W.D.O.
Sophie’s breath hitched. Her stomach knotted. Could it be true? Had Wesley realized his true feelings and regretted leaving her even before he’d departed England’s shores? Already planning to return to her?Oh no....
For several minutes, Sophie stared unseeing at the letter before her, written only a few short days before she married his brother. How dare Maurice read it?
Drawing a shaky breath, Sophie refolded the letter again and again, smaller and smaller.
She had thought she had mastered her thoughts. Once she had become his brother’s wife, she had not let her mind dwell on Wesley nor remember intimate moments with him. But now, spurred by this letter, by these words she had longed to hear, she allowed the memories to come...
Not long after Wesley Overtree returned to Lynmouth the second year, he and Sophie stood side by side with their easels atop Castle Rock, dressed warmly against the cold. She painted the landscape, while he painted her.
The winter days were still short and the sun began setting late in the afternoon. They watched it together, she now and again feeling his gaze on her profile.
She glanced at him as well, admiring his fine features, full lower lip, and perfect nose slightly pink from the chilly wind. She could have looked upon his face for hours.
When the sun faded into the horizon, they packed up their things and began the brisk walk back.
As they navigated the rocky path, he said, “You are unique, Sophie. Any other woman would become bored within a quarter of an hour and begged to be taken shopping or to the theatre, but you and I can paint together in companionable silence for hours.”
He slid his supplies under one arm and took her hand in his. “You make me happy, Sophie. I hope you know that.”
Her heart thumped, and she smiled shyly at him. “That is quite a coincidence. For I have never been happier in my life.”
They returned to the rented cottage and set aside their things, pulling off their gloves, mufflers, and winter coats. There was no sign of Carlton Keith.
“Sit for me, will you?” Wesley asked.
She shook her head. “You must be growing tired of painting me. Let’s do something else.”
“Not at all! You arela mia musa. Besides, I have an idea for a new portrait.” He rubbed his hands together. “I am thinking of calling itmai stata baciata.”
Sophie’s mind instantly translated,Never been kissed.She ducked her head, feeling her cheeks heat. “However accurate, I don’t know that I want that fact captured in oil.”
He took her hands and warmed them between his own. “Then perhaps I shall call itil primo bacio.”
The first kiss. Her gaze flew to his. Was he teasing her?
His golden-brown eyes warm on her face, he said in a low voice, “I know you have never been kissed, mia Sophia. But I mean to change that.”
She blinked, faltering, “I... I don’t know that we should.”
He lit several lamps and positioned the chair where he wanted it. “Don’t worry. You don’t need to do anything, sweet girl. Just sit here and look as appealing as you are. I want to see your reaction. Try to capture it.”
Should she allow him to kiss her? Could she resist?
Heart pounding, she asked timidly, “Just... kiss?”
His watchful eyes grazed hers. He said softly, “If that’s what you want...”
“I want to be able to trust you.”
“I want that too. You know I would never hurt you, Sophie. That I care for you? Adore you?”
“I do know that.”
“Then close your eyes and focus on your mouth.”
She obeyed, closing her eyes, her pulse beginning to trip a little faster with every second of waiting.
