“Religion.” She stared at her feet. “I can’t sleep with you.”

Hugh stopped and raised a brow.

“Well, that’s a bit of a facer. Have you taken a vow of chastity? Joined a nunnery?”

Sophie squirmed. “You know what I mean. I just . . . it’s been a month—”

“I’ve been counting the days. I assure you.”

His black eyes swept, assessingly, over her body; Sophie flushed as though the tight jeans and sweater were transparent.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m teasing you. Or . . . leading you on.”

“No sex before marriage.”

She nodded.

He turned away. “I understand. Come on, Sophie—let’s get back, before you get a chill.”

Hugh walked on through the forest. And her stomach turned over.That’s it then, Sophie thought.That’s the end. He wanted me the first day. But he’s not going to wait forever.

It’s finished, she thought. And she picked up her boots and trudged on, determined that she wouldn’t let Hugh see her cry.

Hugh had never thought of himself as a good actor. He could keep his own counsel, in business, and in war; that was about all, though. At present, all he wanted to do was to get away from Sophie. Long enough so that she wouldn’t be able to guess.

When they got back to the castle, he pecked her distantly on the cheek and asked to be excused.

“I have to run an errand in Cork: bloody insurance. Do you think you’ll be all right by yourself for a while?”

Her face was glum, but she struggled to smile.

“Don’t mind me,” she said. “I’m in the middle of a Jilly Cooper reading marathon. I wanted some time to finish Octavia.”

“See you later, then; tell Mrs. O’Connor what you want for dinner—all right?”

“Okay,” she muttered, turning to go up the stairs.

Hugh exhaled. He’d made it. He rushed out to his garage, retrieved the Aston Martin. He thought it would take two hours. He had been mulling this over since the middle of last week, when she’d been laughing with him after dinner, and he had determined this moment would come. He’d made several calls, and prepared; now he fished out his mobile and rang Paul.

“I’m thinking this evening.”

The restaurateur clicked his tongue. “What time?”

“Early—six. I have to turn this around before she gets herself a sandwich at home. D’you think you can pull it off?”

“No problem. In fact, I only need an hour. Forty-five minutes, even.”

Hugh was taken aback. “So fast?”

“For you, I’ve been practicing,” the chef said.