by Sofia Daniel
“The kidnappers?”
He placed his finger on my lips. “Let’s not dwell on such unpleasantness. We’re sorry, and I’m going to make things up to you. Surely that’s all that matters?”
“But—”
He leaned down, pressing soft lips against mine, and engulfing me in his citrus and mint scent. His arms snaked around my back, cradling me to his chest and to the warmth of his large body. The kiss was chaste and undemanding, as if he wasn’t sure of my reaction. I sighed into it and wrapped my arms around his neck. Regardless of what he had done, my body couldn’t help relaxing in his presence.
“I’ve wanted to do this for weeks,” he murmured against my mouth.
Threading my fingers through his silken hair, I brought his head down for another kiss and parted my lips. Henry’s tongue slid against mine, tasting of vanilla and red wine. His hand rubbed circles on the small of my back, reminding me of the last night we had spent together on that mattress.
This was madness. Kissing the guy who had betrayed me so mercilessly. I broke away, breathing hard. Henry leaned forward, pressing kisses on my neck, each one setting my skin aflame.
“H-Henry.” I gave him a gentle shove on the chest.
“Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I got carried away. Shall we go back?”
I let out a long, shuddering breath. Hardening my heart against him would be near impossible.
Chapter 8
We had Latin the next day, and I pulled out my notebook and worked on my Creative Writing assignment. The class was so advanced, I had no hope of catching up. Blake sat next to me and kept brushing the back of his hand against the side of my arm. I dipped my head, trying to concentrate on my homework, but I couldn’t help thinking about that amazing afternoon in Edward’s study where they had pleasured me to distraction. He had been right. Six hands were better than two.
“Where were you at breakfast?” Blake leaned close and murmured into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “I heard about your date with Henry.”
From the seat in front, Henry turned around from where he sat next to Edward and smirked.
“Shhh.” I placed a finger on my lips.
“He got a date with you. What about me?” He reached under the desk and squeezed my thigh.
I shot him a hard look. Sometimes, it was hard to tell if Blake was the best of the triumvirate or the worst. Whereas Edward and Henry had their motives, Blake did not. Edward was fiercely protective of who attended Mercia Academy, with the strange exception to the people of International House. Henry had wanted to extort money out of his parents for reasons I hadn’t yet discovered.
Blake, on the other hand, had never seemed dislike me. Yet he had participated in all of the pranks and had framed me for broadcasting the blowjob video he’d shot of himself and Charlotte. He had conveniently edited out all the incriminating parts where he had promised Charlotte a chance with Henry… and the Bourneville fortune.
Blake turned back to his notebook. I picked up my fountain pen and wrote the first sentence of my Creative Writing assignment. Moments later, his fingertips slid down my inner thigh, sending tingles shooting straight to my core.
I clamped my legs together, trapped his hand, and hissed, “Stop that!”
“Well, it isn’t fair,” he whispered. “I’ve been good to you all this time, and I want a date.”
My teeth clacked together. Blake could have saved me a world of hurt by giving me a stronger warning not to contact the police. I’d gone to him, worried out of my mind for Henry, and Blake had given me the most unconvincing of reasons why I shouldn’t worry about the kidnappers returning to abduct his friend. I held back a growl. It was almost as if he had goaded me into calling the police.
“Emilia…” he whispered into my ear.
Irritation fizzled up my spine. Everything was a joke to Blake. And when he wasn’t amused, he would set in motion a shit storm and laugh at everyone scrambling about. My eyes shuttered closed. How many times had Henry snapped at him to stop teasing me? And that time I was locked in the basement, who had delighted in my struggle to work out that I had been framed?
Blake.
Wrapping my hand around his wrist, I pulled it off my thigh. It was time for me to teach Blake a little lesson. “There’s no need for a date,” I whispered. “You’re the easy one.”
His gaze hardened. “What do you mean?”
