by Sofia Daniel
As they stood, I said, “Please tell me you’ve arrested them both.”
The officers exchanged guilty looks. My heart plummeted. They had the camera footage, known I was in an apartment within the Chelsea Heights building, yet they still managed to lose my abductors? What did this mean for my safety?
“We caught Mr. Underwood as he left the building, but we believe Mr. Carbuncle may be hiding in one of the balconies.”
“Right,” I said. This was the second time bungling cops had let him get away.
One of the nurses escorted them out of the room. Blake scooted forward, his expression pained. “Carbuncle didn’t leave the buildings out of any of the exits.” Blake wrapped his hand around mine and brought my knuckles to his lips. “I think he scaled down the balconies and escaped while the police were in that man’s apartment.”
“He could be anywhere.”
“We won’t let him get close to you again,” replied Blake.
My gaze dropped to our joined hands. The sedative muted my feelings, but a little voice in the back of my head admonished me for ignoring the boys’ warnings. They had even offered me a distraction to stop me from going to London, but I’d been so determined to expose Charlotte’s secrets that I’d run head-first into a trap.
Dr. Chumley-Stokes strolled in, rubbing his hands together. The Asian nurse from before held a small paper bag.
“Right-ho.” His gaze dropped to our joined hands and then back to my face. “I have your prescription. One co-codamol every four hours with a maximum of eight a day. Temazepam half an hour before bedtime. No alcohol.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” I let my eyes close.
“Thank you, Stephen,” said Blake.
“Not at all, my boy. I’m just glad the rumors about you weren’t true. Hold tight, and we’ll arrange transportation to the palace.”
My eyes snapped open. “P-palace?”
Dr. Chumley-Stokes furrowed his thick brows. “Kensington, of course. You can’t sleep in an uncomfortable dorm with injuries like that, and you’re not well enough for a journey of any kind back to Mercia. That won’t do at all.”
“I’ll put you in my room,” said Blake.
My insides squirmed. Wasn’t that where the former Princess of Wales and her son and daughters had lived before they all died in the London bombing? Even if Blake hadn’t told his mother and stepfather that I’d leaked the video of him talking crap about becoming a prince upon the Prince of Wales’ death, I was still a foreigner entering a royal palace.
I shot him a worried look. Didn’t there need to be a protocol of some sort? Weeks of introductions, vetting, and letter writing? He couldn’t just sneak me in like it was just a regular home.
“I-I don’t know about this,” I whispered.
Blake kissed a spot just above my right eyebrow. “It’ll be fine. Mother’s up in Balmoral with my stepfather.”
“Where?”
“Scotland.”
A sigh slid from my swollen lips. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Besides, it wasn’t like I had any options. The abductors had taken my jacket, which had contained both phones, so I couldn’t contact Mom for help. I doubted she would respond, anyway.
Jackie had probably told Rudolph, who would be more interested in the story generated from my abduction than in my wellbeing. Sergei was somewhere in Europe on his tour, and I really didn’t want to bother Dad.
“Alright,” I said.
The doctor gave me a mild sedative for the journey, and the Asian nurse, who I learned was called Priya, accompanied us in an ambulance all the way to the palace. The morphine dulled my senses, but at some point, armed police detectives boarded the vehicle and inspected it for bombs and whatever else before letting us through the gates. There were a few more inspections, then the nurse moved me to a chair, and Blake wheeled me through hallways wider than those of any grand hotel or museum.
My mouth dried as I took in the crystal chandeliers, damask wallpaper, gilded paintings, and marble sculptures.
“Th-this is where you live?” I whispered.
“Not if I can help it,” Blake whispered back.
My gaze rose to a ceiling decorated with gold-leaf cornices and with frescos of patterns I couldn’t make out with my slightly blurred vision. The palace was breathtaking, and if I had paid for a tour, I would have been impressed, but this certainly wasn’t a home.
