by Sofia Daniel
“Right,” I ascended the stone steps, not quite understanding what he meant.
Mr. Burgh pushed open one of the doors and stepped into a stone entranceway with arched wooden ceilings. A pair of tall, iron lamps lit the space, which led to a wide set of stairs of the same kind of stone, then a huge arch that led to another stone hallway.
“Who owns this place?” My feet echoed on the hard floors. This didn’t look or feel like any government institution I’d ever seen in Richley. It was more like something retained by the crown.
“It’s a private school owned by Lord Liddell,” replied the headmaster. “The current incumbent of the title is also the Archbishop of Scotland, who barely gets involved in the day-to-day running of the academy.”
“Oh.”
We ascended the short staircase and turned right, nearly bumping into a matronly-looking woman whose gray hair fell out of her bun. Her glasses hung off a string of pearls and bounced on her ample chest.
“Mr. Burgh,” she said in a shrill voice. “Where have you been? No one has seen you since breakfast!”
I pressed my lips together, trying to suppress a laugh. The headmaster’s cheeks pinked, and he squirmed under her withering gaze. If she hadn’t addressed him by his title, I would have thought they were married.
“Mrs. Campbell, may I introduce you to Miss Del—” He squeezed his eyes shut as though trying to remember what I preferred to be called. “Miss Lilah Hancock.”
Mrs. Campbell’s hazel eyes swept down the entire length of my body, lips pursing with disapproval. “You’re out of uniform.”
Biting back a sarcastic reply, I turned to the headmaster and raised my brows. No way would I make enemies with a battle-ax on my first day.
He cleared his throat and strode down the hallway faster than a daddy-long-legs skittering down a drain. “Please arrange a room and a set of uniforms. Miss Hancock will join us in year six.”
“What?” she screeched, bustling after him at a jog. “You can’t just dump a new student on me and rush off.”
Trailing after the bizarre pair, I wondered what on earth was going on. I’d assumed that Mother had arranged my place at the school after she’d discovered the police had arrested me for attempted murder. Or when she had learned about Billy’s release date. Now it looked like everything had been arranged at the last minute.
The chime of a single bell filled my ears. Doors opened, and students spilled out into the hallways. The girls wore red and black tartan skirts with black blazers and ties in the same tartan. Some of the little ones wore pinafores, and the youngest boys wore short, tartan pants.
“Dinner!” a blond boy who looked about eleven jumped on his friend’s back.
“Wilson,” snapped a black girl who had woven red, tartan ribbon into her long braids. She was about fifteen and had a small, golden shield on her blazer. “That’s one demerit for violence.”
“Adewale!” he whined.
She crooked a finger at the blond boy, who followed her through the crowds. I rubbed my chin, wondering whether they caned students in academies like Templar. As I looked for signs of Mrs. Campbell and the headmaster, my gaze locked on the most arresting sight.
A trio of boys stood out among the crowd. Each wore a black blazer with the school tie and a matching, tartan waistcoat. But it wasn’t their uniforms that made my heart reverberate in my chest. It was their sheer presence.
The only way I could describe them was a stud sandwich — two identical, dark-haired boys with a dishwater blond in the middle.
A mix of blood roaring through my ears and my pounding pulse muffled all the hallway noise, leaving me with my rasping breaths for company. I wasn’t the type that got swayed by a handsome face. At least I didn’t think I was. But I’d never seen such stunning twins and a third whose coloring complemented theirs.
The closer I got, the more differences I noticed between the twins. Piercings glinted from the ears, nose, brow, and bottom lip of the one on the right, while the left one was au naturel.
Blondie gave the right twin a nudge and said something into his ear. All three boys’ gazes locked on mine, and the pierced twin’s full lips stretched into a wicked smile that made my nipples tighten.
My hand crept up to my reddening cheeks. What was wrong with me? Girls with long-term boyfriends shouldn’t notice sexy guys. When my fingertips grazed the tender skin around my eye, I shoved my hand down. The old Lilah was committed to Sammy. The new Lilah, the one who had walked in on the rat-bastard shagging her shitty best friend, was single and didn’t give a fuck.