“Hobson!” Mr. Frost threw a piece of chalk at the patch of wall beside my head. It bounced off the surface and smacked me on the temple. “No talking in class.”
“It’s fine,” said Edward. “She’s not bothering anyone.”
Mr. Frost inclined his head and continued his lecture on a Roman orator called Cicero.
Blake continued trying to wheedle a date out of me, but I didn’t reply and kept a closed-lipped smile. My insides warmed with a sick sense of glee. He was an attention whore, and he hated not getting any. I would draw out this teasing for as long as I could before giving in to his demands.
I turned to Mr. Frost. Apart from red hair that thinned at the temples, he appeared to be in his early to mid twenties. Surely, he was too old to be a sycophant? Perhaps he deferred to Edward because the triumvirate had blackmailed him into submission. Even people like our housemaster, Mr. Jenkins, seemed resigned about Edward’s rule over the academy, but Mr. Frost was much like Carbuncle, who enjoyed being subservient to the boys.
I wrote down some notes for Creative Writing and peered at the way Mr. Frost singled Edward out for personal attention. At least Carbuncle got the benefit of bribes. Why did Mr. Frost kiss Edward’s ass?
After classes, I went to my room to unpack my books. Rita sat at her study desk, working on a musical score. As soon as I stepped inside, her entire back stiffened, then she bowed her head.
I closed the door. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” she whispered.
My brows drew together. It had been ages since I’d seen her act so timid. Ever since she had connected with the other scholarship students, Rita had smiled more and now had a friend in another house. This kind of jittery behavior was odd for her. “Rita?”
She twisted in her seat, looking ready to bolt. “Yes?”
“Is someone bothering you again?” Ever since the report on her brother, Charlotte had kept a low profile. I couldn’t see her bullying Rita when everyone still gossiped about the Underwood family finances.
“It’s nothing.” Rita picked up her satchel and placed the scores into its depths. Then she slung it over her shoulder. “Just a few words.”
“Who?”
She stood and bowed her head. “If you confront him, it will only get worse.”
I stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “It’s Edward, isn’t it? I caught him giving you a funny look last week and told him to back off.”
“It’s Simpson-West,” she whispered.
“Blake?”
Rita shrugged. “It wasn’t much. He cornered me in the hallway and told some younger boys I looked nearly fuckable.”
I clenched my teeth. Everything was a game to Blake. I would bet Rudolph’s entire net worth that Blake knew I would find out what he had said to Rita. Then I would confront him, and he would demand a date in exchange for leaving her alone. He’d do it in a flirty, smiley way, but that had been his game plan in humiliating Rita.
I placed both hands on her thin shoulders. “I won’t confront him directly, but can you hang on for a few more days?”
Her dark eyes widened. “What are you going to do?” Then she squeezed them shut and gave her head a minute shake. “It’s best if you don’t tell me.”
“Trust me. When I’ve finished with Blake, he won’t be in the mood to approach you with harassing comments.”
Rita pressed her lips together as though holding back an objection. She probably didn’t want me to act against Blake, but what I would do next was for my benefit as much as hers. If Blake craved attention, he would get it, b
ut it might not be of the positive kind.
I let go of Rita’s shoulders. “What do you know about Mr. Frost?”
“Not much.” She scurried toward the door. “He’s an ex-student who came here on a scholarship and went on to study Linguistics at Christ’s College.”
“Cambridge?”
She nodded. “I’m meeting the other scholarship students for dinner. Will you join us tonight?”
My shoulders drooped. I’d already planned to contact Jackie at the Correspondent in the evening. If I spent too many mealtimes away from the triumvirate, they’d get suspicious. “Another time?”
Rita gave me a sad smile and shrugged.
At dinner, I sat between Edward and Henry, much to Henry’s delight. Blake cast me a hurt look. When I raised my brows in question, he glanced away. He was probably too proud to admit to his friends that I wasn’t giving him enough attention. It would continue that way until I had exacted my revenge, and I knew exactly how I would do it: by appealing to his sense of pride. I tamped down the tentacles of guilt writhing within my belly. In his own way, Blake was just as dangerous as his friends. He just had the most frivolous of reasons.
