Chapter Five
Regina massaged her temples as she stood before the Meyers’ imposing door, waiting for it to open.
Though the headache that had plagued her since dawn had finally eased, the confusion and guilt remained, pressing like a stone in her chest. If only her memory could vanish as easily as the pain had dulled.
At least her fear of discovery at home had proven false.
When her parents at last emerged from their bedchambers, they treated her as if nothing were amiss.
They had not questioned her late return, nor her pale cheeks.
They had not seen the shame written across her face. If only that were true in reality.
Now, she had another battle to face. Jane.
The butler, Gilbert, opened the door at last. His smile was as kind as ever, the crinkles around his eyes softening his stern, white-haired appearance.
“Welcome, Miss Regina.”
“I thank you, Gilbert. You are always so sweet to me, even if I may not deserve it.”
His brows shot up. “Not deserve it? My dear Miss Regina, you are nearly a sister to Lady Jane. You most certainly deserve every kindness in this house.”
The words pierced deeper than he could know. A sister. What sort of sister kissed her friend’s intended in a darkened coach?
Regina swallowed hard against the sting of tears and stepped into the great hall.
The familiar sweep of marble floor and gilded frames greeted her.
She knew her way to the parlor well enough after years of being Jane’s constant guest. Jane, of course, was never ready on time, but Regina would wait, as always.
Gilbert, ever perceptive, studied her face. “Are you feeling well today, Miss Regina?”
She forced a smile. “I shall be fine.” Though her body felt recovered, her heart still staggered beneath guilt. “Is Lady Jane prepared for our outing?”
He chuckled. “She is keeping her usual time.”
Regina nearly laughed outright. “You mean she is late.”
His eyes twinkled as he inclined his head. “As you say, Miss Regina. I will let her know you are here.”
“Thank you, Gilbert.”
He disappeared up the staircase, and Regina drifted into the parlor.
She perched on the edge of a sofa, fingertips rubbing her temple again.
Her plan for the afternoon formed like a fragile thread in her mind.
If she could distract Jane by diverting her to admire some handsome new gentleman, perhaps Regina could weaken the ridiculous infatuation with Worthington without speaking ill of him directly.
It was a dangerous gamble, but what else could she do?
“Regina, my dear!”
The booming voice startled her upright. Harold Meyers strode into the parlor with a genuine smile, arms open as though he were greeting a favored niece rather than his daughter’s friend.
“Lord Penrose.” She quickly rose and offered a curtsy, her pulse quickening.
“How are you feeling this afternoon?” he asked, clasping her in a fatherly embrace that made her stiffen inwardly.
“Much better, I thank you.”
“Jane told me you had a bit too much to drink last night.”
Her laugh was brittle. “Not at all. Two glasses are always my limit. Strangely, I was ill even before I tasted a drop.” And apparently, she’d shared a bottle of wine with Mr. Worthington inside the coach last night.
“Ah.” His smile held no surprise. “Different drinks affect different constitutions.”
“Indeed,” she murmured, desperate to step back from his scrutiny.
He settled into a black leather chair, the kind of seat that belonged to a man accustomed to power. The faint gleam of gold at his cuff and the cut of his fine suit only emphasized the authority he wore as easily as his title.
“And what plans have you and my daughter for the day?” He asked.
“She wishes to visit the dressmaker for her gown.”
“Splendid,” he declared. “The wedding approaches quickly. It is wise not to delay.”
Her lips curved faintly. “Just so.” She paused, noticing his attire more carefully. His cravat was perfectly tied, his coat brushed and fitted, the look of a man bound for Society rather than leisure. “Do you have engagements today as well, my lord?”
He chuckled, eyes gleaming. “The boys and I shall attend a boxing match.”
The boys was his favored phrase for the endless cousins and nephews that shadowed him. Regina forced brightness into her voice. “A boxing match? There has not been one in our area for years.”
“That is because nobody has had the intelligence to organize the event until now,” Harold replied smoothly. “But one of my nephews has secured it. Enough men are willing to fight now. We shall see matches monthly, I should think.”
His tone was pleasant, but Regina shivered nonetheless. There was something in the way he spoke of the boys, of these gatherings, that always unsettled her—as though beneath the amiable charm lurked a darker current she could not name.
She gasped softly. “That often? How wonderful.”
Her reaction surprised even herself. Regina was not like most girls of the ton, who giggled over ballads and embroidery.
