Sophie didn’t wait to hear Wesley’s reply. She hurried upstairs, all the way up to the studio. Her sanctuary. There, she was drawn to the basket in the corner, where the kittens suckled, their little paws kneading their mother’s belly, while Gulliver lay, languid and content. One little kitten popped off, asleep, and Sophie bent and picked it up. It was her favorite among them—tiny and grey with an unusual marking—a white patch that spotted its nose like cream. Cuddling it close, Sophie absorbed from the warm, soft body what comfort she could. God willing, she would soon hold her own child in similar fashion. What comfort that would be. What sweet consolation after all the strife surrounding the babe’s existence and pending arrival. Sophie stroked the soft fur and prayed for her little one. What sort of childhood would he or she have?Dear God, watch over us. Please protect my child....
Wesley’d had to control himself not to rebuke O’Dell and tell him to stop staring at his sister. Stop flirting with her too. For a moment he’d heard his own voice in the young man’s flattery, and the realization sent a chill through him.
When O’Dell finally departed and Sophie left the room, his mother hissed, “What was that young man going on about?”
“Don’t mind him, Mamma. He is a jackanapes. Sophie rejected him long ago and he is still bitter.”And vengeful, he added to himself.
Her cool gaze met his. “I think it is time you showed me those paintings.”
Wesley forestalled his mother yet again, and went upstairs to find Sophie. Things were getting out of hand. If O’Dell knew about him and Sophie, wasn’t it only a matter of time until her father found out? And Wesley’s recent paintings would certainly raise suspicions among his own family.
A surge of desperation flared through Wesley. Now that Keith had gone to see if he could bring Marsh home, this might very well be his last chance. He was running out of time to make Sophie see reason.
How could he convince her to realize and admit the truth: He loved her. Marsh did not.
Wesley let himself into the attic studio and found her staring out the window, cradling one of the kittens. She turned when he entered, mouth open in surprise.
Before she could object he said, “Sophie, listen to me. If I thought he loved you, if I thought there was a chance of happiness for the two of you, then of course I would never suggest you leave the man everyone sees as your husband. But he cares more for his regiment than he does for you. And when he recovers, he will go off with them for months—years—at a time. What sort of life would that be for you or our child? But I love you. And you love me. Don’t deny yourself happiness because of my mistakes and Marsh’s rash offer of marriage.”
She gave him a dour look. “And my rash acceptance?”
“No. I don’t blameyou. Marsh made you doubt me—made you think you had no other choice. I wrote to him and told him how I felt. Told him that we love each another. And that you should not have to carry on this ruse of a marriage out of duty, or to protect the Overtree name.”
She stilled, staring at him. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not? He was wrong, and it isn’t right you and I should have to suffer for it.”
Sophie stepped away and returned the kitten to its mother, probably giving herself time to fashion a rebuttal.
Before she could, Wesley went on, “We could leave separately. You could say you are returning to your own family. And I... on one of my painting trips. Then we can meet and decide what to do next. Find a place to live here in England until the child comes and it is safe to travel. Or if you feel up to it, go somewhere now. To Italy, perhaps. Somewhere we might annul this ruse, and marry before the baby is born. We can still be happy. Live as husband and wife. Parents to our child. As it was meant to be. As it stillcanbe.”
She shook her head. “I am already married. I have a husband. His name is Captain Stephen Overtree. And I shall not betray him.”
“But he is your husband in name only,” Wesley insisted. “The marriage has never even been consummated.”
She gaped at him, clearly stunned. “How do you know that?”
Triumph washed over him. “I was told about your sleeping arrangements, and guessed the rest. Non-consummation may not be grounds for annulment in England, but in another country...”
She frowned. “What sort of woman do you take me for? The captain is severely injured. And this is the news you would have await him when he returns? That his wife has run off with his brother?”
“We needn’t tell anyone our plan, if you prefer to keep it quiet. For a time, at least.”
“And you would never see your family again? Or lie to them for the rest of your days? And what about me? Am I to live as a kept woman in some isolated cottage somewhere, spurned by moral society, living for the few days a month you can get away to visit us? Never to see your parents or mine? You think a great deal too much of yourself, Wesley Overtree. That I would give up my family and yours and every last ounce of self-respect simply to be with you.”
“Sophie...” He was taken aback. She had never spoken so forcefully before. “What a vile picture you paint. It won’t be like that. We will have a loving home somewhere scenic with new landscapes to paint every day. Our precious, perfect child will grow up with a father and mother who love him or her. We can travel together. Paint together. Raise our son or daughter to love beauty and art.”
She raised her hands. “You are heir to Overtree Hall. Do you forget it? How long would you stay with me? Would you give up all of this for some little cottage far from here?”
“Yes, I would.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“But you love me. I know you do.”
“I did love you, Wesley. But that has changed. Everything has changed.”
Wesley bridged the gap between them and grasped her shoulders. “But I love you. I need you.”
