That discussion they’d just had about happiness was already taking on a deeper significance that he wanted to explore.

Depositing his glass of wine on the small wrought-iron table in front of them, he suddenly pushed to his feet. ‘What makes you think I wouldn’t keep my promise?’ he asked, irked that she would doubt him.

‘My son’s been let down by people breaking their promises to him before, and I don’t want him building up his hopes only to have them dashed again.’

‘Not everyone breaks their promises. Maybe you need to learn to trust a little bit more?’

‘Trust you, you mean? I barely know you.’

‘But that can be remedied, right?’

THE POWERFUL AND THE PURE

When Beauty tames the brooding Beast …

From Mr Darcy to Heathcliff, the best romantic heroes have always been tall, dark and dangerously irresistible.

This year indulge yourself as Mills & Boon® brings you a contemporary take on our favourite classic romances.

Formidable men—the ultimate heroes—untamable … or so they think!

This month one of the Brontës’ most brooding and passionate novels is given the Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance twist in:

DISTRACTED BY HER VIRTUE by Maggie Cox

Look out for more timeless love stories retold for the 21st Century

THE FORBIDDEN WIFE by Sharon Kendrick

THE MATCHMAKER BRIDE by Kate Hewitt

IN WANT OF A WIFE? by Cathy Williams

THE RETURN OF THE STRANGER by Kate Walker

A WICKED PERSUASION by Catherine George

About the Author

The day MAGGIE COX saw the film version of Wuthering Heights, with a beautiful Merle Oberon and a very handsome Laurence Olivier, was the day she became hooked on romance. From that day onwards she spent a lot of time dreaming up her own romances, secretly hoping that one day she might become published and get paid for doing what she loved most! Now that her dream is being realised, she wakes up every morning and counts her blessings. She is married to a gorgeous man, and is the mother of two wonderful sons. Her two other great passions in life—besides her family and reading/writing—are music and films.

Recent titles by the same author:

A DEVILISHLY DARK DEAL

THE LOST WIFE

THE BROODING STRANGER

Did you know these are also available as eBooks?

Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Distracted
by her Virtue
Maggie Cox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Lesley, who never fails to make me laugh

and see the funny side of things!

You are such a blessing

and I’m so glad that we’re friends.

CHAPTER ONE

AS JARRETT picked his way carefully down the steep grassy bank that was made potentially treacherous by the odd jagged stone hidden amongst the greenery the chocolate-brown Lab accompanying him passed him with a swift, much more sure-footed tread. He lifted his head to follow the dog’s enthusiastic trail, and his gaze was suddenly captured by an unexpected sight. At the foot of the valley just ahead, down by the familiar babbling brook that the dog usually made a beeline for, he spied the unfamiliar figure of a lithe young woman dressed in jeans and a khaki-coloured weatherproof jacket. Her hands held a camera, and as he observed her she dropped to her haunches to photograph something.

At this distance it was hard to see what it was, but it crossed Jarrett’s mind that the woman might be one of those horticulturists who occasionally visited the area, cataloguing some rare plant or flower. It was a fine spring day and, having just closed the deal on a prime parcel of land not twenty miles from here, Jarrett was predisposed to be sociable.

‘Hello there!’ he called out as he drew nearer, and the woman lifted her head and glanced round at him, startled. As he drew nearer, the beauty of her face literally stopped him in his tracks. Who was she? Inside his chest his heart thumped hard—as though he’d sprinted down that treacherous hillside. He’d never come across eyes of such a light green hue before … like the softest summer grass. And the silky mantle of chestnut hair that flowed down over her shoulders was the perfect foil to bring out the colour, he thought with pleasure as his lips formed an appreciative smile. ‘It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?’

‘Charlie? Charlie, come over here to me right now!’

He hadn’t seen the child, but at the woman’s urgent-voiced command, like an arrow expertly released from its bow to fly towards its target, he appeared out of a distant clump of trees and threw himself into her lap, almost knocking her over. Was she his mother? Jarrett wondered. She looked almost too young.

Though she might just be a passing stranger, the need to know who she was wouldn’t leave him alone. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he apologised, holding out his hand, ‘My name’s Jarrett Gaskill. I live on the other side of that rise up there.’

If he’d been expecting her to reciprocate with similar information then he was doomed to disappointment. Glancing at his outstretched hand, the green-eyed beauty made no move to take it. Instead she laid down her camera, sat back on the grass and tenderly patted the small boy on his back, as if to reassure him that everything was all right. The child’s riot of dark curls was tucked beneath her chin as if he wanted to hide.

‘I know it may not look like it, but I’m not taking pictures purely for my own amusement. I’m actually working.’

The bewitching green eyes flashed, but for a moment Jarrett’s attention was more captivated by her voice. There was such resolve and firmness in its husky tones—a warning too—that it took him aback. Did she think he presented some kind of threat to her and the child?

The thought made him retreat a couple of steps, and he let his hand drop uselessly down by his side. As if to remind him of his presence, the chocolate Lab that he was dog-sitting for his sister Beth nudged his muzzle into his palm and gave him a lick. The creature had done his usual trick of galloping joyfully through the water, and as a result was now sopping wet from head to tail. ‘It’s all right, boy … we’ll be on our way in just a minute.’

‘Was there something else?’

The woman appeared almost affronted that he might be contemplating staying for even a second longer when she’d clearly demonstrated that his presence wasn’t welcome. Swallowing down the disagreeable sense of rejection that curdled briefly in the pit of his stomach, Jarrett met her unflinching glare with an equally unwavering one of his own. His lip even curled a little mockingly. ‘No … I was simply passing the time of day. Nothing more sinister than that.’

‘Don’t be offended. It’s just that when I’m working I have to give my full attention to my subject. If I allow myself to get distracted then the photograph turns out to be useless.’

‘In that case I won’t distract or disturb you any longer. Enjoy the rest of your day.’

‘You too.’

‘Come on, Dylan … time for us to go.’

The boy on her lap turned his head to steal a helpless glance of longing at the dog. Jarrett saw that the child, too, was uncommonly striking. But his bright long-lashed eyes weren’t the arresting green of the woman’s. They were a dark berry-brown. Was she his mother? he wondered again. He’d love to know. More to the point, did she come from one of the nearby villages? Due to the demands of his business, he didn’t spend a lot of time at home, but nonetheless he didn’t think she was a native of the area. He was certain he would have heard about her if she was. Such beauty would not go unnoticed for long.

Despite his curiosity, Jarrett knew that it was time for him to go. As he turned away it felt as if the bright day had suddenly dimmed. Even the memory of the deal he had just closed couldn’t diminish the blow to his ego that the green-eyed beauty had dealt him with her indifference and distrust.

‘Her name’s Sophia Markham. She’s moved into High Ridge Hall.’

