by Sofia Daniel
Fatigue spread through my bones, and I sank into the leather seat, stretched out my legs and watched the freeway whizz past. If Blake wanted a fake girlfriend for the press, he needed to work with someone else. I pulled out my smartphone, replied to a few emails, and glanced at Blake every few minutes. Today had been a rollercoaster of emotions, and I didn’t know if things were better between us or worse.
As soon as we reached Elder House, I bolted out of the limo and bounded up the stairs. If the triumvirate objected to my evening off, they could kick down my door.
Chapter 10
The next morning, Blake had returned to his usual exuberant self, and we sat around a regular table the staff had dressed with crystalware and fine china. Coates and his group of rugby pals sat at the head table, looking like a group of oversized, clueless dicks without Charlotte and the doppelgängers. Just after the servers had removed my completed plate of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, Mr. Jenkins approached our table.
“Miss Hobson, may I see you in my office before first bell?”
My gaze flickered to the girls’ empty seats at the head table. “Is this some sort of ambush?”
He had the nerve to rear back as though I’d slapped him. Pink blotches rose to his thin cheeks. “O-of course not!”
I twisted my lips, showing him how much I believed him. “Last term, you escorted me to the headmaster’s office, where two policemen were ready to arrest me for the most heinous of crimes. I’d count that as an ambush.”
His blotches darkened. “I-it’s an academic matter.”
“Come on.” Edward stood and held out his hand. “We’ll go together.”
I wrapped my fingers around his, enjoying the warmth of our touch, and rose from my seat. Mr. Jenkins trudged out of the dining room, and we followed after him hand-in-hand, stealing glances at each other. For a moment, the betrayals and bitterness faded into the ether, leaving behind the young man who cared deeply for his friends, family, and employees, and the young woman who adored him for it.
A musty aroma filled my nostrils the moment we stepped through the threshold of Mr. Jenkins’ office. His curtains were drawn, and even larger piles of paper than before littered his desk. He lowered himself into his seat and gestured for us to sit.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What’s this about, sir?”
He cleared his throat. “Your new Latin master, Mr. Pickering, informs me that he ejected you from his class.”
“He did…” I folded my arms across my chest and drummed my fingers on my biceps.
“You now have too many free periods, and that’s unacceptable. Either choose another subject or an extracurricular activity to make up the required hours.”
“What’s available?” I asked.
Mr. Jenkins rattled off a list of subjects, all of which were academic, tedious, and would do nothing for my writing career. When I remained silent, he added, “The following clubs and teams are seeking new members: debating, Gilbert and Sullivan, chess, hockey—”
“Hockey,” I said. It was the only topic that vaguely interested me and only because I had played in Park Prep.
“I’ll write a note to the Physical Education mistress, and she will get in touch with you with instructions.”
On our way back to the dining room, Edward wrapped an arm around my waist. In a low, commanding voice, he said, “Your presence is required at lunchtime.”
Memories of the first time we were in his study resurfaced, where Blake had unfastened the buttons of my blouse and teased my breasts until I unbuttoned the garment open. He had exposed me to Henry and Edward, who had devoured me with their gazes. My nipples twinged in anticipation of Blake’s fingers, and my core throbbed at the promise of what would happen when I stripped for the triumvirate.
Keeping the breathiness out of my voice, I asked, “Should I meet you in your study?”
“Outside the former headmaster’s office. We’re meeting the Board of Governors to discuss my fundraising idea.”
“Oh.” My libido shriveled at the disappointing pronouncement. We stepped into the dining room, where Charlotte glowered down at us from the head table. “What do you want me to do?”
“You’ll sit next to me and smile and nod at everything I say.”
I wrinkled my nose. “And the point of that is?”
“Social proof.” He pulled out my chair. “You represent the female students, demonstrating that my idea is inclusive to both genders.”
“Whatever.” I grabbed a triangle of toast from the rack. At least this would be a change from the other tasks of penance I had performed for the triumvirate. This time, I wouldn’t be stuck in a limo for hours, listening to him bellyache about how much I’d betrayed him.
After morning classes, I met Edward by the bank of desks outside Mr. Chaloner’s old office. A new secretary sat outside the door, who crunched numbers on a calculator. I tried to take a look at her documents, but it was impossible without leaning over the desk and making my spying obvious.
“Emilia,” said Edward from behind. “It’s this way.” He guided me through the hallway on the left of the office and through a wooden door at its end.
Eight of the twelve members of the Board of Governors sat around a wide, rectangular table. At its head stood Mr. Weaver, the man in the academic robes who had spoken in the assembly.
His brows rose. “Viscount Highdown and…”
I glanced over my shoulder for signs of the mysterious viscount, but found no one at our backs.
“Miss Emilia Hobson.” Edward placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me to one of the two seats at the end of the boardroom table, opposite Mr. Weaver.
I stole a glance at Edward. No one had told me he was a viscount. I didn’t even know what exactly the title meant or why it had been awarded to someone under the age of eighteen.
“Thank you, members of the board, for accommodating me at such short notice,” said Edward, his voice clear and commanding. “I would like to propose a fundraiser to generate some good press for the academy to help repair its reputation.”
