Kings of Mercia Academy 1-4: The Complete Bully Romance

by Sofia Daniel

  I slid my hands under the fabric of his blazer, brushing over the hot skin of his neck and eliciting a groan. Once I had eased it off his shoulders and let it fall to the rug, I worked on the buttons of his shirt, pressing my lips on each new glimpse of alabaster skin stretched over taut muscles.

  “Emilia, I want to see you.” With deft fingers and the lightest of touches, Edward unbuttoned my shirt.

  I let my arms fall to the side and stared into his eyes. Heat blazed within their blue depths, and his fingers shook as he pushed my shirt and blazer off my shoulders, revealing my cream, silk bra. “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”

  My lips quirked into a smile. “I could say the same for you.”

  He peppered kisses down my neck, each sending sparks of pleasure across my skin and between my legs. I reached for his belt buckle, and he grabbed both hands. “I said I’d be a gentleman, and part of that means not taking advantage of your aroused state.”

  “You’re right.” I wrapped my arms around him, holding us close. It was already hypocritical to take all this pleasure from him while he was so upset, considering who had caused of his troubles. “Let’s go to bed.”

  Spooning with Edward was nothing like spooning with Henry. Edward held my hips still when I tried to grind against his erection, and he didn’t let his hands wander as Henry might. If I was skeptical, I would suspect he was banking my desire, keeping me simmering until I exploded from pent-up need and pounced on him. This might have been how he’d strung Alice and Patricia along for months. But then again, I might have spent so long mistrusting Edward that I looked for nefarious reasons in his every small action.

  Later, I turned around and stared into his face. In slumber, and without the cruel twist of his features, Edward’s beauty melted my heart. The light streaming in through the windows caught his mahogany hair, turning its ends coppery. The strands fell onto his face, framing thick brows and lashes, a straight nose, high cheekbones, kiss-swollen lips, and an angular jaw.

  I pressed a kiss on the tip of his nose. How would he cope when the Saturday Correspondent published the article on money laundering? Poor Edward had signed a contract giving the headmaster permission to convert a disused building into an international summer school, and now it would be the center of an even worse scandal that would lead to a police investigation.

  After several minutes, Edward’s breathing deepened, and I slipped out of the bed.

  “You’re leaving?” he slurred.

  “Not if you want me to stay.”

  “Stay.”

  I slid back into the warm bed and nestled in his arms, hoping he would have the strength to deal with the calamity I had set into motion.

  On Friday after classes, an e-ticket for a flight from London to New York arrived in my inbox, accompanied by a message from Rudolph’s PA that asked where I would like to study the following semester. I squealed and dropped my phone on the mattress.

  Rita raised her head from the marked-up music scores on the table. “What’s happened?”

  “I finally have my ticket out of here.”

  Her eyes bulged. “How soon can you leave?”

  “One sec.” I glanced at the date on the ticket. “Monday afternoon.”

  “Have you checked with the you-know-what about what they’ll publish over the weekend?”

  My eyes shuttered closed. If it was the money laundering article, Edward would know I had leaked it to the press. It wouldn’t take long for him to work out that all the other articles about the school had come from me. This time, there would be no gauntlet, only a howling mob. I pulled out my burner phone and sent a message to Jackie. She replied immediately with a message that she and Greg were still sifting through the papers I had given them, and she had another article planned for Saturday.

  A huge sigh of relief slipped from my lips, and I gave Rita a grateful smile. “That article I was afraid of won’t be published tomorrow.”

  She nodded and fixed me with serious, dark eyes. “It might be fun to see their reactions, but be safe and get out before the paper publishes anything that can be linked back to you.”

  Wrapping my hands over my middle to settle the regret roiling through my stomach, I gave her a sharp nod.

  Rita shook me awake in early in the morning, just as the first traces of light peeked through the chink in the curtains. Instead of night clothes, she wore a denim jacket over her sweater, meaning she had spent the night with her friend in Hawthorn house.