After traveling up an old-fashioned elevator with an intricate design etched onto its gold-colored doors and through another maze of corridors, we reached a thick, wooden door and entered a smaller hallway. Its interior reminded me of a regular apartment with cream-colored carpets, alabaster walls, and landscape paintings amidst family portraits. I
f I wasn’t so exhausted, I might have taken in more detail, but a combination of the sedative, painkillers, and adrenaline crash made my eyes droop.
Priya walked ahead of us and seemed to know her way to Blake’s room, a space larger than the hidden room at the Valentine’s party, also with a four-poster bed, but not nearly as cozy. I slumped in the chair, feeling the stirrings of several oncoming aches. Blake rummaged into a chest of drawers, pulled out a set of pajamas, which he left on the bed, and walked out of the room.
“May I change you out of your gown, Miss Hobson?” asked the nurse.
I hummed my agreement and let her move my heavy limbs about until she had removed the robe and gown and changed me into Blake’s silk pajamas. Then, with practiced efficiency, she helped me out of the wheelchair and tucked me into a bed that felt like I was floating on clouds. After giving me two pills, she placed my prescription bottles on the bedside table and walked to the doorway.
“I’ll return tomorrow to change your dressings.” She inclined her head and left the room.
Blake opened the door a couple of inches and knocked. “May I come in?”
A yawn slipped from my lips. “It’s your room.”
He padded inside, clasping his hands at his stomach. Gone were the usual smiles and confident posture, replaced by the vulnerable expression I’d only glimpsed last term during the times I had deliberately ignored him.
“Is there anything you need?” he asked. “Water, juice, something hot?”
I rubbed the front of my throat. “Water, please.”
He gave me a sharp nod and bolted out of the room. My shoulders sagged. After everything he had done for me, why did I make him so uncomfortable?
I wasn’t sure how much time passed, but when he returned with the glass of water, my eyelids felt so heavy, I just wanted to close my eyes and sleep for however long it would take my body to heal from Mr. Carbuncle’s attacks. Blake placed the glass to my lips, and I let the cool liquid spill onto my tongue and wash away the dry, bitter taste.
“I’m sorry for the part I played in…” He waved his hand at me. “This.”
“You weren’t the one who told them my location. That was Charlotte.”
His face twisted. “If we hadn’t pushed you so far in the first term, you wouldn’t have gone after us, and Charlotte wouldn’t have set her brother onto you.”
“Mr. Carbuncle did this.”
“And who bribed him to open the door of your room so we could tamper with your things? It was us. Carbuncle would never have paid you much notice if we hadn’t been so hell-bent on toying with you.”
I stared down at my hands folded over my lap. It was true. They had hurt me. I had hurt them back, and now I was hurt again. But this time, it was even worse than before.
Blake slid his fingers over mine. “Everything that happened last term… the public disgrace, that stint in rehab, and the fallout from this term… I realize now that I brought it all onto myself.”
“Are you saying I deserved the beating Mr. Carbuncle gave me?”
“No! Never,” his voice was rough. “I’m saying that none of this would have happened if we’d just left you alone. Sorry just isn’t enough.”
Tears gathered in my eyes and clouded my vision. I conti
nued staring at our entwined hands, not knowing how to respond. Despite the painkiller and sedative, a deep ache formed in my heart and spread up to my throat, which felt raw from screaming. The memories of Mr. Carbuncle’s fists and feet and groping hands were too fresh for me to say I forgave anyone, but this was the heartfelt apology I had been seeking all of last term.
Blake drew back, taking away the warmth of his touch. “I’ll leave you to rest.”
I blinked and raised my head, making the tears drop onto the champagne-colored quilt. “Please, don’t go… I want you to stay with me.”
He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath so deep, his entire chest expanded. “Emilia, do you know what you’re saying?” he asked in a single exhale. “Because—”
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep without you at my side.”
His gaze darted to the sleeping pills on the bedside, but he didn’t comment. “Alright.” He licked his lips. “B-but I don’t wear pajama tops.”
“That’s fine.”
