Distracted by her Virtue (3 page)

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 …

C
HARLIE
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.