The Highlander and the Wallflower

by Michelle Willingham

  ‘It is.’ He eyed her for a moment and asked, ‘Do you want me to loosen your stays so it’s easier for you to sleep?’

  She shook her head, not wanting to take the risk. The thought of his hands unlacing her was a sensual promise that she couldn’t bear to face. ‘No. Just leave them.’ Her face was burning with embarrassment, and she extricated herself from his lap.

  ‘Are you certain?’ he asked. ‘I won’t touch you more than that.’

  She believed him, but that didn’t mean she was ready to let him undress her. ‘I’ll be fine. Please...just don’t.’

  His eyes grew guarded. ‘Regina, what happened to you? Who hurt you?’

  She shook her head and stepped back, unable to deny his question. ‘I don’t wish to ever speak of it again.’ She sat upon the straw mattress, lying on her side with her knees drawn up. But Dalton didn’t return to his own bed. Instead, he knelt beside her, and she nearly flinched at the sight of his tension. He looked as if he wanted to tear the man apart.

  ‘One day, you will tell me the truth,’ he warned. ‘And I will kill him for what he did to you.’

  You can’t, she thought to herself. She swallowed hard, the anguish rising within.

  Because he’s already dead.

  Chapter Seven

  It took a few more days of travelling before they reached his grandfather’s estate in Scotland. Dalton helped Regina disembark from the coach, and he led her up the gravel pathway. ‘Welcome to Cairnross.’ He lifted her hand to his mouth, and she managed a smile, glancing up at the stone towers.

  ‘It looks like a fairy-tale castle.’

  ‘It has been around for hundreds of years, but its history isn’t at all like a fairy tale,’ he warned. ‘There were a few unsavoury men among my mother’s ancestors.’

  ‘What did they do?’ She kept her hand in his arm as he led her up the stone steps.

  Dalton glanced at the courtyard on the far side of the castle. ‘The Earl of Cairnross imprisoned some of the MacKinlochs for years.’ He shrugged. ‘But eventually, Cairnross passed into more benevolent hands.’

  ‘Such as yours?’

  ‘And yours,’ he said softly. It was a risk to say it, but he wondered how she would respond to the idea. She had insisted on being nothing more than a house guest, but he wanted far more than that. Their friendship was on fragile footing just now, and he admitted to himself that he didn’t know what would happen. She had given him the kiss he’d wanted. But now that he’d had a taste of her, he craved her with a fierce hunger. He wanted her naked skin upon his, and he wanted to watch her come undone with pleasure. But he knew better than to press her further. If he made demands of any kind, she would freeze him out.

  It reminded him of the years he’d spent trying to please his father—being so careful to say the right thing or to behave in the way John had wanted him to. A part of him rebelled against trying to become the man she wanted, for he wasn’t the sort of man who’d had any luck following rules.

  But the rules didn’t apply to Regina. She hadn’t denied that someone had hurt her in the past. Fear ruled her emotions, and he could only win her heart with patience.

  If he could win her heart.

  They reached the main doors, and were greeted by Elliott MacLachor, the elderly butler. ‘’Tis good to see ye again, Lord Camford. You’re very welcome.’ He raised an expectant look at Regina.

  ‘This is Regina St George, my wife and the new Lady Camford,’ Dalton introduced. He didn’t miss her wary response, but it was far easier to continue the ruse than to pretend she was a guest who had travelled alone.

  MacLachor beamed with happiness and reached to shake her hand. ‘I bid ye welcome, my lady. We are glad to hear of your good tidings.’ The butler led them inside where a footman took her cloak and bonnet. Dalton brought her into the parlour and gave orders for tea and refreshments.

  After they were alone, Regina confronted him in a low voice. ‘Why did you tell him I was your wife?’

  ‘Because it gives you more freedom,’ he answered. ‘And because it’s the truth. Licence or no’, we spoke vows. I can’t brush that aside or pretend it didn’t happen.’ He lowered his voice. ‘But you will have your own room.’

