He hadn’t answered her question, which meant that there was something he wasn’t telling her.
‘I saw no one beforehand. And afterwards, I couldn’t—’ Her voice broke off, and a chill caught her skin.
‘I understand,’ he said softly. But his face remained uncertain. It looked for a moment as if he wanted to tell her something, but he was holding it back.
‘What is it, Papa?’ she asked.
He sighed and shook his head. ‘It’s only that I want to keep you safe. I pray that no one saw you that night. I need you to remember every detail, so I can protect you.’ His face grew pained, and he reached for his handkerchief. A racking cough claimed him, and he used the handkerchief to cover his face, turning away from her.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, touching his shoulder. His shoulders shook as the coughing fit continued. She waited until it passed, but her worry lingered. Over the past year, her father had lost a great deal of weight, and the coughing seemed to be worse recently. He claimed that it was nothing more than a lingering illness, but his skin pallor was quite pale.
‘It’s nothing. Let us continue our walk,’ he said, while he folded his handkerchief and put it away. ‘I understand that Locharr will be arriving soon. How do you feel about the marriage?’
As if I want to avoid it, she thought inwardly.
‘He hasn’t asked me to wed him yet,’ she pointed out.
‘No, but he will. It was his father Tavin’s dying wish.’ He mustered a smile. ‘And mine, if the truth be known. The pair of you make a handsome couple, and I have no doubt he will keep you safe.’
Regina wasn’t entirely certain of that, but she didn’t want to argue. Instead, she feigned a false smile to push back the fear. She bit her lip hard and murmured, ‘No doubt.’
Earlier, they had both agreed that it was best if she left London altogether and married the Laird of Locharr. Lachlan MacKinloch could protect her, if any remnants of her past resurfaced. The Highlands would become her sanctuary, where no one would know of her secret scandal.
A wild part of her wished she could run away, disappearing from the outside world. Being shipwrecked on an island, as Lord Camford had suggested, sounded very nice indeed. But instead, she had to play the role of the dutiful daughter who was braver than she seemed. Especially now that her father was hiding something.
He led her back towards their house, and her skin grew cold. The earlier conversation suddenly brought back memories she didn’t want to face. She stood at the entrance to the narrow street beside the house, her stomach churning with nausea. Her limbs had gone numb, and the horrifying visions washed over her. She had been seventeen, filled with dreams and naivety.
It had been late at night when the baron had escorted her home from the ball. The carriage had stopped near the narrow street and he had taken her there to walk for a moment. She had strolled down this very lane, her arm linked with his.
‘I am going to ask your father for your hand in marriage tonight,’ he’d promised. ‘I want to speak with him now.’
The thought had been so thrilling to her girlish dreams she had laughed and agreed. Though a part of her had known that her father would never approve of a lowly baron, Lord Mallencourt had been daring and so very handsome. He had a way of convincing others to indulge his impulses, and at the time, it had been romantic.
‘I don’t know if Papa has returned from Scotland,’ she had said. ‘He might be at home, but it is far too late for him to receive visitors.’
‘We simply must speak with him, regardless of the hour. I cannot wait any longer to call you my fiancée.’
Lord Mallencourt had made her laugh, pressing her close to the wall for a stolen kiss. His mouth had been heated, filled with sinful promises. She had been overwhelmed by the rush of feelings.
And then he had led her inside.
Mother had still been at the ball, and most of the servants were in the kitchen, cleaning or banking the fires. Aside from their footman, no one else had known of their late arrival.
The tremors shook her hands, and Regina tried to find the courage to push back the dark memories.
‘Regina?’ her father asked. ‘Are you all right? Did you...remember something?’
She tried to think, but the only memories were of rough hands tearing at her gown. And then, the pain and horrible humiliation that followed. God above, she didn’t want to recall anything, much less speak of it.
‘I am sorry. I can’t.’ She wrenched her hand from her father’s grasp, picking up her skirts. Bile gathered in the back of her throat, and she ran for the stairs, shoving open the front door.
She bolted up one flight of stairs and then another before she reached her room. Scalding tears ran down her cheeks and she barely reached the basin before she started retching.
Her impulsiveness had cost her everything, and she could never bear the thought of a man’s touch again. Papa had promised that the Laird of Locharr was a good man, and that he would take care of her. But a husband would expect her to share his bed, and that was something she could never do.
She laid her head down on her dressing table, wondering how in God’s name she could ever endure a marriage ceremony or what came afterwards.
Dalton sat on the opposite end of the table from his father at luncheon. John St George, the Earl of Brevershire, dined precisely at one o’clock each day, and they ate in silence. It was as if he had created a wall of invisible stone
