The Highlander and the Wallflower

by Michelle Willingham

  ‘No,’ she whispered.

  ‘Liar.’ He moved in closer, reaching for the edges of her blanket. ‘I can see you trembling.’ Her blue eyes held an intensity as she met his gaze. Her red hair was dark from the water, tangled against her shoulders. ‘What are you afraid of?’

  ‘I’m afraid of the way I feel when I look at you,’ she murmured. ‘And how I feel when you kiss me.’ Her words were a spark, setting him on fire. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to kiss her until she could no longer bear it.

  ‘I want to take away your fear of being touched,’ he answered. ‘Will you allow it?’

  ‘I don’t think you can.’

  He half-expected her to pull away, but she didn’t. Instead, he took her hand and brought it to his chest. Her hand was still shaking, but she rested her fingertips upon his heart. His pulse was racing, but he didn’t move.

  ‘You may touch me if you want,’ he said quietly. Her eyes widened slightly, but she gently stroked his chest. Then she moved her hand to his shoulder, tracing the muscles. Her touch was taking him apart, and he loved every moment of it.

  If he didn’t stop her, he was going to lose control of himself. Then he captured her palm and brought it to his mouth. ‘It’s your choice, Regina. Come to my room tonight, and I will only show you pleasure.’

  Chapter Ten

  It was late when Dalton heard his bedchamber door opening softly. He sat up in bed and saw Regina entering, a brass candle holder in her hand. She wore a white dressing gown, and her auburn hair spilled over her shoulders. In the dim light of the candle, her face appeared pale.

  Though he had invited her here, she still seemed nervous. ‘Are you all right, Regina?’ he enquired. ‘Do you need anything?’

  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 frightened in my life. But then Papa came and broke down the door. Frederick had gone for help, even though I’d sent him away.’ Her voice broke off amid her tears.

  ‘Your father stopped Mallencourt, didn’t he?’

  She nodded her head. ‘I am still a virgin, Dalton. He did not rape me, though he tried.’ Her voice held a tremor, and she added, ‘But I think someone saw something that night. The blackmail began only a week later. I didn’t know until recently, but Papa received help from Lachlan’s father. I think my marriage was part of his arrangement to pay Locharr back.’

  Now he was beginning to understand. ‘Did Lachlan know of this?’

  ‘No. I never told him or anyone else. Not even Mother knows of the attack.’

  He was quiet for a time, and then adjusted the sheets around himself. ‘Regina, may I hold you?’

  She was still crying, but she turned to face him. He brought her into his embrace, tucking her face against his chest, though he was careful not
to let their lower bodies touch. ‘It’s all right,’ he said softly. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘But it was,’ she insisted. ‘If I hadn’t brought him back to the house...if I hadn’t let him inside or sent the footman away—’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ he repeated. She had been through hell, and he didn’t want her to blame herself. He stroked her hair back, touching his forehead to hers.

  She was silent, breathing slowly. But there was more he needed to know. ‘What happened to Mallencourt?’ he asked. ‘He deserves a bullet in his heart for what he did to you.’

  After another long pause, she said, ‘Papa made certain he would never hurt me or anyone else again.’

  ‘Good.’ But he could feel her tension heightening, despite her confession.

  ‘Dalton...there’s more. I don’t want to hide this from you,’ she continued. ‘But no one has seen Mallencourt since that night,’ she continued. ‘Not even his family.’

  And with that, he was starting to realise what she meant. ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  Dalton couldn’t fault the earl, if he had killed Mallencourt. He would have done the same. Any man who tried to attack a woman deserved what he got. But it explained the reason for the blackmail. It might have been their footman, Frederick—or more likely a relative of Mallencourt, seeking revenge. He didn’t know, but he hoped the Bow Street Runner would send answers soon.

  ‘Dalton, do you—do you understand why I never wanted to marry? And why I’m not able to be a true wife to you yet?’ she whispered. ‘The memories are too harsh.’

  He turned her to face him, cupping her cheek gently. ‘I understand why you were afraid. And I am glad your father stopped him.’ More than that, it gave him hope that one day he might gain her full trust.

  ‘Thank you for telling me of this, Regina,’ he said against her cheek. He kissed her gently and was reassured when she kissed him back.

  ‘I am still ashamed of what happened,’ she admitted with a sigh.

  ‘Don’t be. The fault lay with Mallencourt, not you.’ He touched his hand to her cheek, wiping the tears away.

  ‘Is it all right if I sleep beside you tonight?’ she whispered.

  God, yes. It would torment him in an unholy way, but it was the first step towards a real marriage. ‘Of course. But you should know that I am wearing nothing, Regina.’

  It was one matter for her to sleep in a separate room. It was quite another to feel her warmth against him. He could easily imagine lifting her nightdress to her waist, caressing her bare hip and touching her intimately. But it was far too soon for that. Instead, he placed a pillow between them so she would not feel threatened.

  ‘I know you won’t hurt me,’ she said.

  ‘Never,’ he swore.

  She let out a sigh and snuggled with her backside against the pillow between them. His body was already aroused at her proximity, but he grew rock hard when she pulled his arms around her. Against his forearms, he could feel the soft curve of her breasts, and his desire only deepened. He pulled the coverlet over her, keeping his hands relaxed.

  She remained facing away from him, though his feet tangled with hers. Her skin was cold, and he warmed her with his thighs against her legs. At first, she remained ramrod stiff, her fingers clutching the coverlet. But when he didn’t move, he gradually felt her beginning to relax. Her shoulders lowered, and eventually, her breathing grew more even until she fell asleep.