‘What?’ The information his sister had so helpfully provided when she’d rung to let him know that she and her husband Paul had returned from their weekend trip to Paris had sent a thunderbolt jack-knifing through Jarrett’s heart. He’d been trying to purchase the old manor house for years, but the elderly lady who had lived there until two Christmases ago had doggedly refused to sell—even when it became clear that the building was heading for rack and ruin due to her neglect. The place had been standing empty since she’d died, and even though he’d made several enquiries to all the local agencies neither they nor he were any the wiser regarding who owned it or what was going to happen to it now. So now, when Beth so matter-of-factly told him that the girl he’d described down by the stream yesterday had moved into it he was crushed with disappointment.

High Ridge Hall was much more than just a once grand crumbling edifice he yearned to restore to its former glory. Historically, it had always been the seat of one of the richest families in the area. Owning such a place would set the seal on the successes of the past few years during which his ‘property empire’—as Beth teasingly called it—had gone from strength to strength. He couldn’t help but feel jealous that the green-eyed beauty had moved into the place. She must have some important connections indeed for her to be able to live there—even though it must be falling down round her ears. But then, as he remembered the powerful tug of attraction he’d experienced towards her almost on sight, he was reminded of the lustful heat that had assailed him at just a single glance from her bewitching eyes …

‘Local opinion is that she is related to old Miss Wingham,’ said Beth. ‘How else could she move in? The place wasn’t even put up for sale.’

‘Damn it all to hell!’

‘Mum would turn in her grave if she heard you say that, Jarrett.’

‘Thankfully I’m not encumbered by our late mother’s religious proclivities—and nor should you be,’ he answered irritably.

‘Anyway … you say you met her down by the stream in the valley? I hear she has a son. Was he with her?’

‘Yes. He was.’

‘There’s no evidence of a father or husband. Do you think she’s divorced? Or maybe her husband works abroad?’

‘You’re becoming as nosey as the rest of the village.’

‘Don’t pretend you’re not interested. I hear our Ms Markham is a real looker.’

Jarrett elected not to reply. He was still coming to terms with the idea that purchasing the house—a goal he had set his heart on—was no longer an option. At the other end of the line his sister emitted a long-suffering sigh.

‘Couple that with the fact that she’s moved into High Ridge Hall, and my guess is that you won’t be so eager to fly off on any long-haul business trips any time soon … at least not until you find out how she got the house and who she is.’

‘Well, you’re wrong about that. As a matter of fact I’m flying out to New York on Friday. I expect to be away for at last a fortnight, if not more.’

‘I’m only teasing you, little brother.’

‘Don’t call me that,’ replied Jarrett, who at six foot two could scarcely be described as ‘little’.

‘To me you’ll always be my little brother. And with both our parents gone it’s down to me to keep a sisterly eye on you. Changing the subject—have you seen anything of Katie Stewart lately?’

Katie Stewart? The woman he’d taken out on a few dates he hadn’t even wanted to go on? She had barely crossed Jarrett’s mind. Her company was pleasant enough, but her conversation hardly lit up the world. As attractive as she was, he wouldn’t date any woman purely because she was easy on the eye. At the very least she had to be bright and engaging, with a good sense of humour. And of course the most important element of all was that there had to be some fundamental connection between them—an undeniable spark that would keep him interested. At thirty-six he was still single, and it wasn’t hard to understand why. The kind of woman his heart secretly yearned for seemed hard to find—at least in his world. Beth put it down to pickiness, but Jarrett preferred to consider himself discerning.

‘No, I haven’t seen Katie Stewart lately. When and if I do I’ll be sure to give you a report.’

‘I just worry about you having no one who really matters to you in your life. All the money and success in the world won’t make you happy or keep you warm on those bitter winter nights, Jarrett.’

He grinned into the receiver. ‘Now you’re sounding like one of those batty psychics that tell you you’re going to meet a tall dark stranger if you cross their palm with silver.’

‘Is Sophia Markham tall?’

Jarrett’s grin immediately turned into a scowl. ‘I’ve no idea. When I saw her she was crouching to take a photograph. Anyway, I’ve got to get on. I’ll bring the dog back to you around lunchtime, shall I?’

‘Are you angling for a lunch invitation?’

‘Throw a slice of ham between a couple of slices of bread, make me a cup of tea and I won’t dash off. I’ll stay and have a chat with you.’

‘The day I “throw” a slice of ham between two slices of bread and call it lunch, I’ll know I’ve seriously lost the plot!’

Reflecting on some of the wonderful meals his sister had made for him long before she’d gone to catering college and eventually become head chef for one of the high-end restaurants in the west end of London, Jarrett’s feelings towards Beth palpably softened. ‘You’re a true culinary genius, sweetheart, and believe me—both my stomach and my palate are grateful for it. I’ll see your around one o’clock, shall I?’

‘And don’t forget to bring Dylan with you, will you?’

‘As if I’d forget … Every time I turn round he’s either doing his best to enslave me with those huge seal-pup eyes of his or trip me over!’

As she drew back the ancient tapestry drapes, the rain of dust made Sophia cough violently. She stepped back just in time as the heavy brass curtain rail clattered heavily down onto the dark wooden floor.

‘Of all the stupid things to do …’ she muttered.

Knowing she’d had a lucky escape, she shook her head, planted her hands on her hips and smiled ruefully. For a while she just stood, watching the dust motes that jumped up from the floor swirl madly in the beam of sunlight that arrowed in through the window. If she’d longed for a project to help quell the misery and despair of the past then she’d found one right enough. It was going to take a good deal of hard toil, sweat and probably tears too to make this house anywhere near comfortable enough to enjoy living in. But she hardly had cause for complaint. Not when her eccentric Great-Aunt Mary had bequeathed her such an incredible gift.

Who would have guessed that a woman who had barely even acknowledged her as a child except to frown down at her through her half-moon glasses would turn out to be her guardian angel and fairy godmother all rolled into one?

‘Aunt Mary dislikes most of her family … the adults at any rate,’ Sophia’s dad had told her once, even as his merry green eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘She doesn’t believe that we deserve to count her as a relative. We’re a great disappointment to her, I’m sure. When she goes she’ll leave this gothic monstrosity of a house to some cat or dog charity … just wait and see!’

Well … her eccentric great-aunt hadn’t bequeathed High Ridge Hall to an animal charity. She’d left it to Sophia instead.

The day before she’d been due to leave the home that she had been forced to sell she’d had a phone call from a solicitor’s office in London. They had spent months trying to track her down, to tell her that she was the sole beneficiary in her great-aunt’s will. Sophia had been appalled—she hadn’t even heard that she’d died. Since her dad had passed away she’d lost touch with practically everyone but her brother David, and she saw him infrequently enough. In a way she was glad. Since her husband’s destructive behaviour and alcoholism had grown even worse, she’d become too ashamed to let family or friends see how low she had sunk. To learn that not only had she been left High Ridge Hall but a small amount of money too had been overwhelming.