  Her tension eased, but she asked, ‘Will it cause problems later?’

  Not if he could help it. He was hoping she would grow accustomed to the idea. Instead, he gave a shrug. ‘If it does, we will handle it then.’

  She seemed to accept it. Then she remarked, ‘I feel strange without having any of my belongings. I cannot even change my gown.’

  ‘I can let you borrow some of my mother’s clothes,’ he suggested. ‘If you don’t mind wearing them, that is.’

  ‘Will it bother you to see them?’ she ventured.

  He paused and shook his head. ‘She would have liked you, and I believe she would want you to have them. I’ll send a maid to help you with them.’

  ‘Later,’ she said. ‘For now, I’m starving.’

  Regina studied the room with interest. It was decorated in shades of emerald and cream, and she walked towards the window where there was a view of the estate grounds. To Dalton, she said, ‘Cairnross is lovely. I look forward to seeing the gardens.’

  He hoped that meant she was growing accustomed to the idea of being his wife. ‘Then I will show them to you this afternoon.’ He went to stand beside her, studying the landscape. For a time, he simply enjoyed being so near.

  Outside, a female wren chirped, attracting the attention of a male. She let him get close, only to dart away in her own flirtatious mating dance. Intrigued, the male pursued her even more.

  And suddenly, Dalton wondered if he’d been going about this all wrong. He had tried to remain patient and steady, slowly coaxing her towards affection, but Regina was still reluctant to get close. What if he attempted the opposite? What if he pulled back, still letting her know of his interest...but allowing her the freedom to choose? It made him wonder if distance—or even temptation—would kindle her own interest.

  ‘The roses are lovely,’ Regina whispered. She was staring outside at the wide stone terrace that led down into a walled garden with a fountain in the centre. His mother had planted the roses that climbed upon one of the walls, while other rosebushes lined the opposite terrace.

  ‘My mother designed it.’ It had been her labour of love, and he remembered exploring the gardens as a lad while she clipped and trimmed the bushes. There had always been roses in each of the rooms—red, pink, yellow, and white.

  ‘Perhaps I could help your gardener take care of them,’ she offered. ‘I do love roses.’

  ‘If you want to.’ Their conversation was interrupted when the footman brought tea and refreshments. The housekeeper, Mrs Hughes, greeted them with enthusiasm and told Regina, ‘I’ve arranged for Evina to tend your room. She can serve as your maid until yours arrives.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Regina said.

  Before the housekeeper could leave, she asked, ‘Will you be celebrating another wedding with us, my lady? We would dearly love to host a cèilidh and share in your happiness. I would be glad to make all the arrangements.’

  Regina glanced at Dalton with a doubtful expression. He interrupted and said, ‘Mrs Hughes, there is no need to worry about that just yet. We’ve only just arrived in Scotland.’

  The housekeeper appeared disappointed, but she nodded as she departed the room.

  Dalton poured her a cup of tea and gave her a sandwich. Time to see if his experiment would bear fruit. ‘Was I wrong to say it’s too soon?’

  Regina shook her head. ‘No, you’re right. We shouldn’t get their hopes up.’ Even so, there was a faint trace of confusion on her face.

  ‘You did want to merely be a house guest, yes?’ He took a sip of his tea, drinking it black.

  ‘Well, yes. If you think that’s possible.’ Again, her e
yes held concern. ‘But I am aware that the servants will think that I...that we—’

  ‘That we’ve consummated the marriage,’ he finished.

  Her face coloured, and she nodded. ‘Camford, what exactly do you expect from me while I’m here?’

  He set down his teacup and rested his wrists upon his knees. For a moment, he studied her, drinking in her beauty. In spite of the rumpled wedding gown and her hair falling down from her bonnet, he desired her.

  ‘I want to protect you,’ he said quietly. ‘We may not be legally wedded, but I don’t want anyone speaking idle words after we’ve spent days travelling together. And I agree that you do need more time to decide what you want.’ He rose from his chair and drew closer. Though there was room to sit beside her, he remained standing. She had to tilt her head up to look at him.

