“You should marry Pandora. She’s rich. And I think she rather fancies a title.”

He shook his head ruefully. “Pandora.”

“She’s definitely into you. Maybe even loves you.”

“If this was the nineteenth century, I would have no choice. I like to think I have a choice in the twenty-first. Linnea, I don’t love Pandora. I love you. I thought you loved me.”

“I do.”

“You have to choose, Linnea.”

There it was. He was asking her to decide. As John had done.

“Gordon, no matter who I choose, someone is going to get hurt.”

“I’ll make it easier for you,” Gordon said, laying out his cards. “England is my home. I must return. And I want you to come with me.”

She felt a crack in her heart. He’d put it all on the line. It was like Gordon to see things clearly, and to be able to restrain his emotions when needed. Her eager-to-please self leaned toward saying yes.

And yet, her body coiled in resistance. She felt her skin itch. Her heart rate accelerate.

“You’re asking me to make my mind up right now?”

His forehead creased. “I suppose I am. Do we really need more time?” he asked, leaning toward her. He spread out his palms like a player showing his hand. “My project here is ending. And”—his eyes brightened—“I just received an exceptional opportunity in England. I haven’t been able to discuss it with you. I want to.” He paused to fold his hands together, as though to rein the conversation back to the decision at hand. “I love you, and I hope you’ll come with me.”

This time, Linnea didn’t hear his words of love. She heard his demand couched in them. Going with Gordon now meant that his career would take precedence over hers. The worth of his title would supersede her own name. Linnea’s spine stiffened as her vulnerability slipped off like a coat removed. Gordon had told her what he wanted. And his feelings were fair. But it was also fair for her to have her own needs.

She scratched her arm, smiling inwardly. Her body was screaming at her what her mind had refused to hear. Follow your instincts.

“I’m sorry, Gordon. I can’t do that.”

He blinked and sat up. “You’re saying no.”

“I’m saying you are a wonderful man. A man I care deeply for. But I can’t go to England with you.”

“What if I gave it all up? Stayed in America? If Harry could do it, so can I.”

“Dear Harry,” she said with a mirthless laugh. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s more than the title, isn’t it?” he asked. “It’s John.”

She shook her head. “It’s more than John. I’ve been telling you this all summer, but you didn’t listen.” She shrugged. “Nor, did I, not seriously.” She spoke slowly, enunciating each word: “I am not ready to make that commitment.”

She laughed shortly. “It’s taken this crazy, mixed-up, difficult, oddly wonderful summer to fully understand it myself. Years back, when I went to California, I lost myself. I returned home broken. I’ve worked really hard since then in my career and with family to find myself again. Actually,” she said, “it’s more than that. I’m just beginning to grasp hold of what it is I need.” She offered a wan smile, hoping he’d understand. “So you see, I can’t say yes to you until I say yes to myself. I’m a work in progress. And I have to continue that work here. In the lowcountry.”