The woman sitting to Mr. Weaver’s right steepled her fingers. “I hardly think a charity event will erase the effects of all the negative press the school has received over the past months.”
Guilt churned in my stomach, and I slid a few inches down in my seat. If I’d thought my plan of vengeance through, I might not have involved the academy so much. It was hard to anticipate that the cameras would pick up so much corruption when I had only wanted to target Charlotte, the triumvirate, and Mr. Chaloner.
“Perhaps not erase it, Lady Seagrove,” said Edward. “But we need something to show the academy in a better light.”
“Viscount Highdown is correct,” said a rotund man. “Let’s give the papers something positive to report on us for a change. What do you suggest?”
“A sponsored run from Mercia Academy to Worthing Pier,” replied Edward. “Staff and students can participate for any distance.”
“And the charity?”
“More scholarship places.”
Mr. Weaver shook his head. “The press might consider that self-serving.”
The other board members mumbled their agreement. I gulped. Did they really need to shoot down his idea? I thought it had been great.
“I’m sure the nearest children’s hospital will accept a donation,” Edward added.
I gave him a nod and an encouraging smile.
Lady Seagrove stroked her chin. “A wonderful idea, but it dilutes the effect of our annual charity sports day.”
The room fell silent, and Edward’s posture sagged. I let out a long breath. As friendly as this board of directors appeared, I couldn’t help thinking that they might have a slight grudge against Edward. Something about the overly cordial tones combined with their polite refusals of his attempts to help told me they blamed him for the scandals that had befallen the academy.
“World Blood Donor Day,” I blurted.
Mr. Weaver mad
e a slow blink of incomprehension. “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s an international event run by members of the World Health Organization,” I said. “My prep school in New York organized a blood donation event to support it.”
Edward straightened. “Staff and students old enough to participate can donate, and if it coincides with parents’ evening or another summer event, we can get a few parents and alumni to join in.”
Lady Seagrove turned to a rotund man sitting on her left. “Your thoughts, Dr. Asgard?”
He gave her a vigorous nod. “Wonderful. We’re always looking for more blood. My hospital will be happy to set up a temporary blood donation center on the academy grounds.”
Mr. Weaver nodded. “Excellent idea. Thank you very much, Viscount. Let us know your progress in a fortnight.”
I held my polite smile. Even though the idea was mine, I was happy for the credit to go to Edward. After the board gave us a polite dismissal, we both stood and walked out of the room. The door clicked shut, and we strolled through the hallway, past the portraits of former headmasters and Mercia ancestors, and toward the main staircase.
Edward wrapped his arm around my waist and beamed. “That went rather well, I think. Thank you for an idea everyone loved.”
“Do you think you can forgive me, now?” I asked.
His hand slid down to my hip, and he said in a low voice, “It will take a damned sight more for you to earn absolution for what you brought upon the academy.”
Irritation flared across my skin like fire ants. I stepped out of his grip and hurried ahead down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“You’re deluded.” I spat.
“What did you say?” his voice echoed in the stairwell.
I whirled around and met his stormy glare. My heart pounded to the beat of a war drum and I clenched my fists. “Do you think all the crap you dished out in the first term counts for nothing?”
Edward’s brows drew together. “Of course not, but—”
“I know I took things too far,” I hissed. “But you guys hurt me, and if it wasn’t for Mr. Frost’s confession, you could have damaged my future. We’re even.” I continued down the stairs, pushed open the wooden door, and stormed down the hallway. Fortunately, classes were still in session, so no one witnessed our whispered spat.
Edward’s long strides kept up with mine. “Did you not hear the Board of Governors? Our school’s reputation is in tatters. Parents whose children were due to start in the next academic year have relinquished their places.”
“Isn’t there a waiting list?” I stepped out of the exit into the gravel path and inhaled lungfuls of cool, spring air.
“That isn’t the point!” Edward grabbed my arm.
“What is?” I drew closer to him, meeting his cold, blue glower with a heated one of my own. “The three of you are keeping me close to you and exacting a strange kind of retribution. How exactly does that benefit the academy?”
His eyes flashed, and his breathing grew heavy. “We’re punishing you.”
“You’re getting off on it.” I jerked my arm out of his grip.
Edward advanced on me, his gaze lingering on my lips. “What if we are? You hurt us the most.”
I stepped back, but the wall of the main building blocked me from moving further away. “And you all hurt m—”
Edward grabbed both forearms, pinning me against the wall. A gasp caught in the back of my throat, and before I could protest at the manhandling, his lips descended onto mine in a kiss so soft and aggressive and full of hunger, I couldn’t tell if this was a reconciliation or the progression of our fight.
Every nerve ending in my body sang with desire, and my heart pounded with an intensity I felt in my ribs, my breasts, and my nipples. Edward Mercia was kissing me. His beautiful, lips were caressing mine, as though he wanted me, the girl who had left. After everything I had done. After I’d lied to his face and tricked him into handing over files that had gotten his father arrested. The hands holding my arms in place slid down into my blazer and wrapped around my waist, and with a soft moan, I let my eyes flutter closed and shut out the rest of the world.
