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Air. She needed all the air she could breathe into her lungs.
The front door was an escape hatch at the end of a dark tunnel, and she headed straight for it.
“Samantha?” Mary’s voice stopped her. “Are you all right, dear? It’s late to be going out.”
The door was a few steps away. Within reach. She had no energy for conversation. She had nothing left to give anyone. She’d reached breaking point.
She might have crumbled right there and then, but Brodie emerged from the library and crossed the hall in long strides.
“Oh hi, Samantha—I’ve been wondering where you were. Don’t worry, Mum. This is work. Samantha and I have plans for tonight.” Without pausing, he grabbed his coat and hers.
“Work? Plans?” Mary was astonished. “You’re going out? What about dinner?”
“We’re having a working dinner. Samantha is only here for a few days, and I intend to use every one of those days. If we’re going to turn this into a commercial success, then we need all the advice she can give us.” He shrugged on his coat. “She’s being generous with her time. I’m taking her for something to eat in the village—because that’s something our guests might want to do—and then I’ll show her the estate by night. After that we’ll go to my office to run some numbers. We’ll be late, so don’t wait up.”
“The estate by—night?”
“Yes.” Brodie draped Samantha’s coat around her shoulders and urged her toward the door. “I thought we could offer...starlight strolls.”
“Star—but Brodie they’re forecasting more snow, and—”
“My office is warm. We’ll be working out of there. Don’t wait up—we have a lot to get through.” Brodie propelled Samantha through the door before his mother could think up a suitable response.
She heard the door close behind her. Ice-cold air cooled her face and bit through her clothing.
She was grateful to him for removing the need for a conversation with Mary, but now she had another problem. She didn’t really want to be with Brodie, either. She didn’t want to be with anyone.
“I can’t—”
“I know. Don’t talk. I’ve got this.” He steered her toward the car, his hand firm on her back. “Don’t slip. It’s icy here.”
She stumbled, tears blinding her. She didn’t even care that he was there to witness it. She was beyond caring
.
“Why don’t you—” He saw her tears and the breath hissed through his teeth. “Damn. Hold on. Just for a few more seconds.” He unlocked the car and lifted her into the car. “Stay there.”
He slithered his way to the driver’s side, slammed the door on both of them, closing them in.
“Seat belt.” He reached across her and fastened it. Then gave her leg a squeeze. “I’m driving us away from here. Then we can talk or not talk—whatever you prefer.”
Now the tears had started she couldn’t stop them and with them came sobs, great tearing sobs.
“Hold on—just hold on—” He accelerated, spun the wheels, cursed and slowed down. “Just need to get through the gate, and then no one can see you, or follow us.”
She couldn’t hold on.
She sobbed. She sobbed for her mother. She sobbed for her father. She sobbed for herself—for the person she was, and the person she wished she was.
She choked on her tears, on her feelings, on a flood of remorse and regret.
She had no sense of time passing but was dimly aware that the car had stopped, and then he was unfastening her seat belt and pulling her against him.
He said nothing. Just held her tightly and let her cry.
She cried until she had nothing left, and then gradually the tears slowed and then stopped, and she flopped against him, so depleted of energy that she couldn’t have moved even if she’d wanted to. But she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay here in this warm, safe place.
His arms were locked around her.
