“Oh.” He couldn’t help the sigh of surprise. And confusion. And suspicion. And want. He cleared his throat, squaring his attention solely ringing up the books on their ancient till. “Miss Dubarry.”
“I needed some books.” She slid the remaining stack in her arms onto the counter.
“I didn’t know you people read paperbacks. I thought your crowd was much more of the leather-bound book type,” he said, a twinge of bitterness coloring the words.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
Hand hovering over the nearest Stephen King thriller she’d most likely blindly ripped off of the shelf, Daniel’s muscles tightened. Angie had been right about her all along. She was a spoiled rich girl who thought her money could buy her anything.It seems I’ve upset a peasant. I really must go throw some pounds his way and perhaps some money will cheer the poor fellow up.What a shame. He’d been hoping she was better than that, even if she had been horrible to him.
“Does this usually work for you?” he asked, resuming the scanning. Not looking at her.
“Does what usually work?”
“Buying people off.”
“I’m not—”
He could almost hear her defense, the oh-so-innocent, wide-eyed, everything’s-always-worked-for-me-so-why-shouldn’t-this denial. Daniel didn’t want to hear it. Like a snowball rolling down a hill, his words started small and gained momentum as he went, knocking her interjections away. “It’s not enough to insult me in your home, you have to do it at my own place, too?”
“I need to—”
“I mean, I get it. It was stupid of me to think you’d want to go out with me, but do you need to rub my nose in it? Let a man make his mistakes. A stupid mistake, sure, but—”
He was flying now, both his tongue and his scanning arms. They were halted in their tracks when a light hand touched his own. Silence ensued for a moment. Not even the creaking floorboards or leaky roof interrupted them.
Their eyes met. And search as he might, Daniel could not find even a trace of untruth in hers. He hadn’t expected honesty.
“It wasn’t stupid.”
“What?”
“It wasn’t stupid. I was. I…” A shaking hand moved from his own and tugged at the end of her ponytail. By this point, he had onlyreallyseen Sam in two modes of operation. The straitlaced lady of Ashbrooke Manor or a frightened woman desperately trying not to want his help. This version, the one who paced his floor and spoke too fast, was new to him. He watched her with supreme fascination. “Can I tell you something?”
Dumbfounded, he nodded.
“I didn’t grow up like this. I didn’t grow up with Lord—with my father. I used to be Samantha Green, not Samantha Dubarry. I spent most of my life jumping around shoebox apartments in New York before…” She paused and pursed her lips. She must have decided he wasn’t worthy of the secret yet. He didn’t blame her. Everyone deserved at least some privacy, especially from perfect strangers. “Apartments and then foster care. I didn’t know I was Lord Dubarry’s daughter until a couple years ago. Apparently, my brother was going through some of his paperwork and found proof of my existence and felt so guilty he brought me over here. I’m not… I’m not thisthing. I like jeans and greasy cheeseburgers and really handsome, really talented guys with eyes I can’t get out of my head. Trying to be this thing they want me to be… I got carried away. I fucked up, really. And I know I don’t deserve it, but I’d really like a second chance.”
The puzzle Daniel had tried to put together of her finally became a bit clearer. She was playing a part, trying to fit into jeans too tight for her. She hadn’t cast him aside because she didn’t want him or because he wasn’t good enough for her. The young, suddenly powerful, woman thought condescending to servants was something noblewomen did.
More than that, though, it struck him then that they’d only met one another a handful of times and she’d spilled her guts, her family secrets and history, right out to him. His blood curdled from the heat of his own guilt. Here he was, thinking she was some pampered, spoiled princess when, in reality, she’d traveled a much tougher road than he had.
And she thought he was handsome. And talented. He’d be lying if he said the compliments didn’t matter, that they didn’t soften him a little bit.
“And I’m so sorry for the way I spoke to you. The way I treated you.”
Whether or not Daniel knew it, he was a goner, right then and there.
“It was wrong,” she continued. “I didn’t mean it, and I’d like to make it up to you.”
“How?” he asked, still playing the skeptic but knowing full well he’d take any make-up present she gave him so long as he got to drink cheap beer and dance with her on Friday night to some too-loud amateur swing band.
“There’s this ball. On Friday. It’s the beginning of the winter season, so my family is kicking things off in the country.” She gave a shake of her shoulders, rolling her eyes as if to say her family wastoo embarrassing. “It’ll be a proper wild one, as far as parties thrown by an MP go.”
“Friday’s the day of the Blitz Ball,” he muttered.
Pressure wasn’t something he wanted to add to this woman’s life. She clearly got enough of it from home. But…he’d been planning to go to the Blitz Ball for ages. It was the perfect place for romance. The 1940s was the kind of time where someone could look across a room, see a beautiful girl, and think, “I’m going to marry her.” Since Daniel was distinctly lacking in the time machine department, the Blitz Ball was as close as he could come to capturing their magic in his own life.
“I know, but I have to be with my family. And…” She pressed against the counter, leaning toward him. Her fingers alternated tapping her opposite forearm or fiddling with her ponytail. Her breath came in flutters. Even her eyes skidded from place to place, never resting fully on him. “I’d have a much better time if you were there.”