  Dalton remained awake, as if keeping vigil over his wife. She had put such faith in him, he felt the intrinsic need to protect her. The confession she had spoken had utterly drained her, but he was grateful that she had finally trusted him with the truth.

  He kept his arms around her, but despite having her so close, a voice inside warned that this was not over yet. The Bow Street Runner might uncover more than Dalton wanted him to—and above all, he had to keep Regina safe.

  * * *

  Regina awakened just before dawn, tangled up in her husband’s embrace. The pillow was now on the floor, and his leg rested over her hip. She grew aware of his hard length against her spine. It should have terrified her, but she realised that he was still sleeping, and it was a natural reaction to her body.

  Guilt weighed down on her. He believed she had told him everything about the night of her attack—that the blackmail was because she had been attacked by a man in her father’s house. She closed her eyes, wishing that was all.

  You need to tell him, her conscience warned.

  But right now, it felt good to be in his arms, to feel beloved. If she told him the rest of it, everything would change.

  Her cheeks burned with the lies of omission. Did he truly need to know? His Bow Street Runner could still continue the investigation and learn the identity of her father’s blackmailer. Was that not enough?

  She wasn’t certain about anything any more.

  God above, she prayed that no one ever learned the truth. Although most people believed that Mallencourt had been drunk that night and had fallen into the Thames and drowned, she didn’t know what had stopped any further investigations. Possibly her father had bribed the police. She had never asked, for she didn’t want to know. But the fear consumed her, that somehow, someone had witnessed Mallencourt’s arrival at her house and subsequent death.

  She wanted to believe that it was over, that she was away from the danger. And yet, she couldn’t be sure.

  Dalton had saved her from public humiliation at her own wedding, and he was so much more than she had known. She wanted to be a true wife to him, but she didn’t know if she could bury her past.

  The warmth of his body comforted her, despite the evidence of his arousal. And the more she thought about his touch, a soft deepening of awareness slid over her skin. She wanted to feel his caress, to forget about the past.

  It was a bold wickedness, for they were not truly married. She had put him off the wedding, not wanting to entangle him in the mess of her life. But now, she was beginning to believe she had been wrong about Dalton.

  He left no doubt that he wanted her. But his endless patience made her wonder if she ought to reconsider. She no longer wanted to live in fear, and didn’t that mean facing her worst fear of all?

  In the darkness, she could feel the warmth of his body against hers. Dalton’s hand was at her waist, and she wondered what it would feel like to have his palm upon her bare breast.

  It was a risk, for Mallencourt had squeezed her breast roughly as he had shoved her against the wall. There had only been force when he had touched her, and she wondered what it would be like to have Dalton’s hands upon her skin. Perhaps it was a way to eradicate the old memory and replace it with a better one. The very thought sent a sudden thrill within her.

  She reached for the first button on her nightdress, flicking it free. Then another. As she exposed herself, her heartbeat quickened. This was a test to see if she could bear his touch.

  Slowly, she brought Dalton’s hand to her bare breast. The warmth and weight of his hand felt good, even as she wondered what she was doing. For a time, his hand merely rested upon her skin, and she was grateful for it.

  Then he moved his fingertips against her and murmured, ‘Will you let me touch you, Regina?’

  She closed her eyes, feeling the blush upon her cheeks. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. She had wanted to awaken him, but now, she didn’t know if this had gone too far. His thumb gently stroked her nipple, and it rose up from his attention. Deep between her legs, she felt a rush of sensation, as if he were caressing her there.

  Slowly, with exquisite patience, he drew his fingers over her breast, encouraging the swollen bud. She gasped at the sensation, a restless feeling rising within her.

  ‘May I kiss you?’ he asked.

  She turned her face to his, but instead of him capturing her lips, he lowered his mouth to h
er bare breast. The heat and gentle suction against her sensitive nipple made her grip his hair, arching in shock. A cry of her own arousal escaped her lips as he kissed her breast.

  It was nothing like the night of her attack. Dalton worshipped her body, reverently swirling his tongue around her nipple. She grew wet between her legs, not understanding how he could make her feel so good. The incredible feelings rose and ebbed like a tide, and she needed more. Fumbling with the buttons, she tried to reveal more of herself, but he captured her wrists and pressed them back gently.

  ‘Allow me.’ His voice was husky, and he released her hands, waiting for permission.

  ‘All right.’ She closed her eyes, surrendering to his will. But he was gentle as he eased her nightdress from her shoulders, lowering it to her waist.

  ‘You are in command of me, Regina,’ he murmured. ‘If you don’t like any of this, tell me, and I will stop.’

  She believed him. But she wanted him to know that she was willing to take the first steps towards reclaiming a normal life as his bride. ‘I’ll try not to be afraid,’ she promised. ‘Just...continue to go slowly.’

  ‘You have my word,’ he swore. Then he touched her other breast, fondling it as he had the first. She savoured the sensation, and he began to circle her nipple in a rhythm. He lowered his mouth to the second breast, while tracing the wet skin of her first.

  Her breathing shuddered, and she wanted more from him—but she couldn’t understand what it was. He was driving her to the edge of a precipice, but she wasn’t ready to make love to him yet. Instead, he was evoking such a strong arousal, she didn’t know what to do.

  ‘Give me your hand,’ he ordered, and she did.

  Slowly, he reached down and lifted the hem of her nightdress. His hand trailed against her calves, past her knees, to her thighs. And against her will, she began to tremble.

  ‘Relax,’ he bade her. ‘This will feel good.’

  She tensed as he took her hand, holding it. Again, he kissed her nipple, suckling gently until the intense feelings made her breathing shift into soft moans.