For years, her father had raised her as his shadow—a tomboy who ran wild, climbed fences, rode bareback, and cheered for sport rather than curtsying to it.
Only in recent years had her mother pressed her into the mold of a lady, teaching her the endless rules of etiquette, of measured smiles and graceful steps.
So very dull compared to the wind in her hair and the pounding of hooves on open ground.
The earl’s silence drew her attention back. Harold was watching her, his gaze narrowed, assessing. He was a man who did his best thinking in silence, and the weight of that silence pressed heavily on Regina until she shifted under it. Why was he staring so intently?
“Tell me, Regina,” he said at last, voice mild. “Do you still attend sporting events as you did when you were younger?”
She gave a nervous laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a lady now.”
“True,” he said. “But that should not stop you.”
“It does when I think about giving my mother palpitations. She is vehemently against my indulging in any of my old habits.”
He grinned, but his eyes gleamed. “And what if she did not know?”
“Mother always hears through gossip,” Regina replied with a wry twist of her lips. “Then she scolds Father for encouraging me. Poor man.”
“Your poor father, indeed.” Harold leaned back, as if savoring the exchange. “He must miss his little tomboy daughter.”
Before she could answer, the bell rang sharply, announcing a caller. “That must be Worthington,” Harold said with satisfaction.
Her heart plummeted like a stone to the bottom of the sea. “Mr. Worthington?” Her voice nearly cracked. “He is…going with you too?”
“Of course, my dear.” Harold’s tone was almost jovial. “He is now one of my boys.”
Panic seized her chest. She could not face him. Not here. Not with Harold present. “Th-then I should leave you to your guests,” she stammered. “I ought to see what is delaying Jane.” Without waiting for the earl’s answer, she turned toward the doorway…and nearly collided with the man himself.
Wayne Worthington filled the threshold, his height and broad shoulders blotting out the light behind him.
His gaze caught hers instantly, and her breath lodged in her throat.
He was dressed impeccably in a dark-brown coat and trousers, a black waistcoat emphasizing the width of his chest. And his sharp, emerald, searching eyes snared her in place.
Her treacherous gaze roamed over him against her will, and she noted how the cloth stretched faintly across his muscular form.
She already knew what that chest felt like beneath her palms, how those arms could crush her against him.
Heat flared through her, her heart beating an erratic rhythm as her mouth turned dry.
When she dared meet his eyes again, she saw it: the same arrested fascination she felt mirrored in his gaze. For one perilous moment, the parlor faded—the house, the earl, everything, and there was only that memory between them.
Then Wayne blinked rapidly, breaking the spell, and bowed to Harold.
“Worthington,” Harold greeted him warmly. “It is good to see you again. I trust you are better today. You looked a mess last night after the tavern.”
Confusion swept Regina. Wayne had also been unwell? What strange twist of fate was this?
“Yes,” Wayne answered smoothly, though his glance flickered toward her. “Much better, my lord.”
That smile…oh, heavens, that smile. Regina’s mind betrayed her, imagining it once more curved against her lips, trailing down her throat. She pressed her hands together tightly to keep from trembling.
When Harold moved to the liquor tray, Wayne’s attention returned to her.
The air between them seemed to thrum. She ought to flee, drop her gaze, do something.
But she could not. She waited, almost daring him to show guilt, to confess with his eyes what they had done.
Instead, his expression was maddeningly composed, even as his smile softened at the corners.
He bowed. “Good afternoon, Miss Taylor.”
Out of sheer habit, she sank into a curtsy, her throat dry. “Good day, Mr. Worthington.”
He stepped nearer, lowering his voice slightly. “Are you and Lady Jane engaged this afternoon?”
Her pulse leapt. “We…we are going to the dressmaker for her wedding gown.”
“Ah.” He inclined his head. “Then I wish you both a most delightful day. I’m sure you have much to discuss, as genteel ladies such as yourselves do.”
Her breath hitched. What did he mean? Was it a warning? A tease? Did he expect her to confess everything to Jane? Surely not. He scarcely knew her.
Before she could gather her wits, Harold returned, chuckling as he clapped Wayne on the shoulder. “Wrong again, Worthington. A day at the dressmaker’s is hardly Miss Taylor’s notion of delight. This young lady would rather hunt foxes, race horses, or raise barns than linger over lace and ribbons.”
Wayne’s eyes flew wide, his mouth parting in astonishment.