Dropping down into the one remaining antique chair in the living room that hadn’t yet been sold to help meet her deceased husband’s mountain of debt, Sophia had cried hard with gratitude and relief at her eleventh-hour reprieve. If her great-aunt hadn’t left her beautiful old house to her even contemplating the alternative living arrangements insisted upon by her bullying father-in-law would have been too grim to bear …

Her little son ran in from the kitchen, his dark eyes round as saucers when he saw the dislodged brass rail and the pile of old curtains that half smothered it. ‘What happened, Mummy? I heard the loudest bang.’

‘The curtain rail fell down. These walls are very old, Charlie. The plaster is crumbling like powder. It’s going to take a lot of work to make this room nice again … The whole house is in need of some major attention to make it fit to live in. I’m only grateful that your uncle David was able to take some time off to get a couple of the rooms ready for us before we moved in—otherwise we would have had to camp out in the garden in a tent!’

Charlie was already losing interest in the dramatic incident that had caused him to rush in from the kitchen. Instead he was staring down at the colourful toy he’d carried into the room with him, restlessly turning it over and over between his fingers, as if itching to employ it in some way.

‘Can I go out to the garden to play? I want to make a fort. I promise I won’t go near the pond.’

‘All right, then. As long as you keep in full view of these windows so that I can see you. Promise?’

He grinned, showing a couple of gaps where he’d lost his baby teeth.

Sophia’s heart squeezed. ‘Give me a hug and a kiss first.’

‘You’re always hugging and kissing me.’

‘I know, but I can’t help it!’ Seizing her young son by the waist, she whirled him round and round until he shrieked with laughter.

‘Let me go!’ he begged. ‘You’re making me dizzy!’

When he’d got his bearings again, he threw his mother a disarming grin and rushed out of the house into the wild forest of a garden—the garden that was already keeping Sophia awake at night, as she planned how she was going to make it beautiful again and restore it to the fairytale garden of her childhood.

As she bent down to retrieve the curtains and the rail, out of the blue an image stole into her mind of the physically arresting man who had stopped to say hello the other day while she’d been taking photographs of wildflowers for her portfolio. His eyes had been electrifyingly blue, yet his hair was a thick, curling cap of ebony silk. A small flare of heat imploded inside her. Despite her attraction to him Sophia had been nervous. What if her father-in-law had sent him to find her … to force her to return to the neighbourhood where she had lived with her late husband?

God knew the man had the kind of strong, intimidating physique that could easily overwhelm her if he tried. She inhaled a long steadying breath. Her worst fears thankfully hadn’t come true, but she was still uneasy.

Jarrett Gaskill … what kind of a name was that?

Even if the man had never heard of her illustrious father-in-law, his name sounded a little too highbrow and pompous for her taste. No doubt he was some ambitious city type who kept a second home here in the country for weekends where he could entertain his London friends and play Lord of the Manor.

The thought brought a briefly cynical smile to her lips, before making her frown. Remembering his mellifluous tones, she’d thought he’d sounded sincere enough. Perhaps it was wrong of her to so judge him so quickly. But what did she know of sincere men when she’d been married to the biggest liar and cheat in the country? Tom Abingdon—the man she’d so stupidly rushed headlong into marriage with at eighteen against all advice—had been cruel, possessive, and self-indulgent to excess, as well as vain and self-obsessed, and the signs had been there right from the beginning.

How incredible, how naive, that Sophia had once believed she could turn him away from his destructive tendencies and show him that life together could be good. It hadn’t taken her long to find out how contemptuous he was of her sincere and innocent impulses. The dark road she’d been travelling with him had grown darker and more twisted day by day, and somehow, because her spirits had sunk so low, she’d been unable to find any means of breaking free.

Towards the end of his life he’d been intent on dragging her and their small son down to even more despicable lows, until one day, in the midst of her growing despair, it had suddenly become clear to her that she had to abandon her youthful dreams of ‘happy-ever-after’—she couldn’t fix her self-destructive husband’s life and she should walk away … right now. For Charlie’s sake, if not her own.

It was that thought that had rejuvenated hope in her—had spurred her on to make plans to leave him. But fate had had other more finite plans for Tom Abingdon. One night, after a heavy bout of drinking, he’d died in his sleep.

For a few unsteadying moments the sickening hurt and fury at the pain he had caused deluged Sophia’s heart and made her suck in her breath. Perhaps it was an apt reminder of the supreme idiocy of her getting involved with anyone ever again. If Tom was anything to go by, it was all too easy to be mesmerised and trapped by a man. Even the liars and cheats of this world could present a normal façade in order to get what they wanted, and it made her vow to be extra careful and much more vigilant.

If she ever saw him again, she promised herself she would give Jarrett Gaskill a wide berth. There was no way she would give any man the opportunity to get to know her … to discover the shameful truth of her marriage to a man who had frequently mistreated and degraded her. A new beginning was what she wanted for her and her son. One that didn’t include strangers—however friendly—who wanted to pry into her business. Not that she kidded herself for an instant that Jarrett Gaskill would even remember bumping into her and Charlie down by that idyllic little brook.

For the past three weeks Sophia had visited the weekly farmers’ market in the town centre. There was nothing like buying fruit and vegetables straight from the source, rather than from a soulless and anodyne supermarket, she thought. It was fresher, smelled better, and the taste far surpassed anything you could buy packaged and wrapped up in plastic.

Drawing her son closer to her side, she accepted the sturdy brown paper bag of apples she’d just bought from a friendly female stallholder and deposited it into her hessian shopping bag, on top of the other fresh produce she’d purchased. Glancing down at the cherubic little face that gazed up at her, she smiled brightly in anticipation of her plans for the afternoon. It was still such a treat to bake pies and cakes without fear of Tom coming home drunk, mocking her efforts and then throwing them against the wall.

‘We’ll make an apple pie to have with our tea tonight, Charlie,’ she promised cheerfully.

‘You don’t want an extra guest, do you? I’m quite partial to home-made apple pie.’

The arresting male voice was so richly resonant and well-spoken that Sophia glanced up in surprise at the man who had stepped up beside her. Her startled gaze was instantly magnetised by a pair of twinkling blue eyes so rivetingly intense that for a moment she couldn’t speak. It was him … Jarrett Gaskill. The name that had been warily filed away inside her brain presented itself with worrying ease.

‘No … I don’t. I’ve not long moved into my house and it’s taking me longer than I expected to get settled. Besides, it’s not likely I’d invite someone into my home that I don’t even know,’ she replied, quickly averting her gaze.

‘I told you my name the first time we met, remember?’

Sophia’s cheeks burned with heat, because she wasn’t able to pretend that she couldn’t recall it. ‘That’s neither here nor there. Knowing a person’s name hardly means that you know them.’

‘True … but an introduction at least creates the opportunity to get to know someone.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Gaskill, but I really must get on.’

‘You see?’ Something akin to delight was mirrored in the azure depths of his compelling glance. ‘You did remember my name. Perhaps now you’ll do me the honour of telling me yours?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Already turning away, Sophia was suddenly eager to leave the busy little market that was set up in the picturesque village square and head for home.

‘What a pity. I’ve got to call you something if we bump into each other again, don’t you think?’

