A Lasting Impression

“I need to unlock the gallery so the men can carry the crate inside. I’m not sure where Mrs. Acklen wants this one. I haven’t even told her it’s arrived.”
    Claire nodded, wanting to go with him. But if he wanted her company, he would invite her. Which, at the moment, seemed doubtful. She smiled and stepped back off the road.
    But Sutton didn’t move. Holding Truxton in check, he looked down at her and sighed. “Would you like to come along?”
    Hardly the invitation she’d hoped for . . . Claire started to decline, but she’d been looking forward to seeing him all day. And it was an invitation, however wanting. “I’d love to!”
    He scooted back in the saddle, removed his boot from the stirrup and reached down for her. Claire slid her foot into the stirrup and gripped his arm. He lifted her up beside him and held her steady as she situated her dress over her lacy underskirts.
    With his solid chest at her back and his arm around her waist, she kept her balance, even when he urged Truxton to a canter. The stallion moved with grace and power that was almost heady. What would it be like to fly across open fields on this animal? Much less over a fence? She could hardly wait for Sutton to teach her how to jump.
    As they drew closer to the art gallery, Sutton slowed the stallion’s gait, and withdrew his arm from around her waist.
    She glanced back. “Are we still having my first jumping lesson this weekend?”
    His delayed response caused her hopes to slip.
    “I . . . won’t be able to keep our appointment this weekend, I’m sorry. Maybe there’ll be time next week, or . . . sometime soon.”
    She kept her focus forward, glad he couldn’t see her face. “I understand. And actually”—she was determined to sound convincing—“that works out better for my schedule too. I have a lot of work to do with Mrs. Acklen on the reception. A lot of planning with the menus and flowers and invitations.”
    Sutton reined in behind the gallery but didn’t dismount.
    She felt his warm breath on the back of her neck, and the longer they sat there—not speaking—the more aware she became of him behind her. She felt something on her waist and looked down. His hand . . .
    His fingers gently tightened on the curve of her hip, and Claire closed her eyes, her pulse edging up a notch. Slowly, his hand moved up her side, to her back, tenderly, as if tracing its course, memorizing as it went. She could feel the warmth of his palm through her dress.
    “Claire,” he whispered, “I . . .”
    She shivered and leaned back into him, certain the air had grown thinner. Being this close to him brought a distinct kind of pleasure. And longing. Especially remembering his kiss. The way he’d held her.
    His hand stilled on her back, then was gone, and her skin suddenly felt cool at its absence. Only then did she see the wagon circling around the back of the building.
    Wordlessly, he dismounted, assisted her with the same, looped Truxton’s reins at the post, and went to unlock the gallery.

37

    T hank you, gentlemen.” Sutton shook the workers’ hands, pressing a gratuity into each of their palms in the process. “I appreciate your careful attention to the freight.”
    They thanked him for his generosity as they left the gallery.
    Watching by the door, Sutton waited for the wagon to round the corner of the building, then returned to the storage room. This statue was one Adelicia was especially partial to and had been waiting impatiently for. He was no connoisseur of art, but in his opinion, the piece was the most exquisite of her collection. And not only because of the statue’s personal meaning for her.
    He reached the doorway of the storage room . . . and paused to take in the view.
    Claire was on her hands and knees, peeking through the slats of the crate, apparently still trying to determine the sculptor, and all of this while being remarkably unaware of his presence.
    He wanted so badly to say something aloud that would make her jump. Yet the delight he got from watching her far outweighed his desire for the other. Her single-mindedness was intriguing. Everything about her was intriguing. He had half a mind to walk across the room and take her in his arms again.
    Why, after the news he’d gotten from Colonel Wilmington, had he thought about Claire nearly every other minute? And not just thought about her. But thought about her. About holding her again, about the softness of her mouth, and about how her