A Lasting Impression

is,” he said, but didn’t sound happy about it. “Well, I should let you go.”
    But he didn’t move. His gaze moved over her face in a way that made Claire’s mouth go dry. And if she hadn’t known better, she might have thought he wanted to lean down and kiss her cheek. But she did know better, and he didn’t lean down.
    “Good night, Claire.” He turned and strode down the hallway, not looking back.
    Claire watched him until he disappeared around the corner. “Good night, Sutton,” she whispered, wishing now more than ever that she’d taken her mother’s final words of advice to heart.

    “I thought riding out to Laurel Bend might be a nice way to spend the evening, Sutton. A welcome diversion for you.” Cara Netta peered up at him as he entered the parlor. “You’ve seemed so . . . burdened lately. We could talk about the house, about your plans to rebuild.”
    Going out to Laurel Bend was the last thing Sutton wanted to do, and it hardly represented a welcome diversion. Each visit stirred up the same old bitterness. The waiting, the not knowing, was taking its toll. “Actually, I’d rather stay here, if you don’t mind. We could walk, if you’d like. It would give us the chance to talk.”
    “Of course I don’t mind.” She reached for her wrap, holding his gaze as if trying to read what was on his mind.
    Sutton held her arm as they descended the front steps of the mansion, the weight of what he had to tell her bearing down hard. His decision was made. He knew what he had to do. He’d felt the confirmation inside him moments ago when he’d stood in the hallway with Claire. Now he just needed to do it.
    Cara Netta slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and smiled up, and the weight inside him increased a hundredfold.
    “I enjoy being with you, Sutton. Wherever we are. I was telling Diddie earlier today that it’s wonderful how close you and I are. And how well we get along.” She squeezed his arm. “Do you remember that afternoon in Paris when we spent the day wandering the city, going from bakery to bakery, and then from museum to museum . . .”
    Sutton listened, nodding at appropriate intervals, as she recounted experiences from their trip. He almost got the feeling she was retelling the memories for his sake, in case he’d forgotten. He directed their course away from the mansion and downhill toward the conservatory, not wanting to risk being interrupted.
    With each step, her grip tightened on his arm, and he wondered whether she sensed what he had to tell her.
    “And then there was that time in Rome when we went to that little café on the corner. Do you remember the one? It was—”
    “Cara Netta . . .”
    He stopped, took her hands in his, and felt a stablike pain in his chest when he saw the fragile look slip into her eyes. She knew. Or at least she suspected. “I would do almost anything not to hurt you. I hope you know that.”
    She shook her head. Her gaze grew watery. “Whatever it is, Sutton, we can work it through. That’s what couples do.”
    “I wish it were that simple, Cara Netta. But if I were to allow our relationship to continue . . . if we were to marry . . . that’s exactly what I would be doing— hurting you.”
    Her grip tightened. “How can you say that? We’ll be the most splendid couple in Nashville. In all of Dixie. I know it.”
    “You’re an extraordinary woman, but—”
    She gave a humorless laugh. “Nothing good ever comes from a sentence that starts that way.” She withdrew her hands and moved to a nearby bench.
    Sutton claimed the place beside her, and she looked over at him.
    “Is it because of the house Mother wanted to buy us?”
    “No.”
    “Is it because I want to go to Europe again?”
    “No,” he said, praying for the right words. “It’s none of those things. And yet . . . it is, in a way.” How to be honest with her without shattering everything they had? He owed her the truth, and yet the truth seemed so painful and would drive such a wedge between them. “You’re a beautiful young woman. Kind and caring, generous and intelligent—”
    “And yet, apparently, those attributes aren’t enough.” She bowed her head. “Because somehow I’ve fallen out of favor.”
    He leaned down in an attempt to regain her attention. “You didn’t fall out of favor, Cara Netta. I’m simply not the man you should be marrying. And if you’ll only look at me closely enough, you’ll see that. You could have your choice