pleased and warned me about a scandal—especially when Lord Mallencourt waited in the parlour alone with me.’
‘Why did your footman not stay with you?’ Dalton asked.
‘Because I ordered him to go. I was stupid and naive, wanting to be alone with the man I thought I loved.’ Her voice grew shaky, as if she were afraid to say more. And though he ought to reassure her that she did not have to tell the tale, he wanted to hear the rest.
‘After Frederick left, the baron kissed me. But it was not like his other kisses—these were rough, and I didn’t like them. He swore that he was eager to wed me, and that I should lie with him so my father could not deny his suit. When I protested and tried to push him away, he shoved a handkerchief in my mouth so I could not scream. He locked me inside with him.’ She began crying, and this time, Dalton touched her shoulder. He offered his support while she wept, and inwardly, he wished to God that he could kill the man.
‘He pressed me against the wall and tore my gown,’ she continued. ‘I tried to scream, but the handkerchief muffled the sound when I tried. And when he reached beneath my gown and pushed his fingers inside me, I knew he wasn’t going to stop when I asked him to. I fought him hard.’
She wept, her shoulders shaking as she cried in his arms. ‘I have never been so