He walked around the bed and peeled off his clothes. If I wasn’t feeling so groggy, I might have enjoyed the show, but a wave of fatigue had just washed over me, causing my eyes to droop. I sank further into the pillows and mattress. A yawn built up in the back of my throat, but my jaws were too stiff to open.
The other side of the bed shifted. Blake climbed in and lay beside me on his back, his arms at his side, and his expression unnaturally neutral.
“Do I look that hideous?” I asked.
“No,” he said without looking at me.
“What’s wrong?”
“I…” A breath huffed out of his nostrils. “I don’t know what to do.” His pupils rotated to the corner of his eyes. “Don’t laugh.”
I don’t know why. It was me who was drugged and who’d had the shit kicked out of me by Carbuncle, but a lump of pity formed in the back of my throat. Blake, the incorrigible flirt and consummate man-whore didn’t know what to do with a girl he wasn’t about to fuck. Blake, who lived in a palace, was the one acting intimidated in the presence of a girl who probably looked like the elephant man.
“Let me lie on your shoulder?” I asked.
He nodded and stretched out his left arm.
I eased myself off Nurse Priya’s nest of pillows and laid my head on Blake’s shoulder. He was warm and firm and smelled of camphor and spice.
“Do you need more water?” he asked.
My eyes fluttered closed. “I’ll have something to drink later.”
He gave me another kiss on the forehead. “You know… it’s alright to cry.”
Warmth filled my heart, radiated throughout my chest, and released the knot of resentment I had held whenever I thought of the part Blake played during Edward and Charlotte’s campaign against me in the first term. I clasped his shoulder and squeezed.
“Thank you, Blake.”
Chapter 17
Blake was already out of bed and halfway to the door by the time I awoke within Nurse Priya’s nest of pillows. Up ahead, and through the curtains of the four-poster bed, someone outside the room turned the door handle. Before the door swung more than two feet open, Blake jammed one side of his body against it, causing whoever stood behind the door to huff with indignation.
“Master Blake.” A man’s clipped tones cut through the fog in my mind. He spoke with the haughtiness I’d only ever heard from people who worked in high-class establishments but acted like they could condescend to people who didn’t meet their standards. A tray protruded through the gap in the door. “I was informed you were back in residence, and—”
“Breakfast? I’ll take that, thank you.” Blocking the door with his foot, Blake wrapped his hands around the tray and pulled it out of the man’s hands.
“Will the young lady require something to eat?” asked the man, who I assumed was a palace servant.
“There’s plenty here for two. Thank you.” Blake said the last two words with the tone most used to tell others to fuck off.
I rubbed my fingers over my brow, and the entire left side of my face throbbed. Everything returned in a painful rush. Waking up in agony. Mr. Carbuncle’s attacks. That harrowing chase through the darkened balconies. A fog lifted from my mind, taking with it the effects of last night’s morphine and codeine, bringing forth a collision of aches and pains. A groan slipped from my lips.
Blake flung his weight against the door and turned a lock. “Emilia!”
I reached for the pill bottles on the side table, but the movement felt like a giant fist slamming into my ribs. I flinched. Through the side of my mouth that wasn’t swollen, I asked, “Painkillers, please?”
Blake set down the tray on a side table with a clink of china and silverware, rushed to my side, and handed me a glass of orange juice. He disappeared behind the curtain of the four-poster again and returned with one of the prescription bottles. With hands that shook, Blake unscrewed the bottle, placed a pill between my lips, and brought the glass to the good side of my mouth.
Cold, sweet liquid trickled on my tongue, drenching my dry mouth. It gathered in the back of my throat, dislodging the tablet from where it had stuck, allowing me to gulp the mixture down.
A breath of relief escaped my lungs. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take long to work. “Thanks.”
“Are you hungry?” he murmured.
“Not really,” I slouched back into my nest of pillows. “But I suppose I’d better eat something so the painkiller doesn’t hurt my stomach.”