“What do we have here?” purred the pierced twin. The chandelier lights made his silver eyes glow.
Blinking rapidly, I swung my gaze to the boy on the far left, whose eyes were a natural gray. With a frown, I looked back at his brother. Either all the piercings had cast silver reflections on his eyes, or he wore contacts.
“Yes, we’re twins,” he continued. “Have you ever wanted to see what it was like with two guys?”
My lips parted. At first, nothing came out, then I placed a hand on my hips and said, “I’ve had better.”
The blond boy snickered, and the twin’s grin only widened. “Playing hard to get?”
“Playing hide and seek with the headmaster right now,” I said, glancing over the boys’ shoulders.
They reminded me of the type who expected girls to either fall at their feet or jump on their dicks. Not me. I might have been locked away with a bunch of thieving banshees and with only my fingers for company during those long, lonely nights at the juvenile detention center, but I’d be buggered if I acted the fool in front of three ridiculously gorgeous guys.
“Are you joining the academy, then?” The blond held out his hand, his hazel eyes twinkling. “I’m Orlando Nevis.”
I slipped my hand into his and gave him my warmest smile. “Lilah Hancock.”
The twin with the piercings cleared his throat, either trying to prompt his friend to make an introduction or prompt me to ask his name. I turned to his brother, who pursed his lips with the same kind of disapproving expression as Mrs. Campbell.
Oh, well. It wasn’t like I felt the need to be liked by everyone. I turned back to Orlando and said, “Mr. Burgh brought me here and disappeared. Where’s his office?”
Orlando tapped his fingers on his lips. “At this time of the day, he’ll be watching over us from the head table.”
“I’m right here,” growled the pierced twin.
“Were you?” With a chuckle, Orlando smoothed down the lapels of his blazer. “Lilah, these are the Deloraine twins. The one wearing his ma’s jewelry box is Maxwell, and the other who never cracks a smile is Kendrick.”
I turned to Kendrick and smiled.
“We’re going to be late for dinner.” Kendrick stalked off down the hallway, his hands in his pockets.
Now it was my turn to tighten my lips with disapproval. I glowered at his retreating back, wondering what the hell was his problem.
Chapter 5
The remaining two boys closed in on me, their eyes sparkling with mischief. Orlando slung an arm around my shoulder, and Maxwell slipped an arm around my waist.
A heated breath huffed out of my dry throat. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I pictured the three of us getting naked and enjoying a much better threesome than the one Sammy had proposed.
“Are you hungry?” Maxwell murmured in my ear.
His breath warmed my neck, and my skin tingled in anticipation of his luscious lips.
Ugh.
Prison didn’t rehabilitate a girl. All that time spent without quality male company just turned her into a horny mess. Any more time locked up, and I probably would have pulled him into a cupboard and taken him up on his earlier offer.
I cleared my throat. “I’m hungry… For food.”
“A pity,” Maxwell growled.
Ha.
I’d bet he’d tried to set me up for an admission that I was hungry for cock. I kept my expression
neutral but still enjoyed their closeness. “Are we going to get some food, then?”
“Come on.” Orlando walked me down the hallway. “Maybe after a bite, we can whet your appetite for something else.”
The dining room was a quarter of the size of the one at Richley Comprehensive but looked like a historical reenactment from a more genteel era. One where men filled ladies’ dance cards instead of rubbing their crotches against girls’ asses in places like the Velvet Lounge.
Dark wood covered all four walls, with shallow alcoves that housed massive, gold-framed oil paintings of people wearing period clothing. Tall floor lamps provided an atmospheric illumination similar to candlelight.
The painting of a bishop stared down at us from behind the head table. He wore a gold outer robe over his white outfit with a matching miter on his head. From the sharpness and photorealism of the image, I could only guess this was Lord Templar, the Archbishop of Scotland.