‘No, you don’t. You can simply ignore me.’

His strong brow affected an exaggerated frown. ‘I certainly couldn’t. That would be the height of bad manners.’

‘You really care about things like good manners?’

‘Of course. I’d live in dread of my poor deceased mother haunting me if I didn’t keep her standards up.’

In spite of her eagerness to extricate herself from this unwanted and surreal conversation, Sophia couldn’t suppress a smile. But almost as soon as she’d succumbed to the gesture she firmed her lips into a much more serious line. ‘I’ve really got to go. I’ve got things to do. Goodbye.’

Firmly tightening her hold on her son’s small hand, she was about to walk out into the milling throng exploring the market stalls when the man standing beside her spoke clearly.

‘Enjoy that apple pie, Ms Markham … perhaps you’ll save me a slice?’

She spun round, her eyes widening in alarm. ‘Who told you my name?’

‘You’ve moved into a village … sooner or later everyone learns the name of a newcomer. They also tend to speculate on where they’ve come from and why they’ve moved here. Human nature, I guess.’

He shrugged nonchalantly, and Sophia stared. It was hard to ignore the width of those broad, well-defined shoulders beneath his well-worn, expensive-looking leather jacket. The black T-shirt he wore underneath with jeans was stretched across an equally well-defined chest, and he exuded the kind of masculine strength that made her even more wary of him. But more than that she was uncomfortable with the fact that people she didn’t even know might be discussing her and her son.

‘People should mind their own business! If my name should ever be mentioned in your hearing again, Mr Gaskill, I’d be obliged if you would make it very clear that I want to be left in peace.’

‘I don’t hold with gossiping about anyone. However, I will endeavour to respect your desire for privacy, Ms Markham.’

Sophia’s glance was wary, but she made herself acknowledge his remark just the same. ‘Thank you.’

Before Jarrett could engage her further, she took herself and Charlie off into the crowd and didn’t once glance back to see if his disturbing blue gaze followed them … even though her heart thudded fit to burst inside her chest at the thought that he might indeed be following her progress …

CHAPTER TWO

CHARLIE was playing in the overgrown front garden as Jarrett drove his Range Rover up to the impressive old house. Glancing out of his window up at the pearlescent sky that threatened rain, he grimaced. Before he talked himself out of it he was on his feet, opening the creaking iron gate that led onto a meandering gravel path sprouting with weeds.

He stopped to talk to the child. ‘Hello, there.’ Jarrett smiled. ‘Your name’s Charlie, isn’t it?’

‘Where’s your dog?’

Large dark eyes stared hopefully up at him. He was gratified that the boy seemed to remember him. It was two weeks since they’d last met. He also guessed that he probably didn’t have a pet of his own. For some reason, that bothered him.

Dropping down to his haunches, so that he was on the same level as the child, Jarrett frowned with genuine regret. ‘I’m afraid that he doesn’t belong to me. I was just looking after him for my sister. He’s back with her now.’

‘Oh.’ His young companion was stumped for a moment. Recovering, he fixed his visitor with another interested gaze. ‘You called him Dylan.’

‘Yes, I did. That’s his name.’

‘It’s a good name. But if I had a dog I’d call him Sam.’

‘That’s a good name too. Would you like a dog of your own?’

The boy studied him gravely. ‘Yes, I would … But Mummy thinks a dog would be too much trouble to take care of—and we’ve had enough trouble already.’

Jarrett absorbed this very interesting snippet of information, ruffled the boy’s unruly dark hair, then rose to his full height again. ‘Never mind … perhaps in time she might have a change of heart?’

‘No, she won’t.’ Charlie kicked a nearby pebble with the scuffed toe of his trainer, but not before giving Jarrett a look that said he wished she could be persuaded differently. ‘Have you come to see her?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I have. Is she inside?’

‘She’s painting.’

Did Sophia Markham’s creative talent extend beyond photography to painting?

Jarrett was still considering the idea as he strode up to the front door. The faded sandstone of the house reflected the more muted, mellow tones of a bygone age. The whole building was in dire need of some serious maintenance and redecoration, but no one could deny it had tremendous potential and charm. If he owned the place he would know exactly which restoration company to hire to help return it to its former glory.

Biting back his disappointment that he would now never have the chance, he made robust use of the heavy brass door-knocker and waited for Sophia to appear. He couldn’t deny he was a little apprehensive about seeing the emerald-eyed beauty again. Both times that he’d tried to engage her in conversation she’d been decidedly aloof. He’d already received a warning that all she wanted to do was to be left in peace. And, despite his sister Beth and her friends still speculating on the whereabouts of a man in her life, Jarrett was becoming more and more convinced that, aside from her son, the mysterious Sophia was unattached.

‘For goodness’ sake, sweetheart, the back door is open. You don’t need to—’ Sophia bit off the comment that was clearly meant for Charlie and stared up in open-mouthed surprise at Jarrett. ‘You!’ She shook her head as if to clear it, and her already loosened ponytail drifted free from its band, so that long silken strands of the glossiest chestnut-brown fell down over her shoulders. A faded pink T-shirt spattered with blue and white paint highlighted the small pert breasts underneath it, and a pair of slim-fitting denims with a large ragged hole in one knee clung to long, slender legs.

Jarrett raised an eyebrow. If she’d appeared in a couture dress from one of the top fashion houses in Paris he couldn’t imagine her looking sexier than she did right then. Facing the pair of annoyed and sparkling green eyes that glared back at him, he couldn’t deny the powerful surge of sexual heat that tumbled forcefully through him.

‘How did you find out where I live?’

‘The house has been empty for quite a while. Didn’t you think that people would notice when it became occupied again?’

With what looked like a weary effort, she dragged her fingers through her loosened chestnut hair and shrugged. ‘I get the feeling that people round here notice a little bit too much.’

‘Anyway … my apologies for interrupting what looks like a very industrious Sunday afternoon for you. Your son said you were painting? Does that mean you’re a painter as well as a photographer?’

‘I’m painting my sitting room … not a canvas.’

‘Okay.’ He held up his hands, grinning at his mistake. ‘At any rate, I dropped by because I have an invitation to give to you—from my sister, Beth.’ He produced what was, in his opinion, a ridiculously scented and girly-pink envelope from the inside pocket of his three-quarter-length black leather jacket.

‘Have I met your sister?’

Amusement forced one corner of Jarrett’s mouth up into his cheek. ‘Not yet … but, trust me, she’s determined to meet you, Ms Markham—or is it Mrs?’

Her expression became even more vexed. She snatched the envelope from him. ‘It’s Ms. I used to be married, but I’m not any more.’

‘So you’re divorced?’

He saw her swallow hard. ‘No. I’m a widow.’

The news sobered Jarrett’s mood. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I’m not. And before you make some specious judgement about that, the topic isn’t up for discussion.’

‘Fair enough … that’s your prerogative.’

