Lord of Regrets by Sabrina Darby Page A

touching her, she was colder than she had been outside.
    She watched Marcus out of the corner of her eye. He drew closer and stood by the small settee, his hands behind his back, waiting.
    Waiting for her to sit, likely, for her to invite him to join her for a cup of tea or an afternoon repast. As if this were any normal call.
    Then Mary walked in, burdened down with a tray laden with tea and biscuits and some of the leftover torta Natasha had made two days earlier. In her absence, he had apparently invited himself to feel at home.
    “Oh, Mrs. Prothe,” Mary exclaimed as she lay the tray down on the table. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
    “No, how could you, Mary, as busy as you were in the kitchen?” Mary flushed at the admonishment and scurried out of the room. The girl should have been embarrassed at how generously she had entertained the enemy. Shaking her head, Natasha turned to Marcus. She gestured to the tray even as she sat down in the vacant chair by the fire—the chair he had so recently occupied. “Won’t you join me, Lord Templeton?”
    He had the gall to smirk as he sketched a bow.
    “Thank you for the invitation,” Marcus said. “I’ve had the great pleasure of Miss Leona’s company for the last quarter hour. And I am honored and delighted to enjoy yours.”
    His long legs made the delicate settee look small. In fact, despite his good humor, he looked cramped and uncomfortable. She derived a small bit of satisfaction from that.
    “Well, then.” Natasha leaned forward to pour the tea. She put milk and a spoonful of sugar in the cup for Leona and then half a spoonful of sugar in the cup she meant for Marcus before she stopped. “How do you take your tea?”
    He wasn’t smiling when he met her inquiring gaze, but his expression was knowing, satisfied. “Exactly as you remember.”
    Her hands shook as she finished preparing his tea, and she hated herself for the weakness.
    Leona slid out of her chair and padded forward to take her teacup in two hands.
    “A lady waits,” Natasha admonished, even as she passed Marcus’s cup to him.
    Leona stopped midmotion and looked up at her, confused.
    “Next time,” Marcus said softly, and Leona turned to him, her forehead wrinkling. Then she looked back at Natasha.
    Anger burned through Natasha, but she bit it back and nodded curtly. Leona warily picked up the cup.
    There was a muted knock on the front door. The house shivered again as the door opened.
    The chilled wind swept through, bringing with it the sound of voices, those of Mary and the Reverend Duncan. Natasha put down the teapot, panicked. Duncan would know. He would take one look at her and somehow know that Leona was Marcus’s daughter, that Marcus had spent the previous night in Natasha’s bed.
    She wanted to stop Mary from letting Duncan in, but Leona put down her cup and ran from the room calling, “Mr. Duncan, Mr. Duncan!”
    A moment later, Duncan entered the room, Leona hopping by his side with excitement.
    “Good afternoon, Mrs. Prothe,” Duncan said as he entered, just before he caught sight of Marcus, who’d relaxed back in that ridiculously small settee as if he belonged there. “I was visiting Mrs. Drummond and her son,” he said, much more warily. “Thought I’d stop and see if tomorrow would be a good day to start Leona’s lessons.”
    “It’s good of you to stop by,” Natasha managed. “Won’t you join us for tea? Leona, stop bouncing around the reverend. You’ll make him dizzy with your antics.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Prothe.” He bowed to Marcus. “A pleasure to see you again, Lord Templeton.” He took his seat in the other chair by the fire. Leona stood near him for a moment before Marcus scooted over and patted the vacant space beside him. A bit of Leona’s excitement dimmed but she climbed up onto the settee.
    “So you are to give Miss Leona lessons,” Marcus said. Natasha was grateful for the conversation to ease the discomfort, until she remembered