As we finished our coffee and after-dinner mints, one of the rugby players approached the head table. He was as tall as Henry but had a broad, stocky figure instead of Henry’s defined muscles. His nose was flattened by at least one break, and edges of his ears were puffy and misshapen.
“I say, Mercia.” He spoke with the same thick, posh accent as Duncan, Alice’s friend with the thick glasses. “What are we going to do about those louts at International House? They’re making a mockery of the academy.”
Edward waved his hand. “Shouldn’t you concern yourself with your studies, Coates? I hear you’re failing abysmally.”
Coates’ face twisted into a scowl, and he stalked off to sit with his friends.
“He’s right, you know,” murmured Henry. “International House is bringing down the campus.”
“I’ll speak to the headmaster,” Edward replied in a distracted tone that implied he’d do nothing of the sort. He turned to me. “Would you care to join me after dinner?”
My stomach flip. Our last conversation about International House had ended with me accusing him of bigotry and storming away. Maybe Edward wanted a chance to explain himself. I gave him a broad grin. “That depends on if you plan on having me in your study again.”
He smirked. “Only if you ask nicely.”
“Let’s go for a walk.”
He inclined his head. “I’ll bring the hot chocolate.”
Blake leaned forward. “When do I get to see you on my own?”
“Soon enough.” I stood from my seat and smiled. “I’m just getting my coat.”
For the briefest of moments, confusion crossed Blake’s features, but he masked the expression with a smile. “When we meet, I insist you wear only the boots, coat and a dab of perfume.”
“Keep dreaming.” I walked out of the dining room with dozens of eyes boring holes into my back. Right now, Blake was probably staring also after me, wondering why I was paying his friends more attention than him.
Later, Edward met me at the foot of the stairs, wearing a green waxed jacket with a flat cap, looking every bit the English country gentleman. An insulated tartan bag was slung over his shoulder, which I assumed contained hot chocolate. I glanced around for signs of Blake and Henry, but they were probably in their room or in Edward’s study. It didn’t matter. I’d already dented Blake’s ego and intended to push him up my priority list for what he had said to Rita.
I took Edward’s arm, and we walked out of Elder House into the crisp evening. The sun had long set, and a thick layer of frost covered the entire campus, making it look magical, all lit up by old-fashioned lamps on iron posts. While we strolled, Edward told me the history of all the buildings, including International House, which had been built during the Regency period. His recounting of the history of the estate was so enthralling, I forgot to ask why he had dismissed Coates’ complaint about the rowdy students.
We continued beyond the campus, where we stopped at a huge, timber vehicle shed by a road that stretched out into the distance. Inside were mainly farm vehicles, but Edward opened the passenger door to a jeep.
“Do you have your license?” I stepped into the four-by-four and settled into its worn, leather seat.
He smirked. “Not yet, but I’ve been driving since I was thirteen.”
I spluttered. “Isn’t that illegal?”
“Not on private property.” He jumped into the driver’s seat, turned the ignition, and the engine sprung to life with a roar.
I fastened on my seatbelt, and Edward drove me through the estate, his floodlights on at full capacity. Marissa had been right about it being larger than Central Park. In the dark, I made out stables, a vast amount of farmland, cattle, sheep, a huge fishing lake, and several patches of forest. Within all of this were a number of buildings, which included accommodation for some of the estate’s employees.
He turned his head toward me. “Does it impress you that I’ll own all of this one day?”
I tilted my head to the side. “The grounds are impressive, and I think whoever owns them will be lucky to have access to such a vast estate, but am I impressed that you’ll inherit it? No.”
“May I ask your reasons why?”
“When I was growing up, my mom taught me the value of hard work.”