The fire in her eyes suddenly died. Gripping the pink envelope he’d handed her as if she’d prefer to rip it to shreds rather than open it, she laid the flat of her free hand against the doorframe, as if needing support. It was as though every ounce of her vitality and strength had leaked away, leaving her visibly weak and shaken.

To be that angry … that aloof … must take a hell of a lot of energy, Jarrett mused. What had the woman been through to make her so furious and defensive? Her remark about not being sorry that she was a widow suggested that her relationship with her husband had not been the stuff of fairytales.

For whatever pain she’d endured in the past, a genuine feeling of compassion arose inside him. ‘Ms Markham … Sophia … are you all right?’

‘I’m fine.’

With a look of steely resolve she straightened, but he could hardly miss the tears that glistened in her eyes, and the sight made him feel as if he’d just been punched in the gut. He never had been able to bear seeing a woman cry …

‘How did you know my name was Sophia?’ she challenged.

Before Jarrett had the chance to answer, she folded her arms and wryly moved her head from side to side.

‘I expect it filtered down to you from the headquarters of the local gossip collective. Am I right?’

‘I can’t deny it.’

‘Do people have such dull and boring lives that they have to pry into the business of a total stranger?’ she demanded irritably.

‘They most likely do. Why do you think they’re so addicted to the soaps on TV? The invented drama of a stranger’s life is probably far preferable to the reality of their own.’

‘I won’t have a TV in the house. I’d rather read a book.’

‘What about Charlie?’ Jarrett ventured, glancing over at the small boy who was once again careening round the giant hollyhocks, mimicking the ‘rat-a-tat’ sound of machine gun fire.

Sophia winced. ‘My son doesn’t need to be glued to a television or computer screen to enjoy himself. Besides, a lot of the programmes shown nowadays are so negative and manipulative that he’s hardly missing out on anything helpful or essential.’

‘So … what kind of books do you like to read?’

‘If you’re hoping that I’ll invite you in to have a cup of tea and discuss my reading habits, then I’m sorry, Mr Gaskill, but I’m going to have to disappoint you. You may keep turning up like the proverbial bad penny, but I’m not going to encourage you.’

‘You have something against making friends?’

‘I manage just fine without them.’

‘What about your son?’

‘What about him?’

‘You might prefer to be reclusive, but what about Charlie? Doesn’t he need the companionship of children his own age?’

‘He’s joining the village primary school in a couple of weeks, so he’ll make lots of friends there, I’m sure.’

‘My sister Beth’s best friend Molly teaches the nursery class. If you come to Beth’s little get-together next Saturday you’re bound to meet her. Who knows? You might even become friends.’

Sophia huffed out a sigh. ‘What is it with you? Are you employed to go round the village encouraging fellowship amongst its inhabitants whether they want it or not?’

Jarrett laughed. To be honest, he couldn’t remember the last time that a woman’s witty repartee had engaged him quite so much—thrilled him, even. ‘No, I’m not … Though it seems to me that would be a quite commendable way to spend my time. The downside is I could hardly earn a living doing it.’

Tapping the pink envelope against her thigh, Sophia gave an impatient glance that didn’t reflect a similar enjoyment in his company. ‘Look … I’m in the middle of decorating the sitting room and I must get on. I’m sorry if I seem a little terse, but I have my work cut out trying to make this place into a home for me and Charlie. Thanks for taking the time and trouble to bring me the invitation. You can tell your sister that I’ll think about it and let her know.’

‘If you do that much she’ll be delighted, I’m sure.’

He held out his hand without much hope or expectation that she would take it. He almost stumbled when she slid her cool palm inside his. It was as light and as delicate as a bird.

‘Goodbye, Mr Gaskill.’ She quickly withdrew it, but not before his skin tingled fiercely from its contact with hers.

‘Now that we’ve introduced ourselves you can call me Jarrett. Goodbye … Sophia.’ Before turning away he gave her a deliberately teasing smile, lifted his hand in a wave to Charlie, then strode back down the uneven path and out through the gate to his car …

Reflecting on her most recent encounter with Jarrett Gaskill disturbed Sophia so much that, despite her assertion that she had work to do, the desire to spend the rest of her Sunday afternoon painting the sitting room utterly deserted her. In search of a solution to the hard-to-contain restlessness his visit had left her with, she jumped with Charlie into the small second-hand car she’d recently purchased and drove down to the coast.

The spring day was chilly, but they still ate their fish and chips outside, sitting on a bench overlooking the foaming silver sea, and the gusting wind that blew around them was sufficiently cold to prevent Sophia from dwelling on any of the worries that were usually hovering just below the surface of her conscious thoughts.

When they’d finished eating, she bought her son a crabbing line from a nearby corner shop, along with some bacon to use for bait. Then they walked back down to the seafront, where they enjoyed a pleasantly distracting time fishing about in the murky shallows for baby crabs. After Charlie had diligently counted their catch, they conscientiously dropped them back into the water again.

On the journey home, her exuberant son fell fast asleep in his car seat, worn out by his afternoon’s activities. At last Sophia could mull over the man who so persistently seemed to want to get to know her. She didn’t doubt that he had great ability to charm the ladies. How could he not, with that carved handsome face, those flawless blue eyes and a voice that was mellifluous and compelling?

As she took the road out of the village that led almost straight to High Ridge Hall, she wondered why Jarrett would take the trouble to deliver an invitation to his sister’s ‘little get-together’ by hand? Was it because he wanted to get a chance to look more closely at the house? The idea deflated her and she didn’t know why. She knew that High Ridge had always held a fascination not just for local people but also for passing ramblers. The imposing early nineteenth-century edifice demanded more than just a fleeting glance. Her great-aunt had often had to contend with strangers knocking on the door to enquire after its history.

The idea of her elderly relative giving short shrift in response to those enquiries brought an instant smile to Sophia’s lips. It also reminded her of the great responsibility of taking care of such a house. With the proceeds from the sale of the house she’d shared with her husband and a not insubstantial part of her inheritance from her aunt already gone to help pay off his debts, it was vital that she was able to revive the photographic career that had promised to take off when she’d left college. The career that when she’d had Charlie she’d foolishly and naively put aside, to be the stay-at-home wife and mother that her husband had demanded she be.

A residence the size and importance of High Ridge demanded that she earn a healthy income to maintain it. What little money that was left from her inheritance after all her outgoings were met wasn’t going to last very long. Thankfully she’d kept a note of some of the contacts she’d made after leaving college, and had already been in touch with two very interested parties who liked the sample photos she’d sent them.

Her thoughts gravitated back to Jarrett. The idea of him using his sister’s invitation to seize a chance to view the house at close quarters seriously bothered Sophia. She didn’t know if that had been his motivation for a fact, but still she preferred the notion that it was her company he sought and not a closer acquaintance with her home. Warning herself not to forget even for a second that she’d sworn off relationships with men for good after enduring the living nightmare that had been her marriage, she determinedly buried the familiar feelings of failure and loneliness and reaffirmed her vow to put any further thoughts of Jarrett Gaskill aside.

