Lord of Regrets by Sabrina Darby Read Free Book Online Page B

words of marriage had torn her up inside with sweetness.
    When the morning leaked its first cool gray light through the curtains, Natasha washed her face with ice-cold water and dressed. She started the fire in the kitchen, put water in the kettle, and sat down. She had decisions to make, but she didn’t even know how to think about her life.
    She could still feel his mark on her body.
    “Mama.” A sleepy Leona padded into the kitchen. “Are we leaving?”
    “No, darling, we’re staying.” Natasha pushed her chair back from the wide wooden table to let her daughter climb into her lap. Instead, Leona pulled another chair, taller than herself, away from the table and hopped up.
    “Is Lord Templeton really my father?”
    She heard the water bubbling in the kettle and stood. Stupid, stupid, stupid . She found herself mouthing the words, but wasn’t certain if she was referring to Marcus or to herself.
    “Yes, yes he is, but you cannot tell anyone, sweetheart, about your father. We have to keep it a secret.”
    “Why?”
    “Because.” Natasha stopped, trying to think of some reason Leona would understand. She took her time, pouring the water into a pot, adding the tea leaves.
    “Are you married to him?”
    “No, and that is why we cannot tell anyone.” Natasha brought the teapot and a cup to the table and sat down again.
    Leona stared at her, clearly working through the new information. Natasha wondered how much about the world Leona really knew, what she had gleaned from adult conversations. Would her daughter’s confused expression turn to condemnation?
    “Are we going to live with him?”
    “No.”
    “Are you going to marry Reverend Duncan?”
    “No.”
    Leona lay her head down on the table, her hands fisted and wrapped in the tangled curls. Natasha watched her silently.
    “Will Lord Templeton come to see us again?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is that a lie?”
    Natasha shuddered. She let out her breath in a slow, shaky exhale.
    “No, sweetheart. I won’t ever lie to you again.”
    Leona didn’t move her head, but she pulled her left hand an inch toward her head, the fingers tangling more deeply in her hair.
    Natasha rested her hand on the small, warm one of her child.
    “I don’t want tea,” Leona said, her words muffled against the table just before she pushed away, slid off the chair, and ran from the room.
    Natasha swallowed down the agony that built in her chest.
    She would have to teach her daughter not to run. One generation would have to end the madness.

Chapter Seven
    When Marcus called on Natasha that afternoon, the man he had set to watching the house in case she decided to run informed him that Mrs. Prothe had gone out. A momentary panic seized Marcus before the man added that she had left alone. The maid confirmed this, saying Mrs. Prothe would be home soon. Marcus waited. As much as he would enjoy stealing into her room this night, he needed to show Natasha that he honored her wishes. He also liked the idea of a few minutes by a warm fire rather than braving the biting cold again. The girl looked nervous, as though she’d had orders not to let him in, but in the end her respect for his title won out.
    He found himself in the cozy little parlor, sitting by the lighted fireplace, with Mary gone to the kitchen to fetch tea. Then, as if he had conjured her out of the growing question in his mind, Leona appeared at the open door.
    He had last seen her in the middle of the night, a ghost in her white nightgown, crying, hitting him with her fists. Today, although serious and subdued, she looked like a proper little girl.
    “Good afternoon, Leona,” he greeted her, standing and offering a bow. She cringed and hung back against the door frame, and he realized his height made him more menacing. “Won’t you come in and sit down? I’m awfully tired, and you know a gentleman may not sit while a lady still stands.”
    She puzzled over that for a moment. He imagined he could actually see the distinct