Angela picked up the fallen shuttlecock and served to Wesley again. “And were you as surprised as the rest of us to meet Stephen’s wife?”
“More so, I imagine.”
Kate spoke up. “And here I thought both my brothers were confirmed old bachelors.”
“Speaking of which, any word from Stephen?” Angela turned toward spectator-Sophie as she said it.
“Not lately,” Sophie replied.
Angela added kindly, “We all pray for a quick end to this renewed threat, and his safe return.”
Sophie nodded. “Thank you.”
Miss Blake sent Wesley a sidelong glance. “We doallpray for Stephen’s safe return, do we not?”
“Hmm?” Wesley murmured, taken aback. He noticed Keith and Sophie both watching them, and said, “Oh, yes, of course.”
Unfortunately, Angela could read him as accurately as he could read her. He hoped her good breeding would guard her tongue.
chapter 23
They rested on Sunday, but the following week Sophie and Wesley returned to the studio to work on the portraits—his of her and hers of Kate.
Sophie had already captured the general outline of the girl’s pose, hair, hands, and dress, and now worked to add detail to her features. Soon Kate grew tired of sitting still, and Sophie released her to go for a walk with Miss Blake into the village. Sophie could continue on for a time without her model.
Wesley continued as well, now and again asking her to stop painting so he could focus on some detail of her face or hair.
“Lovelier than ever, mia Sophia.”
“Stop calling me that. I am not yours.”
“Maybe not now. But don’t you remember what we had between us?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Don’t, or won’t?”
She refused to answer. The truth was, she was trying hardnotto remember what had passed between them, how she had felt about him, and sometimes still did. After all, she had only been married to Stephen for two months, but she had been in love with Wesley for more than a year.
He set aside his palette and rose, stepping behind her stool and leaning down to whisper in her ear. “You can deny it all you like, but we both know there was a time you were mine—heart, soul, mind, and body....”
She lurched to her feet to put distance between them, pretending the need to adjust the light coming into the room. She stepped to the window and stretched up to reach the top shutter, her gown flattening, straining against her body as she did so.
She glanced over at him and realized he was staring at her—not at her face but at her midsection.
He frowned, strode over to her, and before she could protest or flee, clasped her around the waist, his exploring hands far more measuring than romantic.
She squirmed in his hold. “What are you doing? Release me.”
“Thunder and turf, Sophie. Are you with child?”
Her mouth parted. “What? I...”
“You are. I can tell. I knew something was different about you, but I didn’t think... Not so soon.”
“Please lower your voice, Mr. Overtree. I—”
“Are you going to deny this too? Don’t bother. Don’t forget, I once knew your body as well as my own. Every curve. Every dip. Every inch.”