  I blinked to clear my vision. “What’s wrong?”

  “Sit up,” she whispered. “They’ve just published the latest article.”

  All traces of sleepiness vanished. This had to be serious if she had woken me. Maybe Jackie had changed her mind and published details from Edward’s folder. Maybe Rudolph had told her to expose me as a slut who had three boyfriends she couldn’t even stand.

  I pushed myself up and rested my back against the headboard. “W-what is it?”

  She placed her smartphone on my lap.

  BOURNEVILLE £1M KIDNAP SCAM

  All the blood drained from my face. “Am I mentioned?”

  “No, but it won’t take a genius to work out the identity of the unnamed female student. They’ve outlined everything. Did you know Mr. Frost organized it all? This is a confession.”

  I scanned the article, throat drying with each revelation. Henry had arranged a way with Mr. Frost to access some of the Bourneville fortune before his majority of eighteen. Frost used his influence as a schoolteacher to persuade the housemaster of Elder House to arrange a school trip facilitated by a friend who ran an outward bound company. They planned to take Henry to a hideout and demand a ransom of five hundred thousand pounds in cash, but had to bring along a female student who had witnessed the kidnapping and had tried to raise the alarm.

  The paper published the names and photographs of each person involved, including Henry, Mr. Frost, two of the assistants from the outward bound company, the dreadlocked photographer, and a handful of stoners from the squat.

  “It said they subdued you with ketamine,” whispered Rita. “Is that true?”

  Nausea slithered up my throat at the thought of such a powerful drug. “I don’t know what they injected into me.”

  The article continued, stating that Henry had used the bulk of the funds to pay for the ailing Duke of Mercia’s medical expenses, but that the gang had colluded to place the blame on the unnamed female student, who spent a week incarcerated within the school and had been facing criminal charges. It damned Mr. and Mrs. Bourneville for extorting double the ransom money from the girl’s stepfather to drop the charges.

  At the bottom of the article was another piece: CRIMINAL LATIN MASTER, which described how an intelligent boy who had gained a scholarship to study at Mercia Academy and then at Cambridge University had turned into a criminal mastermind. As a student, Paul Frost had supplied alcohol and marijuana to younger children and then returned to use his influence as a teacher to sell to the students. All the paper’s claims were either backed up with camera footage or messages posted on the Mercia-Net.

  My vision blurred, and I ran my fingers through my hair. “They’re going to kill me.”

  “Didn’t you read the first paragraph?” asked Rita. “It was Mr. Frost who confessed everything.”

  “Why?”

  “He says he wanted to set the record straight about the kidnapping being ordered by Henry and Edward. I’ll bet he thought he would be next in line to get the blame.”

  Anger washed through my veins. Jackie had recordings of Henry admitting that he and other accomplices had organized the kidnapping. She had probably caught footage of Mr. Frost selling his wares at the Valentine’s party and blackmailed him into making a confession. “I’ll bet Mr. Frost told the others to pin the kidnapping on me if anything went wrong.”

  Rita shrugged. “Probably. I’m guessing he thought his plan was watertight.”

  I couldn’t look at the article anymore.
It was a relief for all the evidence to be out there to clear my name, but the boys had treated me as though I had been disposable. Tears clouded my vision. Would Rudolph show it to Mom? She still hadn’t contacted me. I couldn’t ask Dad to call her. Ever since I was old enough to use a smartphone, Dad would call and email me directly instead of going through her, so they had lost touch.

  “You should go down to the dining hall and hold your head up high,” said Rita. “This time when you leave, it will be with dignity, and they’ll be the ones in disgrace.”

  I swung my legs out of bed. “There’s no point in going back to sleep. I couldn’t even if I’d wanted.”

  As though Jackie had negotiated it beforehand, the tabloids immediately picked up the kidnapping story on the same day. Some focused on the Bourneville department store, minimizing Mr. Frost’s involvement to focus on their high prices, unfair employment practices, and their sale of real animal fur. The tabloids had even dredged up whatever negative press they could find about the Bourneville family, portraying them all as crooks. Others brought up the International House story, implying that Mr. Frost might have sold exam papers to students.