Feeling somewhat calmer at this resolve, she carefully transported her still sleeping son inside the house. Settling him down on the threadbare old couch, she decided to let him doze for a little longer … at least until she’d prepared their dinner.

To please his sister, Jarrett did what she told him he was so naturally adept at and effortlessly mingled and chatted to her and her husband’s friends at the little soirée she’d arranged—even though he secretly hated it. He did enough schmoozing at the corporate functions and meetings relating to his property business without replicating the behaviour in his supposed free time.

It was rare that he had a weekend off, and when he did he much preferred to be left to his own devices. He liked to take long walks in the countryside surrounding his house, listen to opera on his state-of-the-art music centre or catch up on the stack of films he had missed at the cinema because he’d inevitably been working. Yet agreeing to be sociable with his sister’s friends and neighbours wasn’t the only reason that he’d agreed to be present at her house this warm spring Saturday afternoon. All week Jarrett had hardly been able to think about anything but seeing Sophia Markham again. He couldn’t forget the sight of her beautiful emerald eyes bathed in tears. It troubled him that she might be sad or lonely, yet if he was honest underneath his compassion he couldn’t help wondering if there might be a way to persuade her to sell High Ridge to him. Painting her sitting room by herself didn’t suggest that money was exactly plentiful, he mused. And if she agreed to entertain the idea of selling he would pay her a more than fair price.

His hopes lifting, Jarrett looked forward even more to seeing Sophia again. But the get-together had been underway for almost two hours and he was getting bored. There was only so much inconsequential chitchat he could bear, even for his sister, and there was still no sign of Sophia, although Beth assured him that she’d rung to say she was coming.

He was just debating whether to go up to the house and check to see if anything was amiss when the doorbell’s familiar cheery melody chimed through the hallway. As luck would have it he was standing in the vicinity, endeavouring to listen attentively to his brother-in-law Paul’s enthusiastic description of the new car he was going to buy. Privately he thought it was a bad choice, and he had just been thinking he would have a quiet word with Beth about it so she could nudge him in the direction of something better when the doorbell had rung. Without a flicker of guilt he moved down the hall to answer it. His body was already tightening warmly in anticipation of seeing High Ridge’s lovely new owner again.

‘Hi … I’m sorry if we’re a little late.’

The statement came out in a breathless rush, and Sophia Markham’s apologetic smile as he opened the door rendered him almost speechless because it was so bewitching.

Waiting patiently for his response, she drew Charlie protectively against her side. It wasn’t hard to see that the child meant the sun, moon and stars to her.

Staring at her as she stood before him, in faded jeans, colourful knitted tank-top and long unbuttoned navy blue cardigan, he likened her appearance to a breath of longed-for fresh air that a prisoner might greedily gulp down when he’d been freed from solitary confinement. Today her pretty dark hair hadn’t been left loose to flow down over her shoulders—instead she’d fashioned it into two very becoming braids. In contrast, the other women at the small party had seized the opportunity to show off their wardrobes and were dressed up to the nines. Personally, Jarrett thought such a brash display was unnecessary and over the top. He himself had dressed in a casual white shirt and black jeans faded almost to grey—his usual mode of attire when he wasn’t at work—and he was very glad to see that Sophia had opted to do the same.

‘Don’t worry about being late … Beth will kill me for saying it, but you’ve haven’t exactly missed anything. It’s good to see you.’ After speaking at last, he grinned, then leaned down to squeeze Charlie’s shoulder. ‘It’s good to see you too, Charlie. Why don’t you both come inside?’

‘Hello, there, I’m Paul Harvey—Beth’s husband. How nice to meet you at last, Ms Markham.’

‘And you, Mr Harvey.’

‘Call me Paul.’

Sophia didn’t invite the other man to call her by her first name in return, Jarrett noticed, silently approving. He had no earthly right to feel so possessive towards her, but for reasons he couldn’t begin to explain he did.

‘Let’s go and meet everyone,’ he suggested, gesturing for her and her son to precede him.

The conversations that littered the air as they walked in abruptly ceased as Jarrett escorted Sophia into the stylishly furnished living room. Even the softly playing jazz emanating from the music centre seemed to grow quieter. His sister Beth immediately peeled herself away from the trio of women she’d been deep in conversation with and presented herself to her new guest with an enthusiastic handshake, followed by the characteristic peck on the cheek with which she greeted all her friends.

‘Hi, Sophia, I’m Beth Harvey—Jarrett’s sister. I had no idea you’d be so pretty! I’m so glad you could come … your son too. Jarrett tells me that his name is Charlie?’

‘That’s right.’

Inside that perfectly decorated room, with its carefully chosen, strategically arranged amalgam of modern and antique furniture, surrounded by a bunch of curious strangers, Sophia looked ill at ease. Her coral lips were pursed together tightly as she listened to his sister gush, and Jarrett intuited that she’d rather be anywhere else but here. He was intrigued to know what had persuaded her to put in an appearance at all. Clearly she’d wrestled with the decision for some time—why else had she been so late in arriving? Something else struck him. He’d always regarded the sister who shared his own dramatic colouring of ebony hair and blue eyes as unquestionably pretty. However, next to Sophia’s finely drawn beautiful features and bewitching emerald eyes Beth seemed merely attractive.

Frowning, because he felt such an opinion somehow betrayed his loyalty to his sibling, he gently touched his palm to her back in the fitted red dress she was wearing, as if to signal filial support.

‘Say hello, Charlie,’ Sophia quietly instructed her son.

Bestowing upon Jarrett a gap-toothed grin, the charming small boy with his mop of luxuriant dark curls focused his gaze on him alone. ‘Hello, Mr Gaskill. Can I see your sister’s dog? Where is he?’

‘You’ve met Dylan before, have you?’ Beth dropped down so that she was level with Charlie.

The boy was initially wary, but when she reached for his hand and gently held it for a moment, smiling at him with her great blue eyes, he seemed to relax. ‘Yes … we were down by the stream so that my mum could take some photographs for her work. That’s when we saw Mr Gaskill and your dog.’

‘Well, if you’d like to see him again he’s out in the garden, sitting outside his kennel.’

‘What’s a kennel?’

‘It’s like a small house for a dog,’ Jarrett told him with a teasing wink.

Charlie spun round to gaze up at his mother. ‘Can I, Mummy? Can I go out to see Dylan?’

Such an innocent and natural request shouldn’t put panic into Sophia’s lovely green eyes, but disturbingly Jarrett registered that it did. She even laid a hand possessively on Charlie’s shoulder as if to prevent him from leaving.

‘Where is the garden?’ she immediately quizzed Beth.

‘Just out there through the patio doors … Don’t worry, it’s nowhere near big enough for him to get lost in.’

Biting down on her lip, Sophia was still undoubtedly hesitant. ‘I’m sure that’s true. There isn’t a gate at the back he can get out of?’

‘No, there isn’t.’