Melding myself into his hot, hard body, I surrendered further into the kiss, and let his tongue slide between my lips and meet mine. The sensation sent my knees buckling, and I was suddenly glad the wall was at my back to stop me from collapsing like a broken marionette.
He drew back and brushed strands of hair off my face. The pupils of his blue eyes were blown, and he said between panting breaths, “Stay with me tonight. Just the two of us. You won’t have to do anything you don’t want.”
My throat dried, along with all my resentment about not having been forgiven. “A-alright.”
A high-pitched cough sounded from behind. Edward glanced over his shoulder, stiffened, and stepped away, keeping his back to the interloper. It was a little first year, dressed in burgundy P.E. clothes, whose flush clashed with her strawberry blonde pigtails.
“Umm…” Heat rushed to my cheeks. I slowed my breathing and fastened the button on my school blazer. “Can I help you?”
“Are you Emilia Hobson?” she squeaked.
“Yes?”
“Miss Shinty says you’re to report to the hockey field after lunch.”
The hockey uniform consisted of items I already had in my cases: a white polo shirt, burgundy gym knickers, a burgundy hockey skirt, long socks, and black sports shoes. I walked over to the hockey field, past the now empty International House building, and around the back of the tuck shop. A group of girls were already running from one end of the pitch and around the goals, guided by a tall hockey coach clad in a 70’s style burgundy tracksuit with two white stripes down the sides.
I jogged up to the woman. “Miss Shinty?”
She turned around, revealing buck teeth sent within a gaunt face. “Miss Hobson, I presume?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Your housemaster has already explained your enthusiasm for the game. If you haven’t played before, I expect your teammates will get you up to speed.” Miss Shinty jerked her head toward the jogging girls. “Run a few laps. When I blow the whistle, put on a blue vest, and you’ll join us for a practice match.”
I jogged over to join the girls and spotted Patricia, who shot me a nasty glare and ran ahead as though it was a race. It wasn’t as if I cared what she thought, so I jogged at a steady pace behind her.
A voice from behind hissed. “What did you do to Henry?” Charlotte appeared from behind and jogged at my side. “He and the others wouldn’t spend so much time with a trollop unless you performed some kind of trick.”
I shrugged. “If I told you how to ensnare him, what would you give me in return?”
“You’re disgusting!” she hissed.
“Says the girl who only knows one type of currency.” At her blank look, I added, “According to video evidence, it’s not pounds sterling.”
Her cheeks turned the color of a baboon’s ass. “You pig!”
“You’re the one whose mind keeps going to the gutter, not me.” I continued around the goal post and quickened my pace. My longer strides should have created some distance between us, but Charlotte sprinted at my side and glared up at me as though I’d taken something that was rightfully hers.
After a few laps of ignoring the self-proclaimed Queen of Mercia Academy, Miss Shinty blew her whistle, and we all separated into our teams. Fortunately, Charlotte’s vest was red, meaning I didn’t have to play with her.
The game started off with a member of the blue team, a girl from Hawthorn House, whacking the ball toward me. While another member of my team accelerated toward the goal, I dribbled the ball, waiting for the right moment to pass. Someone stuck a stick between my legs and yanked. Hard. I tripped and fell onto my hands and knees.
“Whoops,” said Charlotte. “You always seem to land in that position. A trollop should be more careful about sticking out her arse.”
Miss Shinty blew her whistle, an
d growled, “Underwood!”
“Sorry, Miss!” Charlotte ran ahead.
I picked myself up and clenched the stick. The petty little bitch would get a fist in the face if she tried that again. Our team scored, and we continued the game. The girls at Mercia Academy played a little more competitively than we used to at Park Prep, and it had been nearly a year since my last game. Around halfway through the match, another team member passed me the ball again. As I was close enough to the goal, I aimed to score, only to receive a sharp whack across my back.
Pain lightning-bolted across my shoulder blades and I cried out. Memories of being thumped across the back during the gauntlet resurfaced, and I pivoted around and smashed the butt of the hockey stick into my attacker’s face.
Charlotte clutched her nose and howled. Blood poured from the spaces between her fingers.
Miss Shinty blew her whistle. “Five demerits, Hobson. Get out!”
I threw down my stick and stormed out of the hockey field. What a bunch of bitches. Always looking after their own.
By dinner time, the entire dining room was filled with rumors that I had maimed Queen Charlotte, she would need reconstructive surgery on her face, and she’d already instructed a lawyer in Manhattan to sue Rudolph Trommel for millions in damages. Even though it was clearly the mutterings of overexcited doppelgängers, I hoped the last part was true. Rudolph had made a profit by associating with me, and I would welcome any excuse to see him bilked.
Later, the servers produced several baked Alaskas, and everyone sang happy birthday to Edward. My jaw dropped, and I leaned into him and whispered, “That’s the second important thing about you I’ve learned today.”
He grinned. “What’s the first?”
“You’re a Viscount.”
“A courtesy title because it’s one of the titles I’ll day inherit.” He blew on the flaming pavlova placed in front of him, which turned a delicious shade of caramel.
“You could have at least told me it was your birthday.”
