Graciousness had its limits. She’d reached hers. “Do you mean sleeping with me, allowing me to believe we were in a long-term monogamous relationship, then announcing your engagement to someone else? Oh, and telling me of that someone else just after we’d had sex?” She took a sip of tea. “Yes, you should have handled that better.”

“If we’re honest, I never made promises.”

“No, you implied them, so that interpretation is on me. I accept it.” Under the shade of the umbrella, she studied him. Yes, he looked the same. Smooth, polished, confident. His confidence had once been so appealing to her. Now it struck as arrogance and appealed not at all.

“Is this why you came here, Jonathan? To settle accounts with me?”

“To, I hope, make it right.” Sincerity lived in his eyes as he laid a hand over hers. “We parted at odds, Hope, and that bothers me, a lot.”

“Don’t give it a thought.”

“I do, and I’m here to bridge that gap between us. And to offer you your position back. My father’s prepared to make you a very generous offer. As I said, Hope, you’re missed.”

Eyes level, she slid her hand away. “I have a position.”

“A very generous offer,” Jonathan repeated. “Back where we all know you belong. We’d like to schedule a meeting with you, at your convenience, to work out the details. You could come back, Hope, to Georgetown, to the Wickham, to your life. And, to me.”

He put his hand over hers again when she said nothing. “My marriage is what it is, and will continue to be. But you and I . . . I miss what we had. We can have it again. I’d take very good care of you.”

“You’d take care of me.” Each word dropped from her lips like a stone.

“You wouldn’t want for anything.”

He continued, oh, that confidence—proving he didn’t know her at all. And never had.

“You’d have the work that fulfills you, a home of your choosing. There’s a charming property on Q Street I know you’d love. I think we should take a short holiday before you resume your position so we can get reacquainted, so to speak.” He leaned toward her, intimately. “It’s been a long year, Hope, for both of us. I’ll take you anywhere you like. How about a week in Paris?”

“A week in Paris, a home in Georgetown. I’m assuming some spending money to furnish it, and to outfit myself, of course, for my return to the Wickham—and you.”

He lifted her hand to his lips—a habit she’d once loved—smiled at her over it. “As I said, I’ll take care of you.”

“And what does your wife think about your generous offer?”