‘That’s good. Our own garden is a bit like a forest, and I have to keep a close eye on Charlie when he goes out there to play. I suppose I’ve just got into the habit of making sure he’s secure.’ She coloured, as if regretting calling attention to her own hardly humble abode. ‘It needs a lot of work doing to it, I’m afraid.’ she murmured. ‘The weeds have gone absolutely rampant in all this rain we’ve been having, but I’m getting the house into shape before I see to the garden.’

Rising to her full height once again, Beth reassuringly patted the other woman’s arm. ‘Well, compared to the gardens at High Ridge our garden is fairly modest, I promise you. Charlie can’t get lost out there. And there are no ponds or anything like that to worry about either. Besides, he’ll have Dylan to play with. Do you want to get his ball and throw it for him, Charlie?’

‘Yes, please!’ The lad didn’t need much inducement.

‘His ball is in a box just under the steps,’ Beth told him.

As Sophia reluctantly released the light grip on his shoulder, as if intuiting his mother’s concern, Charlie turned to throw her a disarming grin. ‘I’ll be all right, Mummy—promise!’ he said, and without further ado he flew out through the open patio doors onto the decking area, where two long tables were laden with platters of what remained of the delicious food Beth had prepared.

The repast still looked appetising in the watery spring sunshine, even though the hungry guests had helped themselves to a fair amount of it already.

Pounding down the wooden steps, fetching the dog’s ball and racing out into the neatly mown garden, Charlie called loudly, ‘Dylan! Dylan! Do you remember me? I’m Charlie. Come here, boy!’

‘I’ll introduce you to everyone in a moment—but first let me get you a drink, Sophia.’

Beth cleverly brought the other woman’s attention back from her anxious perusal of her disappearing son. Paul had joined them just as Charlie had run out into the garden, and now Jarrett’s sister turned to him with one of the dazzling persuasive smiles that her husband had always found so hard to resist.

‘Darling? Would you be a love and get Sophia a nice glass of champagne?’

‘No!’

The loud, vehement refusal sent a buzz of shock eddying round the other guests—Jarrett included …

CHAPTER THREE

SHE felt like a fool, blurting out her refusal as forcefully as she had. As soon as the impassioned exclamation had left her mouth Sophia had wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. It made her feel like the one jarring note in a symphony that had been harmonious until her arrival. Yet, blunt as her refusal had been, she had good reason to detest alcohol. Living with a violent alcoholic whose behaviour had been coloured by terrifying unpredictable rages was apt to make a woman deeply despise it—fear it as well.

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, reddening. ‘I just meant to say that I’m teetotal. Do you have some lemonade or cola, perhaps, instead?’

‘Sure. No problem.’

Paul Harvey shoved his hands into the pockets of his chinos and Sophia saw that his initially welcoming manner was now tinged with wariness. It made her bitterly regret deciding to attend the party. It was true she’d wrestled with the idea of staying away. That was why she and Charlie had arrived so late. As her host turned away to get the promised soft drink, his wife Beth issued her a sympathetic smile. Along with her guests, no doubt she was privately wondering at the reason why the newest member of the village should have reacted to the offer of champagne so violently.

Sophia prayed that the other woman wouldn’t take it upon herself to quiz her at any point. The last thing she felt like doing was explaining herself to her perfect-looking hostess with her perfect-looking life, friends and husband. How could such a protected woman even begin to understand the pain, degradation and humiliation of the life Sophia had led with her husband? And all the reasons why she hated alcohol?

Silently warring with the strongest urge to just turn around and leave, she let her anxious gaze fall into Jarrett’s. His strong brow was etched with the faintest frown, yet when his clear blue eyes met hers he somehow transmitted reassurance. She found herself latching onto it like a life raft.

Jarrett didn’t yet know what Sophia’s issues with alcohol were, but he was determined to find out. He’d genuinely hoped that this party would help her to make some friends, so that she and Charlie wouldn’t feel like isolated strangers in the community for long, but already he sensed that her unconventional appearance—not bowing to the dictates of current fashion trends—and her forthright refusal of an alcoholic drink had put the other guests on their guard.

Unfortunately the insular nature of village life didn’t exactly nurture a broader view in its inhabitants, he mused. He was thankful that he had seen enough of the world to know that it was the differences in people that made them interesting. But he also realised that his desire to help her integrate could turn out to be much more complicated than he’d envisaged. He had been the one to encourage her to come to this little get-together of his sister’s and now, without being party to the reasons why, he saw for himself that what might be deemed an enjoyable experience by others might actually be torture for her. Observing her flushed cheeks and over-bright eyes, it wasn’t hard to guess that what she’d really like to do was escape as soon as possible.

‘Sophia?’ He stepped towards the slim brunette, but not so close that he might overwhelm her. ‘Why don’t you and I go and join Charlie and Dylan in the garden? We’ll get your drink on the way, and go sit on the veranda outside the summerhouse.’

Her relief was palpable. Right then, observing her shining green eyes and schoolgirl plaits, Jarrett thought her the very personification of beauty and innocence, and all his protective instincts surged to the fore, making his heart miss a disturbing beat. It was easy to forget about his desire to purchase High Ridge for himself when he was with her. Yet the thought still occurred that it might help persuade her to sell if he seriously started to woo her.

In the large, meticulously mown garden, with its uniformly neat borders of flowers and shrubs, Jarrett sat down next to Sophia on the varnished wooden bench outside the white-painted summerhouse. He silently observed her son throwing the ball to Dylan. The dog’s dark eyes and wagging tail gave the impression he couldn’t believe his luck that somebody wanted to play with him.

Folding her slim, elegant hands with their short unvarnished nails round her glass of lemonade, Sophia drew in a long breath, then softly released it. ‘They look like they’re having fun,’ she commented, her glance cautiously alighting on Jarrett.

‘Labradors and small boys were meant to be together,’ he agreed, silently owning to feeling more content at this moment, in this lovely woman’s company, than he could remember having felt in a long time. The revelation was an unexpected and tantalising gift that made the idea of wooing her even stronger.

Several guests had moved outside with their refreshments onto the patio, he noticed, and immediately the sight put him on his guard. Every now and then they glanced over at Jarrett and his companion, clearly speculating on their apparent closeness. He made a point of deliberately meeting their glances and staring right back.

‘It’s a shame that Beth and Paul haven’t got kids that can play with Dylan,’ he commented, seeking to divert Sophia from the realisation that his sister’s guests were paying them an inordinate amount of attention.

‘How long have your sister and her husband been married?’

‘About ten years, I think.’

‘Do they want to have children?’

‘They’ve said many times that if it happens it happens … but in the meantime they’ll concentrate on their careers and just enjoy each other’s company.’

‘Are they happy?’

Pausing, Jarrett gave the question proper consideration. He had straight away registered the apprehension, hope and even envy in the arresting emerald eyes that studied him so fervently, and he guessed the answer was important to her. ‘I think so.’ He shrugged, smiling, then added, ‘Although anyone can present an image of happiness, contentment and togetherness, can’t they? In truth, only the individuals concerned know if they’re happy or not.’