  ‘Y-you’re right,’ she answered. ‘I feel as if we hardly know each other, and I don’t want to be forced into a marriage. If I ever marry, I want to feel a sense of happiness. I want the wedding I should have had.’

  ‘You want to be courted,’ he predicted.

  ‘Not exactly,’ she said, nibbling at a sandwich. ‘What I want is to have choices. I agreed to marry Lachlan because it was what my father wanted. And now, I want to feel as if I can live my own life.’

  He could understand her intense need for freedom. Nothing was worse than being forced into a life you didn’t want. He had never wanted to be a viscount, much less an earl one day. Though it was a title most men desired, he hadn’t wanted it at the cost of his brother’s life. If he could bring Brandon back and surrender everything, he would do so without hesitation. His parents had never recovered from the death of their son, and Dalton knew he couldn’t ever fill that role. He’d grown accustomed to not being enough.

  He just wanted to be enough for Regina. And if that meant waiting, if it meant giving her the time she needed to feel something more for him, he intended to try.

  Regina stood and faced him. She was so near, he could inhale the scent of her skin. More than anything, he wanted to steal another kiss, to make her crave him as badly as he wanted her. It took every ounce of his control to remain motionless.

  ‘I just need time, Dalton,’ she murmured. ‘For so long, I expected to wed Lachlan. I feel as if you and I are still strangers.’

  He’d thought they were friends, but it bothered him to realise that she hadn’t considered it a true friendship. She really did see him in the same light as any other gentleman.

  She reached out to take his hands in hers, and the sudden move made it that much harder not to touch her. ‘Is that all right?’

  He barely managed a nod. ‘But there is something I want, in return.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘A chance,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t close yourself away from me.’

  Her cheeks grew rosy, and she didn’t answer at first. Then she raised her blue eyes to his.

  ‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘But Dalton—don’t ask me to give more than I can.’

  Gently, he squeezed her hands and was rewarded when she inhaled with a slight sigh. He murmured, ‘One day, I hope you will trust me with your secrets.’

  * * *

  Regina spent the day with Dalton, but all the while, it felt as if he were chiselling her defences away. The gentle touch of his hands on hers had evoked strong feelings she didn’t understand. He had hardly done anything, but somehow he’d begun breaking down the invisible walls that had guarded her for so long. She didn’t know how to keep him at a distance...nor was she certain she wanted to.

  Gone was the London gentleman she’d known for so many years, and in his place was a handsome Highlander. Dalton had taken her to the gardens, as promised, leading her to the roses.

  ‘Choose, Regina,’ he’d said. She selected a golden yellow rose and another that was a deep pink. He’d used a knife to cut them for her, stripping them of the thorns. But when he gave them, he had taken her other hand in his. Though it might only have been with the intent of guiding her through the grounds, she was aware of the heat of his palm. In his fingers, her hand felt small. His thumb grazed the edge of hers, and for a moment, her wayward mind imagined that he was caressing another part of her. She could almost envision him as his medieval ancestor, conquering her defences and tormenting her with unexpected desires.

  If theirs had been a true marriage, she had no doubt that he would spend the entire day making love to her. But he didn’t know the dark memories that resurfaced with every touch. She didn’t want to remember that terrible night, nor what had followed.

  One day, she would have to tell him the truth. But in the meantime, she was trying to make sense of this unexpected marriage.

  ‘We should go back,’ he suggested, releasing her hand. Though the sun had not yet set, she supposed he wanted to show her the rest of the estate. And when it was possible, she longed to change her gown. She had worn the same wedding gown for the past four days, and while she had washed her face and hands daily, she wanted to wear a clean chemise and petticoat.

  ‘Will you take me to my room and send a maid to me? I should like to change my gown before dinner.’

  ‘Aye,’ he agreed. He led her back inside, and she absorbed the sight of her surroundings. There was an aura of peace in Cairnross, and she decided it would make a good place to hide from the scandal and blackmail shadowing her. Here, she could start a new beginning, forgetting all about the past. Perhaps she could bring her father here to visit, and the fresh air might do him good, as well as her mother.

