“That bastard. I could kill him.”
“But he was right. I’ve always had a feeling I wasn’t good enough. That I was fooling myself to think I had any real talent. And now I know for certain . . . oh, Sam. What will I do now?”
Her eyes filled with tears, too many to blink away, and when she tried to hide her face he held her fast and wiped them dry with his thumbs.
“Sorry. I never seem to have a handkerchief. Right—this is what we’re going to do. You’re not having fun, and I don’t think you should have anything more to drink. I’ll walk you home and we’ll talk, and everything will be all right. Sit here while I get your coat and tell Sara and Agnes where we’re going.”
Seconds later he was back at her side, guiding her downstairs and across the bridge and past the cathedral. He kept her close by, his arm supporting her, making sure she didn’t stumble on the cobbles, and when Vincent opened the door Sam did all the talking.
“Good evening, Vincent. Lady Helena isn’t feeling well, so I brought her home early. Could you have a pot of tea and some plain toast brought to her room, please? I’ll take her up now.”
“Mr. Howard, I hope you understand that—”
“On my honor, Vincent, I swear you have nothing to worry about. I would never do anything that might upset Lady Helena or her aunt.”
Suitably mollified, Vincent went off to sort out Helena’s tea and toast while Sam steered her in the direction of the stairs. When she stumbled at the first step he simply lifted her in his arms and, cradling her close, walked up the steep staircase with no apparent difficulty.
“Is your room here on the second floor?”
It was hard to talk, for she was so very tired, but she had to correct him. “This is the first floor. Silly American.”
“Fine,” he said, and kissed her hair. “If you say so. Which one of these doors is your room?”
“Far end . . . left side.”
The door was ajar, so he shouldered it open and carried her across the room to her bed. He set her down and then, stooping a little, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch, whisper-soft, was the nicest thing she had ever felt.
“I had better go, otherwise Vincent is going to have a heart attack.”
“Don’t. Not yet.”
She struggled to her knees, set her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him before he could stop her. At first he didn’t respond, his mouth refusing to soften under hers, so she wrapped her arms around his neck, as she’d once seen Theda Bara do in a movie, and, opening her mouth just a little, let her tongue dart out to touch at his lips.
This had the effect of melting his reserve, and he pulled her close and kissed her so fiercely that she felt certain he had changed his mind and did desire her after all. But it only lasted a few seconds before he pulled away, gently but firmly, unwound her arms from around his neck, and took her hands in his.
“Ellie, no. You’re in no fit state—”
She clutched at his arms, trying to draw him into an embrace, but Sam evaded her grasp and took another step back.
“I said no. You’re not—”
“But I love it when you kiss me. I would seduce you if I knew how . . .”
“Are you trying to kill me? Listen—you’re upset, you’re three sheets to the wind, and Vincent has probably got his ear to the door right now. And we both know he wouldn’t think twice about chopping me into little pieces if he thought it might please your aunt.”
This struck Helena as one of the funniest things she had ever heard, and it was some time before she was able to stop giggling and catch her breath. She started to talk, but her tongue suddenly felt swollen, and her mouth wouldn’t behave, and on top of everything else she discovered she had a frightful case of the hiccups.
“Si—hic—silly man. Was Auntie A—hic—who gave me th’ idea. She said we should be lo—hic—lovers. So she won’ care.”
Sam was shaking his head, but she knew she had to explain, had to make him understand. “Auntie A says I’m in love with you.”
“Are you?”
“I don’ know. Never fell in love be—hic—before. Would be silly to love you.”
“Why, Ellie? Why would it be silly? Because I—”
“Because you’re jus’ like Edward. You’re Edward in an Amer—hic—American suit. Thas’ wha’ you are, an’ it makes me sad. So, so sad . . .”
She looked up at him, and of course he was so tall she had to tilt her head right back, and everything around her started to spin and shift. Her stomach turned over once, twice, and her throat seemed to close up—and then, before she could warn Sam or turn away, she vomited all over his front, and it went on forever, and in that instant she really, truly, wished she could die and never have to look him in the eye again.