Chapter Twenty-Six
The taxi dropped Victoria at the front door just as the evening hit that perfect golden hour.
Music drifted from the terrace, punctuated by laughter and champagne glasses.
Her mother's house party was clearly in full swing, which meant Victoria had missed cocktails and probably several rounds of her grandmother's pointed observations about punctuality.
Three hours sitting in a tiny back-end-of-nowhere station while engineering works brought the rail network to its knees. She'd spent the time staring at the email on her phone.
We are delighted to offer you the position of Senior Investment Manager…
She should be euphoric. This was everything she'd worked toward. Instead, she felt oddly empty, like viewing her triumph through glass.
Davies appeared before she'd even knocked. "Miss Victoria. Welcome home. I trust the journey was eventful?"
"One way to put it." She handed him her bag. "How's the carnage?"
"Your mother is in excellent spirits, your father has twice tried to retreat to his greenhouse prevented only by your grandmother, and Master Ambrose appears to be celebrating something with considerable enthusiasm."
Victoria quickly went up to her room, dropped her briefcase and slid into the dress that she’d bought for the occasion, before running back downstairs. On her way down, she thought she heard something, almost like a cat’s meow, but the sound didn’t come again and she was in a hurry.
Finally, she stepped onto the terrace, immediately scanning for Sasha. She found her near the rose garden, wearing a sundress that should have been illegal, making Lord Paddingham laugh entirely too much.
"Victoria!" Her mother appeared with a relieved smile. "Thank goodness you're here. How did the meeting go?"
"Fine. Very productive." The lie came automatically.
Before Victoria could protest, she was being steered toward a tall man with expensive teeth who launched into currency fluctuations. Victoria made appropriate noises while watching Sasha over his shoulder, trying not to notice how her stomach hurt at the sight of her.
"—quite remarkable opportunities in Asia-Pacific," the man was saying.
"Mmm," Victoria agreed, though she was more fascinated by the way Sasha's dress fitted her curves.
Sasha chose that moment to laugh at something Lord Pemberton said, throwing her head back, and Victoria's brain promptly shut down.
"Miss Sullivan? You seem distracted."
"Sorry. Jet lag." Which made no sense since she'd been to London, but he nodded sympathetically anyway.
Victoria excused herself and found Ambrose at the drinks table with champagne in each hand and glassy eyes.
"Vic!" He embraced her with drunken enthusiasm. "Perfect timing. I've been building up Dutch courage."
"How much have you had?"
"Just enough to make terrible decisions seem reasonable." He grinned. "How was London? Did you conquer the banking world?"
"Something like that." Victoria couldn't tell him about the job offer. Not yet. She couldn’t tell anyone.
"Ah. Well. You know what they say."
"No. What do they say?"
He shook his head. "Something about… the truth will out? I think that’s what they say, anyway."
She sighed, picked up a bottle of water, and handed it to her brother. "Drink this before making any rash decisions," she said, before moving off to try and find Sasha.
"Victoria, there you are."
She spun to find Sasha beside her, looking unfairly gorgeous. Victoria's mouth went dry.
"You're back," Sasha said, relief in her voice that made Victoria's chest tight. "How did it go?"
"Good. Really good." Victoria took a large gulp of champagne. "They seemed interested."
"That's brilliant." Sasha's smile was warm but careful. "I'm glad you're here. The party wasn't quite the same without you."
But before Victoria could answer, someone called for party games, and then they were being herded toward the drawing room. Someone had organized charades.
"Right then," announced Mrs. Pemberton-Smythe. "Teams of four. Victoria and Sasha, you're with Lord Ashworth and young Timothy."
Of course. Of course she'd be partnered with Sasha for a game requiring close proximity while everyone watched.
Victoria managed "Gone with the Wind" through impressive mime work. Then it was Sasha's turn, and whatever word she'd drawn required elaborate gesturing.
Until it was the other team's turn, and she found herself pressed against Sasha next to a heavy velvet curtain.
"What are you doing?" Victoria hissed, acutely aware of their proximity.
"Shh," Sasha whispered, breath warm against Victoria's ear. "I'm being a tree. Or possibly a windmill."
"You're terrible at this."
"Says the woman who spent five minutes pretending to be a butterfly."
They were pressed together, Sasha's body warm against hers. Victoria could smell her perfume, feel the flutter of her pulse. Dangerous territory.
"You should move back," Victoria murmured, though she didn't move herself.
"Probably," Sasha said. "Though this is rather nice."
"Sasha…"
"I've missed you today. More than I should have."
"Right, your turn," Mrs. Pemberton-Smythe said, turning to them and beaming.
Victoria could barely breathe. She had to say something. Had to say that she was leaving. She’d go back in the morning, as soon as she could. There were things to arrange and… And she had to say something. Or avoid everything and just disappear.
But the evening seemed determined to throw them together. During dinner, a catering crisis sent Victoria to the pantry for emergency desserts, only to find Sasha already there, surrounded by tins.
"The cook said something about backup puddings," Sasha explained, holding up Christmas pudding. "But I'm not sure this counts."
The pantry was barely large enough for one person. Victoria squeezed past Sasha to reach upper shelves, their bodies brushing.
"Try those tins on the left," Victoria suggested, stretching for a promising container. The movement brought her closer to Sasha, who had gone very still.