  ‘Would you care to play another game of chess later?’ he asked.

  ‘I am terrible at chess, remember?’ She tried to hide her smile while they walked through the halls. Dalton was far better than he’d let on, and she had to be careful of his wagers.

  ‘I remember that you’re a beautiful liar. You only want me to believe that you’re terrible.’

  She laughed, and as they walked, his hand bumped against her fingers. The slight touch unnerved her with the sudden desire to take his hand again. This man was not her legal husband, but it startled her to realise how much she was enjoying his presence. She felt drawn to him, and though it should have frightened her, she took comfort.

  They walked through the rest of the house, and he showed her the older wing that had once been part of a medieval castle. ‘It burned to the ground, hundreds of years ago,’ Dalton explained. ‘When it was rebuilt, some of my ancestors created hidden passages.’

  ‘The old Earl of Cairnross?’ she mused.

  ‘Indeed. His castle came into our hands through an arranged marriage between a Highlander’s daughter and a Norman.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s ours now.’

  ‘How did your mother inherit the property?’ she asked. He led her up a stone staircase towards the bedchambers.

  ‘In truth, it’s not hers—my grandfather is still living. I’ll introduce you to him tomorrow. But after he dies, it will become mine. My mother had no brothers, and her father wanted it to pass to her sons. After Brandon died, Granda named me the heir.’

  She hadn’t realised that his grandfather was still alive, and it occurred to her that she knew very little about Dalton St George. But she wanted to know more.

  He stopped before one of the bedchambers and opened the door. ‘This was my mother’s room. I asked Evina to prepare it for you. You’ll find gowns in the wardrobe and the trunk. Choose whatever you like.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Before she lost her nerve, she took his hand and squeezed it lightly. He held it for a moment, as if savouring the touch. His green eyes drank in the sight of her, and she sensed that if she offered more, he would tempt her beyond all reason. The invisible heat between them made her lose her courage, and she reluctantly released his hand.

  She walked inside the doorway and found a modest room with a mahogany wardrobe, a small table with a basin and pitcher, a f
ireplace which the servants had lit, and a narrow bed with a canopy. A quilt rested upon the bed, and the colours were soft blues and greens. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said. On the opposite side of the room, she saw a door. ‘Where does that lead?’

  ‘To my room,’ he said. He closed the door behind him, to give them privacy. ‘But you needn’t worry. I won’t intrude.’

  Her skin tightened at the mention, and she wondered what it would be like if the door were open between their rooms. In her mind, she imagined him trailing a single finger down her cheek to her throat. She envisioned him cupping her chin and leaning in for another kiss. His mouth would be warm and inviting, making her crave more. She felt the colour rise to her cheeks, but she let the vision continue as she imagined him undressing her.

  He would be gentle, she knew. And, God help her, she could feel an ache between her legs, the stirrings of desire.

  She turned away, and another memory slammed into her, of being forced against the wall. Harsh lips ground against her, while Mallencourt’s hand reached beneath her skirts.

  Regina trembled, and pulled back, unable to separate the present from the past. Her heart was beating rapidly, and she reminded herself that this was Dalton, not her attacker. He would never harm her.

  But he was unaware of her sudden panic. ‘I will send Evina to help you dress for dinner. I hope to see you there.’

  Then he departed, closing the door behind him.

  Regina closed her eyes, trying to calm her fears.

  You have to tell him, her conscience warned. He needs to know the truth.

  As she reached for a green gown, she willed the thoughts away. He could only know part of the truth—otherwise, it would ruin everything.

  * * *

  Being married to Regina but being unable to touch her was slowly killing him. Dalton had kept his promise, but he longed for more. This woman had twined herself into his life, and he desired her with a desperate need. But he was resolved not to touch her until her fears receded. She had taken his hand twice yesterday, and it gave him hope that she was starting to feel more comfortable around him.