Blake turned in the direction of the side table, where he had left the breakfast tray. “There’s porridge… And scrambled eggs. Those are soft, aren’t they?”
I reached out, ignored the pain radiating through my ribs, and placed my fingertips on his forearm. “Thank you.”
“What for?” He turned around, chocolate-brown eyes wide. His messy, black hair flopped over his face, framing his beautiful, high cheek-boned features to perfection.
“For taking care of me.”
I thought Blake would smile and say something flirty, but he just stared back with dark, haunted eyes and nodded. He walked back to the tray with his broad shoulders slumped and his head hung low.
Sadness, tinged with a little guilt, washed over me. I dipped my chin to my tightening chest and let out a weary breath. Blake should be feeling proud, not disturbed. He had warned me not to go, then followed me all the way to London and rescued me from a terrible fate, yet he acted like he’d put the bruises on my face and body.
Moments later, he returned with the whole tray and placed it over my lap. Its tall, splayed legs meant that the base of the tray hovered several inches over my body, giving me enough space to turn if I needed it. Whoever had prepared his breakfast had laden it with more than a single person could eat. A bowl of fruit salad, porridge, a full English breakfast, and a rack of toast sat on that tray, along with a small pot of tea, a cup and saucer, a milk jug, butter, marmalade, silverware and condiments.
“Help yourself to anything,” he stepped away and wrapped his arms around his bare chest.
“Sit with me,” I said.
Blake pulled up a velvet cocktail chair and brought it to my bedside. While I picked at the porridge, he worked his way through every other dish on that tray. As he ate, he stole nervous glances, looking like he wanted to say something. Each time I met his gaze, he would turn back to his food without speaking. There was only so much I could keep down with a stomach that felt like it had been caved in with a battering ram, and when I declared myself finished, Blake left the tray outside and shut the door.
Enough time had passed that the painkiller melted away the bulk of the pain, taking with it a layer of tension. I let my gaze wander around. It reminded me of one of those hotel rooms made up to look like a palace, except this was the real thing. Heavy, champagne-colored silk curtains hung from the four-poster, giving me a glimpse of alabaster walls and the cream carpet I had seen the previous night. Most of the furniture were carved ornamental pieces with gilded bronze handle
s and ornaments.
The only thing that looked vaguely out of place was a black-and-white photo on the wall, depicting a dark-haired, high cheek-boned woman who could easily have been a model. She stood next to a pale, nondescript man with a curled mustache.
“Are those your parents?” I asked.
Blake returned to the bedside chair and gave me a wan smile. His gaze lingered over the swollen side of my face, which made my fingers twitch to explore the damage. I didn’t in case it brought the pain back.
“Yes,” he replied. “That’s my mother and father on their wedding day.”
I eyed her ivory dress with its 1980’s shoulder pads and a plunging neckline that dipped down to her sternum. “She’s not wearing a wedding dress.”
“They married in Chelsea Town Hall. Bridal wear was optional.”
“Oh. Were they married for long?”
He glanced down into his clasped hands. “Until the beginning of my second year.”
I would have said I was sorry, but some divorces were actually beneficial. For example, Dad didn’t realize he had a drug problem until the moment he discovered Mom left and had taken me with her.
“My father’s mental state deteriorated when my mother befriended the prince.”
I swallowed. During our supposed captivity, Henry had mentioned something about Blake’s promiscuous mother driving his father to drink. I kept silent, not wanting to probe. Since the man had died in an alcohol-related car accident, I let it up to Blake to decide if he wanted to continue on the subject.
He rested his forearms on his knees and blew hair out of his eyes through the side of his mouth. “My father described her as the kind of woman who drives men wild but not away. She’s a free spirit, I suppose, but he couldn’t see that until it was too late.”
“I’m… sorry.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I’m not,” he said in a tight voice. “He pinned all his hopes on the one woman who would never stay faithful. And even when she divorced him and married the prince, he couldn’t move on. A man should be dignified about these things, but he fell apart in front of the nation.”