A Lasting Impression

of so many other men. Men who—”
    “I don’t want any of them.”
    “But that’s only because you haven’t looked. You’ve been so . . . decided on me. And frankly, I never understood why—until you told me what your father said.”
    She huffed. “That again.”
    “During the past year, and specifically on our trip, I think we were both hurting and lonely, and we confused friendship for something more. I hold myself largely responsible for that too. I shouldn’t have allowed our understanding to continue for as long as it has.”
    Her gaze rose sharply. “So you decided a while back that you didn’t love me. And yet you said nothing.”
    His neck and shoulder muscles tensed. “Cara Netta, it wasn’t a decision I made. It was—” He was making a mess of the whole thing. “It simply took time to sort out my feelings. To see things more clearly.”
    She angled herself away from him, and he couldn’t blame her.
    “Would you look at me, Cara Netta?”
    She didn’t move.
    “Please?” he whispered.
    Reluctantly, she turned.
    “I’m not a wealthy man, by any means. And what little land I have, I stand to lose. I don’t care for the opera, and that one trip to Europe will last me for a lifetime.” He sighed. “Not that I could have afforded to make the first one on my own. And yes, I’m an attorney at a prestigious law firm, but . . .” He searched for the simplest term for his dream that he could find. “What I really want to do is to run a horse farm.”
    She blinked, and the indignity in her expression, though subtle, spoke volumes.
    “And my wife,” he continued, gently as he could, “should I ever be blessed to marry, needs to want that too. As much as I do.”
    Cara Netta looked at him, and he could almost see the layers of might have been s shedding away, one by one. Along with his appeal in her eyes.
    She stood, and he joined her. Wordless, they walked back toward the manor, not touching, not speaking. When they reached the art gallery, she turned, her face awash in emotion.
    “For what it’s worth, Sutton . . .” Tears slipped down her cheeks. “I think you’re making a mistake. I think we could have a good life together. I’ve seen a lot of fine marriages that have far less affection between partners than we have for one another.”
    Her words pained him. Not because they weren’t true but because she had somehow convinced herself that a marriage like that should be enough. “What you’re saying is true, Cara Netta. But you deserve so much more.”
    Chin trembling, she stared at him through fresh tears. Movement at the edge of his eye begged his attention, but he didn’t look until Cara Netta did.
    Claire was walking back toward the mansion from the fields. If she saw them, she made no indication that she did.
    “I wonder,” Cara Netta said, her voice soft but not the least delicate. “How does Miss Laurent feel about horse farms? Have you ascertained her thoughts on the subject yet?”
    She spun on her heel and walked back inside.
    Stunned, but knowing he was guilty as charged, Sutton waited outside, giving her time to get to her suite.
    And later, as he lay in bed, thinking back through their painful exchange, he knew he’d done the right thing, for them both. While they might have had a good life together, he would have been robbing Cara Netta of the life—and love—she deserved.
    Because she deserved a man who felt a thrill every time she walked into the room, a man whose pulse skipped a beat when she raised a stubborn brow in challenge. A man who wanted to shield and protect her, who would fight to fulfill every one of her dreams. A man who could hardly wait to touch her again, even if it was only by accident as they walked side by side. A man who lay awake at night, dreaming of ways to woo her and win her heart, of taking her in his arms and kissing her until she was breathless.
    She deserved a man who felt about her the way he felt about Claire.

33

    T he next morning, Claire awakened late. She’d slept fitfully, dreaming about Papa and Antoine, and about a boat they were on that was sinking. No matter what she did, she couldn’t find a way off. And the most gruesome part—just as the water was reaching her neck, alligators appeared in the murkiness, swimming straight for her.
    By the time she dressed and left her room, it was a little past eight. She wished she could take a long walk and chase away the darkness of dreams with cool morning air and