Mr. Burgh took center place at the head table, wearing a red gown over his suit. A bunch of stuffy-looking teachers sat along the table, each clad in suits of tweed or wool. The headmaster’s gaze caught mine, and he raised his brows as though questioning my current choice to become the meat in a stud sandwich.
I gave him a toothy grin. My way of saying he shouldn’t have left me alone in a hallway if he cared so much about who I associated with.
“This way.” Orlando guided me to a four-person table close to the middle.
A soup bowl sat on a small plate, which sat on another small plate. Around the setting were a knife, fork, and spoon, a cup and saucer, and a side plate. The tightness around my middle loosened, and any fears that I wouldn’t know what to do melted away.
Orlando took his seat, while Maxwell stood behind the one next to his friend’s and beckoned me over with a flick of his head. Was he going to pull out my seat like they did on TV? I inhaled a deep breath, acting like I went to fancy restaurants all the time with sophisticated men and lowered myself into the seat.
Maxwell pushed it in and murmured, “Comfortable?”
“Thanks.” I smiled at him.
As soon as he took the seat next to mine, waiting staff wearing white shirts and black pants poured ladles of tomato soup in our bowls. Maxwell offered me a basket of bread rolls. I glanced at the selection, feeling somewhat overwhelmed at the genteel atmosphere. Not even the eleven-year-olds raised their voices.
“Uh-oh,” said Orlando.
“What?” asked Maxwell.
“Elizabeth is glaring at us.”
“Doesn’t she always whenever things don’t go her way?” muttered Maxwell.
“Who’s Elizabeth?” I asked.
“Look to your left,” said Orlando. “But don’t make it obvious.”
I slid my gaze toward the dining room’s doors to find a girl glowering in our direction. Honey-blonde waves cascaded from a face that would be pretty if it wasn’t twisted with rage. Kendrick sat on her side, his hand on her wrist. His features strained as though trying to calm her.
“Who is she?” I selected a whole wheat roll from the basket and wondered if I needed to cut it with the knife.
“The future Lady Liddell.” Orlando broke apart his bread roll between his fingers and covered a piece with butter.
My eyes narrowed. The nasty scowl the girl sent me said it all. If this was Richley, that kind of look signaled a beat down for poaching on her turf. “Who do you normally sit with?”
Maxwell rested his chin in his hands and gave me a dreamy smile. “The most beautiful girl in the academy.”
Implying that I had knocked poor old Elizabeth from her pedestal. I opened my bread roll and spread a light scraping of butter. The only dependable boy in the trio was Kendrick, who had loyally remained true to Elizabeth.
“Which subjects are you studying?” Orlando spooned the soup away from himself, just like the gentlemen did in period dramas.
“Fashion and Textiles, Art and Design, Business Studies,” I said.
“I’m in Business Studies,” said Orlando. “And Max will be in Art and Design with you.”
“Hopefully more,” said Maxwell.
“Do you ever stop flirting?” I asked.
“Not when I see a girl I like.” He spooned his soup in the same upper-crust way as Orlando. “And I want you.”
The corners of my mouth quirked into a smile. “What if I like Orlando?”
“I don’t mind sharing.” Maxwell sipped at his soup.
I rolled my eyes. He was so full of shit. A badass-looking guy like him would want a girl all to himself. Two or three if he could get away with it.
Straightening to attention, Orlando lowered his spoon. A malevolent presence on my left caused the fine hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end, the way it did moments before someone smashed a bottle against the side of a bar and shoved the jagged edges into someone’s throat.
I set down my spoon and turned to find Elizabeth glaring down at me with eyes as cold as frost.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Elizabeth,” said Orlando, “May I present—”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” she spat.
I pulled back my shoulders. The accent was a thousand times posher, but the body language was the same as any of the stupid cows in juvenile detention who tried to exert their dominance. Legs shoulder-width apart, hands on hips, and chin raised.
Instead of shoving a fist in the girl’s gut and establishing her place below me in the pecking order, I had to play nice. At least until I decided whether or not to stay here.
