Lady Charlotte appeared at the top of the stairs in a flowing dressing gown, looking like she'd stepped out of a 1940s film. "Oh, my dear girl, how dreadful! Davies is calling the emergency plumber, but I'm afraid it won't be sorted until morning. He’s switching off the water in the bathroom above you."
Sir Archibald emerged from his room looking grumpy and disheveled. "What's all this racket?"
"Burst pipe in the blue guest room, darling. Poor Sasha's been flooded out."
More doors opened as the rest of the family gathered to assess the damage. Sophie appeared with her hair in a messy ponytail, Archie stumbled out looking confused, and even Lady Alexandra emerged, looking remarkably composed for someone who'd been woken by a plumbing emergency.
"Well," Lady Charlotte said, surveying the dripping ceiling with the sort of calm efficiency that came from managing a large household, "we'll need to get you sorted with somewhere else to sleep, won't we?"
Victoria felt a sense of impending doom.
"The yellow guest room's being redecorated," her mother continued, mentally cataloguing options. "And the green room has that damp problem we've been meaning to address… The others are earmarked for the house party and haven’t even been made up yet."
"I could sleep on a sofa," Sasha offered weakly.
"Nonsense. You're a guest." Lady Charlotte's face brightened as she reached the obvious solution. "Victoria's room has plenty of space. Sasha can camp out on the day bed in there, can't she, darling?"
Chapter Ten
The day bed in Victoria's room looked innocent enough, Sasha thought, staring at it with suspicion. It seemed perfectly normal. Not at all like a torture device. No, it was quite comfortable, really. Positioned by the window with a lovely view of the gardens. Perfectly respectable sleeping arrangements.
The problem wasn't the bed. The problem was that it was approximately six feet away from Victoria's actual bed, where Victoria would be sleeping, presumably in pajamas, possibly making those soft little sounds that people made when they were dreaming. Or maybe, Sasha thought with growing heat and horror, Victoria might decide to sleep naked.
No, she told herself. No. Rich people didn’t sleep naked. They could definitely afford pajamas. And silk nightgowns. And probably lacy lingerie and…
"Right then," Ambrose said, hefting Sasha's damp suitcase onto the luggage rack with theatrical efficiency. "This should be cozy."
"Shut up," Sasha hissed. Victoria was still in the corridor talking to her mother, but she could have the hearing of a bat for all Sasha knew.
"I mean, what could possibly be complicated about sharing a room with my devastatingly attractive sister who you absolutely aren't attracted to?" Ambrose grinned at her. "Sweet dreams, darling."
"Not helpful, Am."
He shrugged. "Well… I suppose you could always bunk in with me. Mama wouldn’t mind, but grandmother might take issue with it."
Sasha pulled a face. "Thanks for the offer, but your room’s a bit… penis-y."
Ambrose snorted. "Not penis-y enough for my tastes, but point taken. And, well, you’ll be completely fine in here. No dishonorable intentions toward my sister at all, right?"
Sasha bared her teeth at him and thought about Victoria in bed and again, her stomach flip-flopped. Maybe she should share with Ambrose.
But he was already yawning and then leaning in to kiss her cheek and departing. Leaving Sasha alone with her thoughts and the growing certainty that she was absolutely fucked.
THE NIGHT WAS, in a word, torturous.
Not that Victoria did anything inappropriate. She was perfectly polite when she returned from speaking with her mother. Wishing Sasha goodnight with pleasant but distant courtesy, and disappeared into the en suite bathroom for exactly seventeen minutes. When she emerged, she was wearing the sort of sensible dressing gown that suggested she took nighttime practicality very seriously indeed.
And ruining any stray thoughts that Sasha might have had about lingerie.
Unfortunately, even sensible dressing gowns looked unreasonably good on Victoria Sullivan. Sasha tried not to look. In fact, she was wondering if it was at all possible just to feignsleep for the entire rest of the trip. Or perhaps to take her blanket and sleep under the snooker table. Maybe she should just lapse into a coma for the next twelve days.
She lay on her day bed, staring at the ceiling, and tried very hard not to listen to Victoria's breathing. Soft and steady, and occasionally accompanied by the rustle of sheets when she turned over. At one point, Victoria murmured something incomprehensible in her sleep, and Sasha felt her stomach do something that definitely wasn't appropriate given their circumstances.
But then, there was the sneaking suspicion that Victoria might not be as asleep as she seemed. Perhaps she too was lying there pretending. And then Sasha felt too hot and kicked off her blanket before hastily retrieving it with the thought that she was so hot she might accidentally tear off her pajamas in her sleep and be lying there naked when Victoria woke. Or pretended to wake.
By dawn, she'd managed perhaps two hours of actual sleep and was ready to throttle anyone who suggested that sharing a room was "no trouble at all."
She heard Victoria get up and waited what she felt was a decent length of time before opening her eyes. Certainly enough time for any changing or dressing to happen. And she definitely didn’t peek. She screwed her eyes tight shut and waited until she could wait no more before she opened them to find Victoria sitting at her laptop with the sort of focused intensity that suggested the rest of the world could disappear and she wouldn't notice. She looked up when Sasha stirred, and for a moment their eyes met across the room.
