She dropped her shoes on the floor and walked across the thick Aubusson carpet, her sore feet sinking gratefully into the deep pile. “Cognac? Or whisky?” She laid a hand on the decanters on the sideboard, turning to face him with a bland smile of invitation.

He tossed his hat and cane onto a pier table. “Cognac, please.”

Petra poured two goblets and handed him one before curling into the corner of a deeply cushioned sofa, drawing her feet up. She examined their filthy soles, looking for scrapes or cuts. “Good, it just seems to be dirt,” she remarked, abandoning her examination and taking a sip from her goblet.

“How very fortunate,” Guy said dryly, standing with his back to the sunflowers, cradling his goblet between his hands. “I accept that that’s not a very chivalrous response, but in the circumstances it’s difficult to think of something more suitable. What an insane thing to do.”

“It struck me as eminently sane,” she retorted. “It was a solution to a problem.”

He shrugged. “So? What’s all this about chivalry, or rather my lack of it?”

Maybe it was better to have it out. It wouldn’t diminish her wish for revenge, but clearing the decks might make it easier for her. Revenge was simple and clear, the old muddled anger would only confuse things. She regarded him over the lip of her glass. “What did you think you were doing all those years ago, Guy? Did you set out to make me think I was in love with you just for a game?”

He looked astounded. “You weren’t in love with me, for God’s sake. You were a child, a schoolgirl.”

“And perfectly capable of thinking myself in love. I was just ripe for the plucking,” she said. “A perfect toy for your games.”

“You were lovely,” he said slowly. “Sweet . . . no,” he corrected himself, “not sweet, that’s too pale a description for you. You had spirit and a lively mind, you laughed so much. I loved to hear you laugh. And, yes, you were an innocent. I didn’t think I took advantage of that innocence, though. You seemed well able to respond to me in kind.”

“And when you had had enough playtime with me, you just went away,” she stated flatly. “Without a word.”

Guy frowned, trying to remember what had seemed so unimportant to him at the time, but clearly so important to Petra. “Oh, yes, I remember now. Surely I mentioned that I had an invitation to go to Nice with some friends. That was always the case, from the beginning of the summer. I never intended to stay in Ashton for the entire summer. You must have realized that.”

She shook her head. “No, why would I realize it? You never mentioned it, otherwise I wouldn’t have been so . . .” She stopped, the memory of her emotional distress at the time too painful and humiliating to dwell on.