"Victoria."
"Found it." Victoria grabbed treacle tart. "This should work."
She turned to find Sasha watching her with dark eyes, the air suddenly charged.
The pantry door swung shut with a definitive click.
"Brilliant," Sasha muttered, reaching for the handle. It rattled but didn't budge. "I think we're locked in."
"What?"
"The door's stuck. Old latch. Georgian house quirks."
They were trapped. In a space barely large enough for a claustrophobic mouse. With Sasha looking at her like that.
"Right," Victoria said, trying to sound calm. "We'll just wait for someone to—"
Sasha kissed her. Not gently, but with desperate hunger that made Victoria's knees weak. She kissed back without thinking, pressing Sasha against the shelves.
"We can't," Victoria gasped, even as her body pressed closer.
"I know." Sasha's hands found Victoria's dress buttons. "Terrible idea. Completely inappropriate."
"Someone could find us."
"Probably will." Sasha's mouth moved to her neck. "Should definitely stop."
"Definitely," Victoria agreed, then tilted her head for better access. Christ, she was going to miss this.
Voices in the corridor saved them from complete impropriety. Victoria sprang away just as Mrs. Henderson's voice called through the wood.
"Miss Victoria? Miss Sasha? Are you quite alright?"
"Fine!" Victoria called, voice only slightly strangled. "Just taking inventory."
They emerged with as much dignity as they could muster, though Victoria was certain her hair was a disaster and Sasha's lipstick had migrated.
THE NEXT TWO hours passed in a blur of near-misses and stolen moments. A touch of hands while passing drinks. A brush of shoulders in the crowded drawing room. A heated look across the terrace that made Victoria forget how to breathe.
When the dancing began, Victoria tried to maintain a safe distance, partnering with Lord Ashworth for a sedate waltz while Sasha danced with Ambrose. But the evening was warm, and after several dances, she slipped away toward the stables for air and space to think.
The job offer felt heavy in her pocket, like a weight she couldn't ignore. She should tell Sasha. Should explain that she'd be leaving, that this was ending whether they wanted it to or not.
But she couldn't bring herself to say the words.
She was leaning against the stable wall, staring up at the stars and trying to organize her thoughts, when footsteps approached.
"Hiding?" Sasha's voice was soft in the darkness.
"Getting air." Victoria didn't turn around. "It's rather warm inside."
"It is." Sasha moved to stand beside her, close enough that Victoria could feel her presence like heat. "Lovely evening though. Your mother's outdone herself."
"She has."
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the distant sound of music and laughter from the party.
"Victoria," Sasha said quietly. "About what happened in the pantry—"
Victoria turned, and whatever Sasha had been about to say was lost as their eyes met. The air between them crackled with tension, with days of careful distance and professional smiles and the sort of want that made rational thought impossible.
"We should go back," Victoria said, but she was already moving closer.
"We should," Sasha agreed, reaching up to touch Victoria's face.
The kiss was inevitable, desperate, full of everything they hadn't been able to say.
Victoria pressed Sasha back against the stable wall, her hands finding the curve of her waist, the soft skin of her neck.
Sasha made a sound that went straight to Victoria's core, her fingers threading through Victoria's hair.
"Someone will see," Sasha gasped when Victoria's mouth moved to her throat.
"Don't care," Victoria murmured against her skin, though she did care, distantly, about propriety and reputation and all the things that should matter.
"Victoria—"
"Shh." Victoria's hands found the hem of Sasha's dress, sliding underneath to touch warm thigh. "Just… don't think. For once in our lives, don't think."
Sasha arched against her, and Victoria was drowning in sensation, in the scent of her skin and the sound of her breathing and the way she whispered Victoria's name like a prayer.
Then, cutting through the haze of desire like a cold shower, came the sound of voices approaching. Victoria jerked away from Sasha, both of them breathing hard in the darkness.
"—thought I saw them come this way," someone was saying. Lady Charlotte's voice, getting closer.
"Bollocks," Victoria whispered, frantically smoothing down her dress.
They managed to step apart and assume innocent poses just as Victoria's mother appeared around the corner of the stables with Mrs. Pemberton-Smythe in tow.
"There you are!" Lady Charlotte beamed at them. "We were wondering where you'd gotten to. Taking in the night air?"
"Yes," Victoria said, hoping her voice sounded normal. "Lovely evening for it."
"Indeed." Her mother's eyes were knowing, but her smile remained diplomatically pleasant. "Well, do come back when you're ready. The evening's not over yet."
They returned to the party, Victoria's mind spinning with the weight of decisions she couldn't make and words she couldn't say. The job offer was a time bomb in her pocket, ticking toward an inevitable explosion that would change everything.
THE SUN HAD finally set properly now that it was close to eleven, and the fairy lights on the terrace had twinkled on, and the party was in full swing. Victoria was cutting through the main foyer, trying to track down Ambrose, when a strange silence began to creep over the guests.
"Oh my," Lady Alexandra said, her voice carrying clearly. "What on earth is that?"
Victoria looked up to see every guest turning toward the staircase, where a small tabby kitten had appeared, surveying the assembled crowd with tiny lion confidence.
The kitten took one delicate step down, then another, completely oblivious to the thirty-odd pairs of eyes now fixed on its progress.