“Isn’t it polite to introduce yourself first?” I asked.
She stuck her nose in the air. “I expect the boys have already pointed me out.”
“Actually, they haven’t,” I lied. “Is there any reason why they should have?”
Her lips tightened, and her nostrils flared delicately. I bit down on the inside of my mouth, trying to stifle a laugh at her acting so ruffled.
“I’m Elizabeth Liddell, heir to this private academy.” She gave me an expectant stare.
I let my gaze travel down her slender form. We were about the same height, five-five, and with a similar build. If Mother had let me grow up with my birth father, I might have looked as polished as Elizabeth, assuming he was a step-up from Billy Hancock.
“Pleased to meet you. My name’s Lilah Hancock, and I prefer to boast about my own achievements instead of those I’m going to inherit.”
Maxwell choked into his soup.
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “I see you’ve become popular with my knights.”
I glanced around. “I didn’t see any men in armor on my way inside. Maybe you can point them out to me when you give me the grand tour.”
“You know what? I came here to warn you about what these two do to new girls, but I think you should discover on your own.” Elizabeth spun on her heel and stormed back to her table.
I didn’t watch her leave.
“Oh, dear,” said Orlando. “She’s not happy with you at all.”
“Should I be worried?” I asked in a voice that implied I couldn’t give a shit.
Maxwell shook his head. “She’s full of hot air.”
We exchanged grins and finished the rest of our meal in silence.
Maxwell tapped his foot at the side of mine in an attempt to make me play footsie with him, but I ignored his efforts.
No self-respecting girl would jump into bed with a complete stranger in an enclosed environment like a boarding school. Unless they wanted to be bullied and hounded by sanctimonious hypocrites for the rest of their days.
After a dinner of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, and vegetables, Mrs. Campbell bustled down from the head table. “Come along and say goodnight to your new friends. Your room is ready.”
“Good night, Lilah,” Maxwell purred in a low voice that sent shivers down my spine.
Orlando winked. “Sleep well.”
Mrs. Campbell huffed about all the stu
dent rooms being occupied, which meant I had to take up a tower suite reserved for visitors.
I followed her through hallways lined with gorgeous, mountain landscapes and the occasional portrait of one of the many noblemen who had occupied the title of Lord Liddell over the centuries.
“Where did you say you were from, dear?” asked the deputy headmistress.
“London.” My gaze caught a portrait of a handsome blond man with the same honey-blond shade of hair as Elizabeth.
One day, her portrait would adorn these walls. If she had any sense, she would choose Kendrick as her husband. The other two were fun, but it was hard to take a guy seriously who jumped from one girl to the other.
“Your mother and father?” asked Mrs. Campbell.
A knot formed in my stomach. People asking that kind of question usually wanted to know what my parents did for a living.
Even though Billy provided a roof over my head, I considered him more of a tyrant than a father figure. It didn’t matter that Mother always told me that a real father provided for his children.
Real fathers didn’t scare the piss out of them with sick threats while their mothers drank themselves into a stupor with gin and tonic.
We stopped at a white door, and Mrs. Campbell placed a key in the lock. She turned to me, her eyes shimmering with curiosity. I huffed out a breath. She wanted me to answer her question.
“They’re in London, too,” I said.
Her face went slack. She was about to ask something, probably a more specific question about my parents, but I turned the key, pulled down the handle, and swung the door open.
“Thanks so much for your help, Mrs. Campbell. What time is breakfast?”
Her brows drew together, and her mouth tightened with the look of someone who had been outsmarted. “Seven. The kitchen stops serving at eight-thirty.”
“See you at half-past eight!” I stepped into the room and shut the door.
With a noisy huff, she walked away. I leaned against the wall and blew out a breath.
It wasn’t like I was ashamed of my roots — scratch that. I hated having the last name Hancock. Everyone in Richley knew it belonged to Billy, the gangster who was imprisoned for the largest cocaine haul in the history of the borough.