His arms looped around her back, pulling her as close as her rounded middle allowed. He tried to kiss her mouth, but she turned her head and pushed at his chest.
“Wesley, don’t. It isn’t right.”
He kept his arms around her, trailing his lips over her cheek. “Yes, it is. It will be.”
“Good heavens. What is going on here?”
Sophie gasped and turned her head toward the door.No.The Overtrees had followed their son upstairs.
Mrs. Overtree stood there, her husband right behind her. “Let her go, Wesley.”
Sophie’s chest tightened, and she found herself suddenly dizzy. Wesley released her but remained close to her side.
Mr. Overtree’s face slackened in incredulity. “Stephen is lying injured in a military hospital and you betray him like this?”
“I feared something like this would happen.” Mrs. Overtree’s cold eyes fastened on her.
“I did not betray him,” Sophie protested.
Mrs. Overtree’s mouth twisted. “No? What do you call it?”
“This isn’t what you think, Mamma.”
“Dashed stupid, Wesley.” His father scowled. “Could you not leave her alone?”
Wesley sighed. “Capital. Mamma blames Sophie. Papa blames me, and Stephen is the poor victim, when nothing could be further from the truth.”
“Are you telling me nothing happened between you? When I find her in your arms. And you kissing her?”
“Nothing has happened. Not since she married Stephen. But we knew each other in Lynmouth....”
Sophie pleaded, “Wesley, don’t.”
Mrs. Overtree whipped open the door with a bang. “It’s time you showed us what’s in that crate, Wesley. I’m through taking no for an answer. That O’Dell fellow was hinting at something unsavory, and it’s time to have it over and done.”
Mr. Overtree frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Wesley’s jaw clenched. “You want to see those paintings, Mamma? Very well.” He snagged Sophie’s hand and pulled her along behind him. “Follow me. All of you.”
“Wesley, no...” Sophie moaned.
“It’s time for the truth to come out.” He led her down the stairs and along the corridor to his rooms.
Behind them, his father called, “Wesley, release Sophie. Be gentle with her!”
“I am not hurting her.”
“Yes. You. Are,” she panted out.
Wesley threw back the door to his studio, gestured them all inside, and closed the door behind him—perhaps afraid Sophie might flee the room. She was certainly tempted to do just that.
She saw the crate in the corner and dread mounted.
He pointed to it. “Read the delivery direction, Papa.”
His father bent and squinted at it. “‘Mr. Wesley Overtree, Overtree Hall, Wickbury, Gloucestershire.’ So?”
“And where it came from?”
