Lord of Regrets by Sabrina Darby Page A

incredible freedom. There was little if nothing left to hide.
    But he was restless immediately upon returning to the inn. The events of the evening had unsettled him. Made him remember how tenuous his position was and how after every moment he felt closer to achieving his goal, Natasha tried to run.
    And the rector had visited her. It should have been Marcus spending those final hours of daylight in Natasha’s company, but he had let Parrington’s invitation change his plans.
    The restlessness boiled over. He took Juniper out of the stables and rode to Natasha’s house. The air whipping past his face cleared his head, and he arrived there exhilarated. He sent his groom home and took up position in the rear of the house, protected from the wind by the large trunk of an old sycamore and out of sight of prying eyes. Not that he had been particularly secretive in his comings and goings. A fact for which he knew Natasha would not thank him.
    It had been quiet this past week. He liked being close to her, knowing she was there inside. That his daughter––the word was still a wonder to him––was inside as well, safe and warm. He wanted the girl in his home. He wanted to protect her, spoil her––protect and spoil them both.
    The wind shuddered, and Marcus shivered at the sudden onslaught. A creaking noise drew his attention. The door at the rear of the house moved as if it was slightly ajar.
    Despite the cold, heat swept through him. He knew.
    He crossed the yard in large, ground-eating strides. He didn’t bother to be quiet when he went inside. The house was silent but for him and his boots, echoing hollowly upon the wood floor.
    Her bedroom was empty. Leona’s room as well. The spaces felt impersonal. Barren.
    The house felt empty.
    They were gone.
    Fear struck at him, and he stumbled forward before he caught himself on the corridor wall. She couldn’t have gotten far. Not with Leona, not with their belongings. Not in the middle of the night on foot. With the advantage of Juniper, Marcus would find her.
    He took a lantern from her house and returned quickly outside, into the cold night that was too stifling. He mounted Juniper without even a conscious thought. The sure power of the horseflesh between his legs steadied him, encouraged him.
    She could not have gotten far.
    He cursed the dinner that had distracted him and kept him away from her. He cursed the rector for being the last to have seen her and yet to have said nothing. He cursed her willingness to run, to go against her word that she would give him a chance.
    As he crossed farmland and public roads alike, the countryside in the thin light of the moon and in the waning light of his lantern was a forest of shadows and a sea of undulating hills. Several hours later, soaked through with sweat and yet numb from the cold, a flash of movement, of metal, caught the lantern’s light, made him draw in the reins, slowing Juniper to a walk. Then a noise, like a gasp or sob, drew his eye again to the same place.
    There, huddled under a tree as if hiding from him, was Natasha. She watched him warily, but she didn’t move. He imagined that she couldn’t, weighted down by Leona’s body and the overstuffed valise by their side.
    Leona looked at him sleepily, and then her head fell back against her mother’s breast.
    He dismounted. Natasha struggled to her feet.
    “You said you wouldn’t run.” He said it as an accusation, unaware of how much it pained him until the words fell crisp and clear in the dark.
    “Why should I keep any promise said to you?”
    She looked around, seeking escape, he thought. She would try to run, he knew. Perhaps not this night but tomorrow or the next, again and again, taking away the chance to woo her. But his will was greater, his cause greater. He would not lose her again.
    “You cannot take my daughter from me,” he warned, the threat uttered on pure instinct.
    Natasha gasped. “How dare you? She’s not yours and you cannot prove that