A strangled sound escaped her—along with a sob. In the next instant, Brand rose and sat beside her on the bed. He clasped her shoulders, his gaze boring into hers. Intent. Searching.
"What happened?" He asked quietly.
"Balfour Finlay," she said. Tears blinded her. "He had wronged you most grievously, and I am his daughter."
His hold on her loosened, but his expression tightened. "Don't."
"I am sorry," she sobbed. "I have been a fool. I intruded upon your life, with my past, with this child, and with the pain my father dealt you."
Brand said nothing. She caught the bulge in his throat when he swallowed. Good gracious, he must have hated her thoroughly. How could he stand the sight of her? How could he endure her presence? And she had thought him wicked for sending her away. No, he was kinder. She knew of a man who would have struck her, repeatedly, until his rage was spent.