  At breakfast, Blake was the only person sitting at the head table, looking forlorn without his friends.

  I slid in the seat next to him. “Where’s Henry?”

  “London. I’m not sure we’ll see him for a few days. Mother kept me out of the academy for a week when the Correspondent wrote an article about me.”

  “Oh.” I stared down at my tea. “Are the tabloids leaving you alone?”

  “A couple of reporters are suggesting Mr. Frost got me addicted to drugs and that’s why I started talking treason.” He blew out a long breath. “They’re desperate.”

  “But you’re not even an addict.”

  “Everyone who matters knows that, but it’s in the interest of national security that I make a slow recovery from addiction.” He said the last few words as though imitating an older woman. Then he took a long drag from his orange juice and sighed. “Otherwise, people might believe my stepfather will be a more pliable king, and something really will happen to the Prince of Wales.”

  “This is just like how Henry’s kidnapping was blamed on me,” I said in a small voice.

  “Well, that article has cleared your name.” The tone of his voice indicated his annoyance that Henry was now implicated in his own kidnapping.

  “Not yet.” I picked up a slice of toast and put it on my plate. “The police might not want to re-examine the case and expunge my file.”

  Blake didn’t answer. Most likely because he was too preoccupied with Henry’s troubles to care about mine.

  Mr. Jenkins jogged into the dining room. “Miss Hobson! Two police officers are with the headmaster. They wish to see you immediately.”

  Blake’s face twisted into a harsh smile. “You must have a fairy godmother. What luck!”

  I stood. If I’d been lucky, I would never have gotten sent to Mercia Academy in the first place.

  We walked out of Elder House, passing a shame-faced Mr. Carbuncle in the reception hall. He had overheard the boys telling me that they had arranged the kidnapping, yet he had kept their secret. He was just as corrupt as the others. Worse, considering what he did with female students.

  Mr. Jenkins wrung his hands the entire journey across the campus, the March winds blowing through his thinning hair. A nervous laugh warbled from his throat. “I should never have believed the lies. The article in the paper explained everything, and now, I owe you the deepest of apologies.”

  “You never once visited me in that cell.” I stared down at the gravel path.

  “Mrs. Jenkins updated me on your wellbeing.”

  There wasn’t any point in arguing. The man had already proven himself unfit for housemaster duties. Chastising him wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference.

  As we walked through the rest of the path, I pictured Chief Inspector Faust’s miserable face, and how he and his sergeant would stumble over their apology before expunging my record. I would tell him I understood that policing in England wasn’t as thorough in the States and to go reread the Agatha Christie novels he’d used to learn detective work.

  As soon as I entered the headmaster’s office, two uniformed police officers stood. Mr. Chaloner stepped out from behind his desk. Edward leaned against the wall, staring at me with cold eyes.

  The headmaster’s eyes burned with fury. “Here’s our little leak. Officers, arrest her for the production and distribution of indecent images of children.”

  Chapter 20

  My heart beat so hard, it made my chest vibrate. I locked eyes with Edward, who stared back through eyes as cold and piercing as a winter wind. What had happened since we had lain together? The article about Mr. Frost’s involvement in Henry’s kidnapping couldn’t be pinned on me. My gaze moved to the two uniformed police officers who scrutinized me with dispassionate gazes. Every bit of moisture dried up in my mouth, and I took a step back and bumped into Mr. Jenkins, knocking him into the door.

  The movement jolted me out of my shock, and I blurted, “What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t leak anything!”

  The headmaster’s face turned red, and veins stood out on his temples like thunderbolts. “Someone from outside the academy has been accessing the Mercia-Net with your username and password.”

  I clutched at my chest, feigning surprise. “Who?”

  “You tell me.” He rounded the desk. “We traced the IP address to a Virtual Private Network. Whoever was using your login details made great efforts to hide their location.”

