“All right, Piggy”—she fought a grimace at her nickname—“keep your shirt on—”
“Or don’t. We won’t mind.”
“We’ll have another round,” Graham snapped, his sandy-blond hair shaking in time with his empty glass. “And you’ll need a whole bottle, Piggy.”
Her stomach shuddered at the reminder. On a Rage weekend, the initiate was required to drinkonlybottles, and by the end of the weekend she would have to drink fifteen bottles on her own before they would even consider her an official member. Sam popped up from the creaking antique chair. Her head swam, the swirling sting of alcohol taking hold of her, but she soldiered on.
Trusting them with her father’s heirlooms about as much as she trusted them with her body, Sam hustled to the wine cellar and back, carrying armfuls of wines and champagnes before doling them out generously to her guests. They all muttered appreciatively, snarking under their breaths about the vintage or the bouquet. Sometimes, the way they treated her gave Sam some pause. Did they always exclude the initiate from the conversation? Or did they not know how to deal with her specifically? She always wore pants, always kept her hair up, and insisted they call her Sam. Gave them no reason to treat her like a woman.
Was this normal for them, or should she expect it to always be normal for her?
“Now”—Captain took his glass away from his lips—“show us your room.”
Her anxieties stretched. Nothing about his voice told her this was going to be an innocent stroll.
“My room?”
“Did I stutter, or do you really not speak English?”
That was the other thing. She could try as much as she wanted to fit in as a man, but she would never fit in as an Englishman. Sam Dubarry might have had a duke’s blood racing through her veins, but in every way that mattered, she was as American as they came. Her accent gave her away, even if she tried to employ every bit of slang her brother taught her.
“No.” She shrugged and took a generous sip from her wine bottle. Her stomach revolted, but her courage was glad for the bolstering. “Don’t want there to be any funny business, that’s all.”
“You’re saying funny business is off the table?” Captain smirked, revealing a row of perfect teeth. Too perfect. Sam had to wonder if they were even real, or had he rotted them by the time he was twenty and required a mouthful of fake ones?
A snarky comeback danced on her lips, but Captain rose and gave her a little shove toward the door, killing the words before she could speak them.
“Get upstairs, girl.”
If she hated the nickname Piggy, it was nothing to how she loathed being calledgirl. The column of her throat burned with the desire to snap, to retort, to hold her own, but she swallowed it back. Even the slightest step out of line could have gotten her kicked out. No. She couldn’t accept failure, but shecouldaccept being called girl for a few days longer. She was sure that once she was among their ranks, an official member, the nicknames and cruelty would fall away…
Shaking off the insult, she led the men upstairs to the tune of their drinking songs(“Well, Mary jumped in the bed and she covered up her head, and she said that I couldn’t find her. Boy, I knew quite well that she lied like hell, so I jumped right in beside her…”)and the quiet sloshes of spilled red wine. Passing stately oil paintings and countless doorways, they paraded through the winding corridors until they reached her bedroom in the manor’s western wing.
“Here we are,” she said, as the stampede behind her rushed to peek beyond her doorway. “Home sweet home.”
“Lads!”
A familiar voice came out of nowhere, shattering the atmosphere of the party. As if snapped out of a snake charmer’s spell, the wild men stiffened and straightened, clearing their throats and adopting stern, imperious expressions. Disappointment tightened Sam’s jaw. She couldn’t see the intruder, but she didn’t have to. They’d been joined by her brother, Thomas. Thomas, her father’s legitimate child. Thomas, the apple of his eye. Thomas, who hadalsobeen in Animos. Thomas, the only one in this house who ever treated her like a human being. She didn’t turn to greet him.
“Thomas,” Captain said, recovering, and Sam heard the slapping of palms in an overtly friendly handshake. “Didn’t know you were gonna be home.”
“Leaving in the morning. Animos reunion at the Royal Thames in London.”
“Good man.”
“Can I see my sister for a moment?”Damn, Sam thought to herself as her brother’s hand wrapped around her own, tugging her away from the men as they let themselves into her bedroom,so I’m not going to escape this.“Family matter. You understand.”
“Don’t keep her long,” Captain said, sniggering. “She’s got a long weekend ahead of her.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it.”
The door shut, leaving them alone in the hallway. Through the walls, Sam could clearly hear the sounds of Animos debauchery. She struggled not to imagine what would happen when they located her underwear drawer, but it got easier when she looked up to Thomas lording over her with stern disapproval on his face.
“Samantha—”
“Sam,” she corrected.
“Jesus, are you still going by your stupid boy’s name? It’s not going to make them treat you any better.”
