A Lasting Impression

hold. “You met Mark’s mother the other night at the reception. Mrs. Holbrook. Did you ever meet her husband?”
    Her finger stilled on his hand. “Yes, I did. Briefly.”
    “You’ll like Bartholomew Holbrook. He’s been like a father to me since my own father died.”
    “Really? You’re that close?”
    He nodded. “He and I are working on a case together right now. I’m learning so much from him. Don’t let that grandfatherly exterior fool you. He’s a fine attorney. And relentless when it comes to getting at the truth.”
    She said nothing. After a moment, she leaned forward. “Sutton . . . there’s something I need to tell you. Something . . . I overheard. About you.”
    She looked over at him, and he saw it in her face. The disappointment he felt in himself was magnified. “How long have you known?”
    She bowed her head. “I heard some people talking—the night of the reception. And Sutton, I’ve come close to telling you so many times, but then I put myself in your place and I feel—”
    “Sorry for me?” He stood and shrugged off the duster. “You should have told me you knew, Claire.”
    She rose. “I know I should have. But I knew it would hurt you for me to know.” She stepped closer. “It doesn’t matter to me, Sutton . . . what the review board decided. It makes no difference whether you have land or don’t.”
    “It does to me.”
    Her sigh held understanding. She reached for his hand and brought it to her face. Closing her eyes, she pressed her cheek into his palm, then pressed a kiss where her cheek had been. Fire raced through his veins and only gained momentum when she looked up at him. He struggled to hold his desires in check.
    She was radiant. Captivating. Intelligent. Witty. And good, in every way that mattered. No wonder she’d captured the attention of Adelicia’s wealthy male counterparts. All of whom were rich beyond what he could ever hope to be—even if his land had been returned. Claire deserved all the grand things that a man of means could give her.
    Everything he . . . could not. He’d been given the chance to make his choice between marrying for wealth or marrying from the heart. He’d made his decision and had no regrets, and Claire deserved the opportunity to do the same.
    Now to have the strength to let her.

    “I made more notes in your portfolio last night, Miss Laurent.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Claire opened the front door. “I’ve already read them, and everything is clear.” Claire followed her down the front steps, carrying Mrs. Acklen’s satchel to the carriage where the children and Miss Cenas sat waiting. She glanced behind her, wondering where Sutton was.
    She’d hugged him good-bye a moment earlier when she bid the family a formal farewell, but it hadn’t been the good-bye she’d wanted to give him.
    “Why aren’t you going with us, Miss Claire?” young Claude asked, his brow furrowing.
    Claire rubbed her arms. She should have slipped her coat on. “Because I need to stay here and do some work for your mother. But I want you to be sure and eat two beignets for me at Café du Monde. And Pauline, practice your sketching while you’re gone. Understood?” When Claire met William’s gaze, she merely winked, and the I’m-not-a-child-anymore young man grinned in return.
    With Eli’s assistance, Mrs. Acklen climbed into the carriage, then looked down at Claire. “Do be careful, Miss Laurent, in your goings about. If you need anything, look to Eli or Cordina. They’ll instruct you well.”
    “We’ll keep her in line, Mrs. Acklen.” Eli gave a mock salute. “Don’t you worry, ma’am. And please give our best to everyone at Angola.”
    “Miss Laurent?”
    Claire turned to see Sutton standing on the portico.
    “I need to go over one more thing with you, please.” He disappeared back inside.
    Mrs. Acklen exhaled. “We need to be on our way, Miss Laurent. Please tell him to hurry!”
    Claire raced up the steps, having seen the flash of impatience in her employer’s eyes. “Sutton?” He wasn’t in the entrance hall.
    “I’m in the study.”
    She rounded the corner and saw him standing by the window. She was pleased to see that he was wearing the coat she’d given him for Christmas. “If you’re worried that I won’t record the art properly, I promise, Sutton, I’ll do it just like you showed—”
    He strode past her, closed the door, and pulled her to him. He dug his hands into her hair, angled her face to meet