‘You can put him down on the couch,’ his lovely companion instructed him, her porcelain cheeks flushing a little as her emerald eyes warily met his.
He willingly complied—but not before thinking how much he’d love to free her beautiful chestnut hair from the plaits she’d worn all day, knowing that it would ripple down her back like a pre-Raphaelite beauty’s. Jarrett had a powerful compulsion to comb out the long silken skeins with his fingers, then gently smooth them back so that he could more closely examine the sublime contours of her lovely face.
‘I can carry him up to bed if you’d prefer?’
Sophia declined the offer. ‘He’ll be fine right here on the couch. We don’t use the bedrooms upstairs. There’s a lot of work to be done to make them anywhere near habitable, I’m afraid. Charlie and I sleep in what was once the parlour. I’ve cleaned it up a bit, got rid of the dust and cobwebs—that sort of thing. I’ve put up some new curtains and arranged our beds in there. There’s even a fireplace that we can use in the winter if need be. The house doesn’t have the luxury of central heating, and I’m sure the temperatures will be bitter by then.’
After gently pulling the colourful crocheted blanket that lay folded at the end of the antique sofa over Charlie’s sleeping form, Jarrett straightened to give her his undivided attention. ‘I don’t mean this unkindly, but did you even know what you were doing when you bought a place like this?’
Sophia dropped the straw bag she’d taken to the seaside onto a nearby Edwardian chair and folded her arms. Then she lifted her chin in a gesture that clearly illustrated her defensiveness. ‘I didn’t buy it. Do I look like the kind of person who could afford to buy a house like this?’
He shrugged. ‘What does a person who can afford to buy an expensive period property look like? If you didn’t buy it, then how did you come to be here?’ Sensing this wasn’t the kind of information she readily wanted to share, he almost held his breath as he silently willed her not to keep it a secret.
Absently freeing the two covered red bands that secured her plaits, she started to loosen her hair. Jarrett’s mouth turned helplessly dry as he watched her comb her slender fingers through it. Just as he’d imagined, the luxurious fall of rippling dark strands might have come straight out of a pre-Raphaelite painting.
‘My aunt left it to me.’
‘Mary Wingham was your aunt?’
‘My great-aunt.’
Taken aback for a moment, he rubbed a hand round his jaw. ‘Did you visit her much when she was alive?’
She looked downcast. ‘No. I didn’t. The last time I was here was when I was about twelve years old.’
‘Yet she bequeathed you this house?’
‘Yes.’
‘She must have been very fond of you.’
‘Hmm.’ The soft green eyes glimmered wryly. ‘My dad always told me she didn’t exactly like our family … although I think she secretly had a bit of a soft spot for him. Anyway, the last time I personally set eyes on her was at his funeral, and I remember her looking pretty upset. But I still don’t know why she chose to leave the place to me. Of course I’m very grateful that she did.’
‘But—’
‘I’m tired, and I really think I’ve answered enough questions for one day.’
Even though he yearned to hear more, the expression on Sophia’s face was determined enough to make Jarrett conclude he shouldn’t push his luck—and neither should he forget that for a woman who had an obvious tendency to be reclusive she had at least let her guard down enough to allow him to spend time with her and her son.
TELLING herself it would be rude not to offer Jarrett a cup of tea when he’d so thoughtfully taken her and Charlie to the beach for the afternoon, Sophia fought down her wariness at his curiosity about her and led the way into the lofty-ceilinged kitchen. With its dulled terracotta tiled floor and tall curtainless windows overlooking the currently wild and untended back garden, it was hardly inviting.
Seeing the daylight was fading fast, she flicked on the light switch. But the pool of dreary yellow light emanating weakly from the single bulb hovering above the scrubbed pine table in its nondescript cream shade hardly helped matters. It was hard for her not to feel painfully embarrassed that the room wasn’t more hospitable.
‘How do you take your tea?’ she asked her guest, almost flinching as his penetrating gaze interestedly examined his surroundings. There was no way they’d make a favourable comparison with his sister’s ultramodern fitted kitchen, she thought. Not unless his preference was for genteel old buildings in urgent need of a major makeover.
‘I like it strong, thanks … no sugar. What an incredible kitchen—great for a large family. Beautiful too.’
‘It certainly could be. Of course I plan to renovate it, along with the rest of the house, but I can’t afford to do it all straight away. It’s going to take an awful lot of money and time to do it justice. It’s clear that my aunt got rather frail towards the end of her life and couldn’t take care of the place like she used to. When I visited here as a child it always seemed so grand. It was like a palace, and the garden was a fairy princess’s magical kingdom.’
One corner of Jarrett’s lips hitched up into his cheek. ‘That’s a nice memory. You know, Sophia, some things are worth waiting for. With a house like this it makes good sense to take your time mulling over what you’d like to do room by room. Just do what you can when you can. One step at a time, would be my advice.’
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ Making a cursory nod towards one of the straight-backed chairs round the table, Sophia was a little taken aback by Jarrett’s measured comments, but she also felt reassured that he sympathised and understood.
‘Sophia?’
‘Yes?’ Glancing round as she stood at the deep ceramic butler sink, filling the copper kettle at the single tap, she was slightly unnerved by the intensity of his gaze. He was standing behind the chair rather than sitting down, and his big hands curled round the dark wooden back as though he were indelibly stamping his presence on everything he touched … disturbingly on her senses too … whether she liked it or not.
‘You seem a little on edge,’ he observed. ‘Why don’t you try and relax?’
‘I’m afraid it’s become rather a habit … not being able to relax, I mean.’
‘Because of what happened to you before you came here?’
The sonorous chiming of the grandfather clock in the hallway just then drowned out any other sound. It also gave Sophia some precious moments to collect her thoughts. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I think you know what I mean … But I’ll ask you plainly so that there’s no confusion.’
Turning off the tap, she lifted the kettle with a less than steady hand, then set it down on the wooden draining board. She turned to face him. ‘Go on, then.’
‘You told me that you were a widow. But the comment you made straight afterwards about not being sorry about it definitely suggested your marriage wasn’t a happy one. Was that the reason you came to the village and moved into your aunt’s house rather than selling it?’
‘You think I was running away from a bad marriage?’
‘I’m not suggesting