‘I agree. Unfortunately if they seem happier than you, then you can feel a bit of a failure.’

Intrigued, Jarrett leaned forward a little.

‘Have you ever asked yourself why happiness seems to come so easily to some and not to others?’ she pondered. ‘Do you think it’s got anything to do with deserving it?’

‘No. I don’t think it’s got anything to do with deserving it,’ he replied. ‘There are too many examples in the world to disprove that. Why? Has someone told you that it has?’

‘No. Maybe I just feel too guilty about the wrong turns I’ve made.’

‘It sounds to me as if you’re much too hard on yourself. Maybe if you could just dump all the guilt that weighs you down and try to be more optimistic things might get a little easier for you, Sophia? I know you can’t control everything that happens in life, but I must confess I’m a strong believer in creating your own luck … being captain of your own ship.’

‘Oh.’

‘Do you have other views on the matter?’

Working her even white teeth against her plump lower lip, Sophia lightly shook her head. ‘I do—but I think they might be somewhat prejudiced. I started out being very optimistic about life … convinced that I knew which road to take to make me happy. But although I remained optimistic and hopeful I made some very poor decisions that made me anything but. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?’

‘We all make poor decisions and mistakes from time to time. It comes with the territory of being human. It doesn’t mean that you won’t ever make a good decision again and achieve some level of satisfaction and happiness.’

‘I’m sure you’re right.’

‘Going back to your original question about my sister and her husband—what’s your impression? Do you think that they’re happy?’

‘Well, I’ve only just met them, but if this extremely tidy garden is any indication I get the impression that they live a very ordered and potentially happy life together.’

‘Beth and Paul are both very practical people. I’d never call them dreamers, if that’s what you’re getting at.’

Hunching forward to rest his elbows on his knees, he examined the neat borders with new eyes, almost guiltily recalling Beth’s account of her several visits to a local garden centre for advice on creating the perfect lawn. The very concept had bemused him.

‘And, yes, they don’t appear to leave very much to chance,’ he agreed cautiously.

‘Dreamers or not, life has a way of subverting even the most carefully laid plans.’

Sophia gazed off into the distance, as if preoccupied by some disturbing recollection that still haunted her. Turning to observe her, Jarrett felt his insides submerged in a wave of sympathy.

A second later Charlie called out to her to watch him throw the ball, and her lovely face broke into an unguarded smile, the disturbing memory temporarily banished. ‘That’s wonderful, darling!’

‘You should learn to play cricket, Charlie,’ Jarrett called out. ‘You’re a natural bowler.’

‘Will you teach me, Mr Gaskill?’

‘I’d be delighted to … but only if you call me Jarrett.’

The small boy gifted him with a self-conscious grin. ‘Okay!’

‘That’s settled, then.’

‘You shouldn’t promise him things that you don’t have the time or the intention to follow through on,’ Sophia scolded him, her cheeks flushing pink. ‘He has a memory like an elephant. He forgets nothing … even the things I wish he would.’

It was the last part of her statement that perturbed Jarrett the most. Now wasn’t the time, but very soon he fully intended to ask her exactly what she meant by it. He also wanted to ask why she’d commented that she wasn’t sorry she was a widow. That discussion they’d just had about happiness was already taking on a significance that he wanted to explore.

Depositing his glass of wine on the small wrought-iron table in front of them, he suddenly pushed to his feet. ‘What makes you think I wouldn’t keep my promise?’ he asked, irked that she would doubt him.

‘He’s been let down by people breaking their promises to him before, and I don’t want him building up hopes only to have them dashed again.’

‘Not everyone breaks their promises. Maybe you need to learn to trust a little bit more?’

‘Trust you, you mean? I barely know you.’

‘That can be remedied.’

She lifted a slim, nonchalant shoulder to indicate her ambivalence, but Jarrett saw her lips duel unsuccessfully with her natural inclination to smile. Satisfied at the sight, he grinned, then hurried down the veranda steps, calling out to the boy on the lawn at the same time, ‘Throw me that ball, Charlie, and we’ll see how good you are at catching!’

Returning to the kitchen a while later to replenish their drinks, he found his sister standing at the sink, staring out of the window into the garden as she expertly rinsed some used glasses.

‘I’ve been watching you playing with Charlie. You looked like you were really enjoying yourself,’ she remarked.

‘Why so surprised? I do have the ability to enjoy myself, you know.’

‘It’s just that you looked quite bored until Sophia arrived … then you lit up.’ Beth turned to give him an affectionate smile. ‘I’m pleased that you seem to enjoy their company so much.’

‘I don’t deny it. She intrigues me, and Charlie is a great little boy.’

Walking forward to rinse the empty glasses he’d brought with him, Jarrett wasn’t surprised when Beth took them from him and set them down on the drainer.

‘You don’t have to wash the glasses. Just leave them and get some fresh ones.’ Frowning, she dried her hands on a teatowel, then patted down her hair. ‘I’ve just been standing here thinking about Sophia. She strikes me as quite a troubled person. I wonder what’s behind that sad look in her eyes. She seems very protective of her son.’

‘And that’s a crime, is it?’

‘Don’t be silly. Of course it isn’t. But everybody who heard her hesitate about letting him play out in the garden thought it was a little over the top.’

‘Ah.’ Folding his arms across his chest, Jarrett endeavoured not to let irritation get the better of him. ‘So it’s a case of the majority rules, is it?’

‘It’s only natural that people speculate. Think about it. Sophia appears out of nowhere and moves into the most coveted house in the district when the place wasn’t even up for sale. Is there some family connection? If so, why not let it be known? It arouses suspicion when people are so secretive. My guess is that there was some kind of tragedy in her life before she came here. Something to do with Charlie’s father, perhaps.’

Jarrett was so taken aback by this observation that for a moment words deserted him. Then he sighed, disturbed because Beth was probably right. What if, for instance, Sophia’s husband had done the unthinkable and taken his own life? Maybe he’d suffered from depression and that was why she’d alluded to the fact that the marriage had been unhappy?

‘If that turns out to be the case then all anyone can do is offer sympathy and kindness and not judge her. Don’t you agree?’ he said.

Lifting her shoulders in a somewhat chastened shrug, his sister visibly softened her expression. ‘You’re right.’ But, clearly unable to put the matter to bed entirely, she added, ‘Has she said anything to you?’

‘No, she hasn’t. It’s not likely that she’d confide in me about anything, is it? Since we’ve only just met?’ Quirking an eyebrow, Jarrett made his way across to the counter that was laden with cartons of juice and bottles of wine. ‘I’d better get our drinks and get back to her.’

‘It’s not just because she owns High Ridge that you find yourself attracted to her, is it?’

‘What?’ He spun round, his heart drumming a dizzying tattoo inside his chest.

‘Don’t be mad at me for asking. It’s just that I know you’ve always loved the place. Perhaps you’re hoping that if you become friends she’ll consider selling it to you?’

‘I think we’d better end this conversation right here.’

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