Page 21 of Lela's Choice

“That’s handy to know, if that had been my intention. At the risk of straying even further from our common purpose, you’re a beautiful woman.” His genuine admiration flurried her.

Lela started up the stairs, waiting until her breathing levelled before speaking. “Swimming’s relaxing; the rhythm of it allows my mind to wander.”

“Where did it wander this afternoon?” he asked as they reached the top of the stairs and headed up Great Siege Road towards the old walled city.

The move into safer conversational territory settled her. “I’ve gone over that last lunch I had with Peter and Sophie in my mind a million times. They didn’t tell me—Peter didn’t tell me—anything substantive.”

“Did it bother you at the time?”

“No, but now I’m wondering if it was deliberate. If they were already planning to come to Malta and didn’t want to give me too many clues.”

“A spur-of-the-moment decision works just as well,” he said without inflection. “Sophie found out she was pregnant, the boy panicked and suggested they run to Malta.”

“And if she’s not pregnant?” If anyone had asked her, even a few days ago, if Sophie would be careless about contraception, Lela would have instantly dismissed the idea.

“A perceived gripe with you or her grandfather. Punish either one or both of you for a bit.”

“That makes her sound like a spoilt brat.”

“Is that a possibility?” He dug for secrets with the finesse of a trained spy.

“Not to this point. Maybe ...” she prevaricated. Sophie had been pushing boundaries since Lela had turned twenty-five and devoted most of her inheritance and more of her time to her foundation. “But no matter which way I spin it, she decided her only solution was flight. That’s a pretty desperate act.”

They’d reached the gates of the old city. Lela lifted her head to look at the high walls, enormous blocks of sandstone marking the entrance to Valletta. The fortress projected an awesome beauty.

“I accepted this commission thinking she might have been pressured into running away by the boyfriend.” Hamish glanced at her. “You’ve added pregnancy. Are there other options?”

“I was twenty before my father proposed a marriage for me.”

“That’s the basis for your assumption he didn’t suggest ...”

“An alliance is the term you’re looking for,” she said.

“A dynastic alliance for Sophie?”

“Sophie was seven when I was eighteen. My father needed me at home.” She’d known that without a word being spoken. Without her, Sophie would have been raised in a broken home.

“Sophie lived with you when she was seven?” He spun towards her.

“Sophie lived with us from the time Mari died.” A gorgeous baby, she’d had her grandfather, her grandaunt and her uncles enslaved within weeks.

He caught her arm. “How old were you when your sister died?”

“Ten.”

“And your father didn’t accept your sister’s pregnancy?”

“Papa’s very conservative.”

“When did your mother die?” Concern chased shock across his face, as he calculated the sequence and timing of the tragedies that had hit her family.

Lela opted to save him the effort. “My mother died twelve months before Sophie’s birth, and my sister died six months after.”

“I’m sorry.” His hand shot out to take hers in instinctive comfort. “So sorry. I’d assumed Sophie was orphaned recently.”

He gave Lela no time to refuse his warm handclasp. His sympathy and empathy were spontaneous, flowing over her to create the protective cocoon she’d wished for as a child. The speed of his reaction told her he’d experienced a tragic death. When his fingers remained intimately twined with hers, Lela’s curiosity stirred about who had died and what they’d meant to him. A mother and child? In his line of work, the death of an abused wife or child must be all too common.

A man who not only listened, but understood emotion.

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