“Yep.” Even in the damp light, she could see the pink stretching against his stubbled cheeks. “Secret’s out now, I guess.”
“Why haven’t you—”
“I haven’t ever asked anybody to have sex and no one’s ever asked me to, either.” He shrugged. “I just wanted it to be special. To mean something, you know?”
Yeah, she did know. Which was exactly why she couldn’t bring him upstairs tonight. Or any other night, for that matter. No matter how much her stomach tightened or how her blood rushed at the prospect.
“Well, when it does happen, I’m sure it will be everything you ever dreamed of.”
“Yeah.” His look was purposeful, warm, and full of hope. Hope she couldn’t answer. “I think so, too.”
With another kiss and a brief goodbye, she opened the door and entered her home. Dark, as usual. The lights had probably been out since she left for university this morning. She flicked them on, moving through slats of light and across creaking floorboards toward her room. Her mind was too tired tonight for anything but a long, hot shower and some sleep. Between the looming threat of the Mud Duck Ball, Captain’s continued pursuit, and the growing riot inside of her traitorous heart, the sweet oblivion of sleep looked more and more appealing with every step she took.
“Samantha.”
She paused in the doorway of the smoking room, where her brother sat at the window. He took a long drag off of a cigarette. As often as he’d told her to be careful of her relationship with Daniel, she’d warned him of cigarettes. Apparently, they were both bad listeners.
“Hey, Thomas,” she greeted without any particular excitement.
“Do you know how to play snooker?”
“I know how to play pool.”
“The rules are close enough. C’mon. Let’s play a game.”
They walked into the snooker hall, one of Ashbrooke Manor’s many quirks. Her brother roughly tossed her a stick.
“You’ll get the hang of it,” he said, setting up the table.
Everything about Thomas’s demeanor told her she was in for a thorough lecture. Her fight or flight instincts kicked in, but she tightened her grip on the stick in her hands, hoping it would ground her to the spot.
“What’s this about?” she asked.
Before she started dating Daniel and running wild around Oxfordshire, she and Thomas ate dinner together almost every evening and spent plenty of time at each other’s side. This little invitation was too sudden to be innocent.
“The ball’s on Friday, isn’t it?”
The hairs on Sam’s neck bristled.
“Uh-huh,” she said, the notes of the syllables too high to be a casual reply.
The truth was, she hadn’t even asked Daniel yet. She knew she had to. She knew it was in the cards and inevitable. She hadn’t found the right moment, the correct mixture of courage and invincible self-interest, to ask him.
“How are you feeling about it?” Thomas asked.
“I’m not.” She bent down to take her first shot, secretly reveling in the way the balls knocked together, so harsh and haphazard. “I’m not thinking about it.”
“But you’re going through with it?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“But…” Though she took her shot, Thomas made no move from his place near the richly papered wall. Samantha leaned against her stick. “You love him. You’re starting to, at least.”
“Nope.”
“You can’t tell me you don’t,” he snapped.
Pointing at the table with the end of her cue, she finally leveled her gaze at her brother.