  “W-what?”

  He leaned forward. “Did you know that anyone accessing from the Saturday Correspondent could be traced to their offices in Fleet Street?”

  “But you said the hacker used a VPN,” I replied, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

  “That’s why they had to use a VPN,” snapped the headmaster.

  I gulped. It hadn’t occurred to me that they would be so thorough in their investigations as to check on who had accessed the Mercia-Net from outside the academy.

  “Well, Miss Hobson?” Mr. Chaloner loomed over me.

  Excuses whirred through my mind, but the only thing I could think of was the time I had visited the headmaster asking for help, only for him to try to confiscate my phone.

  My tongue darted out to lick my lips. “People have been breaking in and out of my room all year.” I cast a glance at the police officers. If they weren’t corrupt, this information should be of interest to them. “Do you remember? I reported the first incident to you, and you said nothing. How do you know they didn’t steal my login details from my room? It was printed out on a piece of paper I received with my schedule.”

  The policemen glanced at each other. I swallowed hard. Hopefully, they would focus on the real crime that took place—entering a person’s room without permission—and forget about the trumped up, not-even-criminal charge of leaking information to the press. I turned pleading eyes to Edward, who glanced away.

  “Who entered your room, Miss Hobson?” asked the older policeman.

  “Charlotte Underwood.”

  The headmaster folded his arms across his chest. “I doubt that one of the largest victims of the mole would hand the Saturday Correspondent information to bury her own father.”

  His words hit like a punch to the gut. If I didn’t think fast, I’d end up locked in that basement room until Rudolph could bother himself to collect me. Of course, Charlotte couldn’t be the leak. Her name was the first that popped into my mind. Before I could think another excuse, words spewed out of my mouth. “There’s someone who has access to every room in Mercia Academy. He’s corrupt and accepts bribes. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Correspondent employed him to leak information.”

  “Who?” asked the headmaster.

  “Mr. Carbuncle.”

  Mr. Jenkins placed a hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure about this, Miss Hobson? You’re ma
king a very serious accusation.”

  Anger flared through my veins. This asshole stood in the back of the room saying nothing while the headmaster accused me of leaking information, but now, he came forward to protect Mr. Carbuncle? If I ever got the chance to expose him to the press, I would do it in the blink of an eye.

  My lip curled, and I shot the thin man my most withering stare. “Have you forgotten the camera footage I showed you of Mr. Carbuncle letting a student into my room to search my things? If anyone’s the leak, it would be him.”

  Mr. Jenkins flinched and shrank back toward the wall like a cornered rat.

  Edward narrowed his eyes into the kind of expression that told me he wanted to see how far I would take this lie before he delivered a piece of information that would cut through my bullshit and prove my guilt. Of all the people in this room, he would know why I had felt the need to hurt others in my house. Until I’d returned to Mercia Academy, he had been the worst of the bullies. He’d even told me he couldn’t believe I had been so forgiving. I looked him squarely in the eye. If he had something to say, he could speak up now.

  “Why don’t we ask Mr. Carbuncle if those accusations are true?” said Mr. Jenkins.

  I whirled on him, clenching my fists. “Last term, when I was falsely imprisoned in a dank basement, you never once visited to ask if I’d really arranged Henry’s kidnapping. Why are you suddenly Mr. Carbuncle’s biggest defender?”

  The housemaster dipped his head. “I have learned from my mistakes. He who does nothing is just as much a sinner as he who does evil.”

  If two policemen hadn’t been in the room, I would have swung at the pious hypocrite.

  “Where do we find this…” The first policeman glanced at his notebook. “Mr. Carbuncle?”

  My lips curled into a snarl. That uniformed bastard had heard me say I was falsely imprisoned and didn’t even follow up with questions. I held my tongue. Right now, I was under suspicion for something that could be traced to me if they found my burner phone. If I distracted the topic of conversation from Mr. Carbuncle, they might return to thinking I was the leak.