“You twitched, Samantha.”
“I did not.”
“I felt you twitch,” Rory said.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Care to tell me what made you react that way?”
“Be quiet, Rory.”
He bent closer, his face inches from hers. “I know when someone I care about twitches.”
“And now we will enter the ballroom, as there is a queue forming behind us,” Samantha said loudly.
Rory gave her a last hard stare, then taking her hand once more, they headed into the ballroom. It was alive with color and noise. Gold garlands hung around the walls, and huge urns held flowers. The chandeliers blazed with light.
“It always surprises me when it comes together, because just yesterday morning it could not have looked further from this,” Kate said.
“It’s quite something,” Rory added, his eyes, like the women he accompanied, going around the room.
“Left,” Rory whispered.
She swallowed a groan as she looked left and found the approaching women.
“Good evening, Lady Samantha.”
“Miss Blake.” Samantha curtsied. When Phillipa did not mention Rory or Kate, she felt her temper snap.
“You remember my brother, I am sure. Mr. Rory Huntington, and his wife Mrs. Kate Huntington.”
Phillipa’s mouth thinned, but she acknowledged them with a nod.
“My brother the Duke of Raven will be most pleased you are here for this night, his special charity event that he loves to share with his family. Family he loves deeply, Miss Blake. In fact, he once said to me that any insult to them would be considered a direct insult to him.”
Phillipa looked uncomfortable.
“Samantha—”
“Perhaps you should remember that if you wish to receive further invitations to this ball,” Samantha added, ignoring Rory. Then she walked away, towing her brother and sister-in-law with her.
“You didn’t need to do that,” Kate said. “Really. We don’t care what people say about us as we don’t step into society often.”
“Well, I do, and I will not tolerate it.”
“You’re quite fierce when you want to be, aren’t you?” Rory said, kissing her cheek. “Thank you for defending us, my sweet little sister.”
“I won’t tolerate her sort of snobbery.”
“As you shouldn’t. Had you not censured Phillipa Blake, I certainly would have,” Warwick said from behind her.
She couldn’t simply ignore him, so she turned to face him.
He wore a black jacket, black and ivory waistcoat, and deep grey trousers. His shirt was white, and his necktie not overly elaborate but enough to ensure he looked the gentleman he was. His green eyes were calm and even held a twinkle in them.
Why was he not as off-balance as her? Because while in the deep recesses of her mind she’d wondered if he could be her Sinclair, Samantha had not really believed it until the other day in her room and that kiss they’d shared.
“And while that warms all the corners of my heart, there really is no need,” Rory said.
