Lost Lady (James River Trilogy 2)

A knock on the door brought her back to the present. At her answer, Farrell opened the door.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” he said, smiling, his eyes showing how much he enjoyed the sight of her.

“Not at all,” she answered, rising, offering him her hand. “I was just going to send you a message asking you to join me.”

Lowering his head, he kissed her hand ardently. “Perhaps you couldn’t bear to face me so soon,” he murmured lovingly. “After all, we meant so much to each other so long ago.”

It’s a good thing Farrell couldn’t see Regan’s face at that moment. Sheer shock was the expression that immediately registered. Why, you pompous little dandy! she thought. Did he really believe she had no memory of that hideous night so long ago, that she didn’t remember the reason he wanted to marry her?

By the time he’d lifted his head, Regan was smiling. She hadn’t become a wealthy woman by letting her feelings show. “Yes,” she said sweetly. “It has been a long while. Won’t you sit down? Could I get you something to drink?”

“Whiskey if you have it.”

She poured him a water-glass full of Irish whiskey and smiled innocently when he blinked at it. Settling herself in a chair across from him, she asked, “And how is my uncle?”

“Deceased, I’m afraid.”

Regan didn’t respond to that, unsure of her own emotions. For all he had done to her, he was still her relative. “Why have you come here, Farrell?”

He took a while before answering. “Guilt,” he finally answered. “Although I had no real say in what your uncle did to you that night, I still felt somewhat responsible. In spite of what you may have thought you heard, I did care about you. I was concerned that you were so young, and I was displeased with your uncle for kee

ping you in such ignorance.” He laughed as if they exchanged some private joke. “You must admit you were not the most inspired of dinner companions. I’ve never been one for robbing from the schoolroom. Perhaps other men like that sort of thing.”

“And now?” Regan smiled seductively.

“You’ve changed. You’re…not a child anymore.”

Before she could answer him, the door burst open and Jennifer ran in, a handful of stemless flowers clutched in a dirty hand. She was a pretty three-year-old, with Regan’s smallness and Travis’s eyes and hair. She’d also inherited her father’s sureness in life, never cringing from anything as Regan had done at her age. “I brought you some flowers, Mommie,” she grinned.

“How sweet of you! Now I know spring is really on its way,” Regan answered, giving her sturdy daughter a fierce hug.

Jennifer, never shy, was staring openly at Farrell. “Who’s he?” she said in a stage whisper.

“Farrell, I’d like you to meet my daughter Jennifer, and this is an old friend of mine—Mr. Batsford.”

Jennifer managed to get a “How do you do?” out before she left the room as quickly as she’d entered it.

Regan gave an adoring glance at the door her daughter had just shut much too loudly, before looking back at Farrell. “I’m afraid you’ve seen my daughter for as long as any of us see her. She has the run of the inn and the grounds and makes use of every moment.”

“Who is her father?” he asked, wasting no time.

Regan gave the lie she always gave, saying quickly that she was a widow, but, perhaps because today she was thinking so hard about Travis, her eyes betrayed the lie. She caught Farrell’s quick look but said nothing more because to emphasize the lie would make it weaker.

“I must let you get back to your work,” he said quietly. “Perhaps you will have dinner with me tonight?”

Still flustered over Farrell’s catching of her lie, she agreed readily.

“Until tonight then,” he smiled, and left the room.

Farrell went immediately to the kitchen to speak to the head chef about a very special dinner. When he was introduced to Brandy and saw the hostility in her eyes, he knew she’d been told Regan’s story. Instantly, he turned on his most charming manner and asked if she’d show him the town. Feeling helpless to do otherwise, Brandy agreed and set out on one of the most charming afternoons of her life. If there was one thing Farrell had learned in the last several years in his pursuit of a rich wife, it was how to charm women. By the end of the afternoon he had Brandy believing he was an innocent victim of Jonathan Northland’s greed. He told a long, complicated story of what he’d gone through to find Regan, how his conscience had eaten at him over the years. When he returned to the hotel, he had Brandy singing his praises, and he had more—the name and whereabouts of Regan’s husband. By the time he was ready for dinner, a man had been dispatched to Virginia to find out the truth about Travis Stanford.

Chapter 16

TRAVIS LOUNGED AGAINST THE COUNTERTOP OF THE GLASS case in a Richmond dress shop, waiting with little grace while Margo tried on yet another dress.

“And how is this one, darling?” she said, returning from behind the dressing-room curtains. Very little of her large breasts were left to the imagination by the rust-colored muslin. “It’s not too daring, is it?” she asked in a low voice as she walked closer to him, grazing his chest.

“It’s fine,” he said impatiently. “Haven’t you bought enough? I’d like to get home before the sun sets.”