even as she tried to ignore the old ache that had returned to her chest. He made her feel so much…
Too much.
The intensity scared her. Still.
“When I can,” he answered, his gaze holding hers, his blue eyes shadowed with secrets he never shared. His blue eyes had been shadowy like that as a teenager at Langley, and yet as he, Clive and Sophie left school, the shadows had cleared. But the darkness was back again. The hardness, too. “Mother and Boyd have returned to Scotland. They live just outside Edinburgh. I’ve promised Mother I’d join them for Christmas. I’ll probably return to London on Boxing Day.”
And on Boxing Day she’d be boarding a plane for Brazil. “Are they well?”
“Yes. They’re enjoying Boyd’s retirement. And you,” Lon said, tugging gently on her collar. “How are you? Are you happy?”
His deep, rough voice went all the way through her and she shivered inside, shivered with a longing that she couldn’t control. Lon still overpowered her in every way possible.
“Happy?” she whispered, knowing that even if she couldn’t love him the way he’d wanted her to, she couldn’t hate him, either. “My husband’s dead. I’ve lost my home. I depend on my mother-in-law’s generosity.” Her eyes met his. “What do you think?”
His thumb brushed her chin. “I think you need me.”
“You’re still unbelievably arrogant.”
“And you’re still deep in denial.”
The library doors opened abruptly. The Countess entered, extending a hand to Alonso. “Dinner, my dear, is served.”
During dinner, Countess Louisa was in fine form, regaling Lon with story after story.
The Countess was one of the worst storytellers alive, but Lon, bless him, listened attentively as Louisa described the Somerset Ladies Horticultural Association’s autumn plans in stunningly dry detail.
Sophie wondered how Lon could possibly keep a straight face. Ten years ago Lon would have never listened to Louisa’s dull stories.
But then, ten years ago Louisa wouldn’t have talked to Lon.
They’d all changed so much in the past ten years. No, make that the past five years. Losing Clive had changed everything for them.
Lon looked up and his gaze met hers. She could have sworn he knew what she was thinking, and he looked at her with so much warmth, and hunger, Sophie felt breathless with curiosity.
Would he ever kiss her again?
Would he—could he—make her feel what she’d once felt when she was eighteen and still so excited about life?
The Countess rattled her cup as she returned it to the saucer. “Have you had enough dessert, my dear?” Her question was addressed to Lon.
“Yes, Louisa. Thank you.”
“Then you’ll join me in the library,” Louisa stated, pushing away from the table even as Sophie rose and began stacking the dishes.
“Why don’t I stay and help Sophie clear the table?”
The Countess waved her hand. “Nonsense. Sophie’s fine.” Louisa sailed forward and took Lon’s arm as if he were the last man alive. “Aren’t you, Sophie?”
“I’m fine,” she agreed, not because she couldn’t use the help in the kitchen, but because she needed a few minutes alone to pull herself together.
Seeing Lon—talking to Lon—discussing the past, had thrown her into a tailspin. She was supposed to be concentrating on her trip to Brazil. Instead at the moment all she could think about was Lon, and the way it’d once been between them.
But wasn’t this how she’d always felt around him? Dazed. Nervous? Hopelessly excited?
“I’m fine,” she repeated more firmly, this time for her sake, not his. She wasn’t a teenager anymore. She’d become a woman. A wife. And now a widow. If she could handle all those life changes, she could certainly handle an evening with Alonso. “I’ll join you as soon as I’m done.”
Sophie was elbow deep in soap bubbles when a long arm covered in fine black cashmere stretched past her, and picked up a dish towel.
“What are you doing?” she asked, turning to get a glimpse of Lon.
He’d pushed up his sleeves and was applying the dish towel to one of the rinsed dinner plates. “Helping you finish.”
“The Countess won’t like it.”
“The Countess doesn’t know. She thinks I’m in the lavatory.” He grinned, and his smile was so boyish, so much like the Lon she remembered from their summer holiday, that Sophie’s heart tightened, too full of memories and pain.
“You haven’t really changed,” she said, shooting him a dark glance.
“No. And you wouldn’t want me to. Now hand me the next plate.” Again his arm reached past her and she felt a tingle of pleasure as he brushed her hip with his own.
“How long have you been staying with the Countess?” he asked.
Her whole body felt far too sensitive. “A little over a year now,” she answered hoarsely. “Ever since Humphrey House was closed.” Humphrey House had been the house Clive took her to as a bride. “I couldn’t manage the maintenance and repairs anymore.”
“What’s it like living with her?”
“Interesting.”
“But you two must be getting along to survive a year?”
“I haven’t had much choice though, have I?” And then she shrugged. “But things are fine. I’m fine. I’m lucky she’s opened her home to me.”
“But?”
“There’s no but. England’s not South America. It’ll never be South America.”
He reached for the last plate. “So you think about Colombia?”
She smiled. “All the time.” Her voice dropped, and she stared into the sudsy water for a long moment. “They were the best years of my life.”
That was telling, Lon thought. She’d been an outcast at Elmshurst. There were two other Americans at the elite girls boarding school, but they were both very wealthy, and very connected. Sophie was neither. “What do you remember when you think about Columbia?”
“Buenaventura.”
The school holiday at the Wilkins beach house. Clive had managed to convince his father to invite both Lon and Sophie that summer.
Dishes done, Sophie pulled the plug on the sink. “It was an amazing holiday.”
Lon’s chest felt tight. She sounded so wistful. So alone. Did she even