“She was a model, wasn’t she?”
“That’s one of the hardest jobs a person can get. Early starts, long, irregular hours, not to mention a strict diet to look right for the camera. She recommended I find a less grueling career where the salaries increased with age and experience, and not the other way around”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” he murmured. “But she did marry Rudolph Trommel.”
“At a very high price,” I replied, heart sinking at the thought of her forgetting me. “Trophy wives have to sacrifice a lot for their rich husbands. I lived at home until Mom remarried. After that, she sent me away to school, and I barely saw her.” A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed hard. “That’s not going to be me.”
“What do you want to do?” He turned the jeep off the road, and up a bumpy hill.
“Write,” I said as the vehicle jerked me from side to side. I gripped both sides of my seat and tightened my stomach muscles. That much was true, but I’d be damned if I revealed to him my desire for a career in journalism. “I love Hemingway, Orwell, and Twain.”
His lips quirked into a smile. “You’ll become a novelist?”
“Why not?”
“It’s an honorable profession.” We hit a ditch, and Edward reversed a few feet then put his foot down on the accelerator, revving up the engine to a roar and powering through the dip in the terrain.
“How about you?” I asked. “Will the Duchy allow you to have a career?”
He grimaced. “The estate is vast and includes properties within the county. If I hired a management company to take care of all the assets, there’d be very little to reinvest.”
“That sounds like hard work.”
“It’s why I’m taking Economics, Law, and Accounting. They’re subjects that will prepare me for managing the estate”
I would have asked whether his father was helping, but Henry had mentioned that his mental health had taken a decline soon after the death of his mother. Who was running the estate now? Last term, after our shopping trip, I’d asked who lived in his house, then Edward wouldn’t get out of the limo for ages.
The terrain flattened, and we soon joined a road that led to a dozen of the largest greenhouses I’d ever seen, alongside a field, and to the edge of a forest, where a man wearing a hardhat and protective clothing threw large pieces of wood into a huge, metal barrel.
When we got out of the jeep, the man doffed his cap. “Good evening, Mr. Edward!”
“Good evening, Shanks,” he replied. “How are the twins?”
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Rocking back on his heels, the man puffed out his chest. “Doing well, young sir. Please pass on our thanks to His Grace for the bonus. Two sets of everything ain’t cheap!”
Edward chuckled. “I imagine it isn’t.”
Shanks bundled up the firewood and continued to another metal barrel further on along the edge of the forest.
I followed the man with my eyes. It was clear that he worked for the estate, as he had thanked Edward’s father for the extra money. Was Edward managing the estate in his father’s illness, or did the old butler do the work?
Edward pulled out a flask from his backpack. “Time for a spot of hot chocolate, I think.”
“I hope it’s not spiked.”
His brows drew together. “That was a rather childish prank to play on everyone. Mrs. Jenkins had to put poor Miss Oakley to bed after she’d passed out having had one too many mugs.”
My brows drew together. “That wasn’t you?”
“Widespread chaos via intoxication is more Blake’s style.” Edward grinned. “One time, he put hair remover in Coates’ sunblock, dissolving all his body hair. The poor chap had to shower in private for weeks until it grew back.”
“Nice,” I muttered. At least I knew the identity of one of the culprits behind the tampered shampoo.
He pulled out two insulated mugs and poured two mugs of the most delicious-smelling hot cocoa I’d ever tasted. Then we stood together, watching the wood burn in the barrel, which Edward explained was used to make charcoal. Later, we returned to the jeep, and Edward drove us back a different route with a road that avoided the steep part of the hill.
When we returned to Elder House, Edward walked me up to the first floor, took my hand, and pressed his lips to my knuckles. “Good night, Emilia.”
I tilted my head to the side and smiled. “You’re not going to invite me to your study?”
“You’re worth the wait.” He drew back, walked down the hallway, and disappeared down the stairs, leaving me bewildered.
