by Sofia Daniel
The limo made a U-turn at the roundabout behind Trafalgar Square, passing the statues of Lord Nelson, the lions, and the fountains. I leaned forward, meeting each of the boys’ eyes.
Henry sat on the far left of the limo, the blue spotlights tinting his blonde curls. He furrowed his brow and leaned forward as though needing to examine my features.
Between him and me sat Blake, who narrowed his chocolate-brown eyes. Perhaps pieces of the puzzle were also coming together for him. Out of everyone in this limo, he knew Charlotte the best, even if it was because he believed in keeping his enemies close.
Edward sat on my left, his hand on mine, lending me his strength. Seeing Mom and discovering that someone had impersonated me all this time had been a shock, but it was nothing compared to the realization that Rudolph had been behind everything that had gone horribly wrong this term.
Duncan pushed his thick glasses up his nose, further magnifying his eyes. “What’s wrong, Hobson?”
“We’re going back for Charlotte,” I said.
Relief crossed his features. “I knew you wouldn’t leave a lady stranded in the middle of nowhere.”
Edward pursed his lips. “A young woman prepared to drug countless others to make them susceptible to a boat-full of boys who have paid for their… attentions is no lady.”
Duncan jerked his head to the side and grimaced. My shoulders sagged. He was probably conflicted. He had recently lost his virginity to Charlotte, securing his loyalty, and even in the face of dozens of sick girls being piled into ambulances, he still cared about her.
“I know what she did was wrong,” he said, “but surely the authorities—”
“Emilia explained it all to the police officers, and they let Charlotte go,” Henry snarled. “Do you call that justice?”
Duncan bowed his head.
“She’s guilty of far more than doctoring cocktails.” I turned my gaze away from the boy and stared out of the window at the Thames.
The limo sped along the embankment. The green and yellow lights of the Royal Festival Hall reflected on its surface. We passed the Oxo Tower, the Tate Modern, Shakespeare’s Globe, and all manner of major landmarks, but none of that mattered. The realization that Rudolph was far more nefarious than I had thought rang in my ears.
Later, as we passed the Tower of London’s outer walls and approached Tower Bridge, a lone, female figure shambled down the road, sticking out her thumb at oncoming traffic. My nostrils flared, and my lips curled with disgust. If that girl didn’t answer my questions, I would strangle her with my bare hands.
“I’m surprised no one has picked her up by now,” muttered Blake.
“She’s about to wish someone had,” I said through clenched teeth.
The limousine slowed and stopped a few feet ahead of where Charlotte had attempted to hitchhike. She pulled off one of her shoes, hobbled toward us, and opened the door. The roar of a passing motorcycle filled the limo’s interior.
“Oh, haha, everyone.” She climbed in and settled into the leather seat opposite. “Very funny. I knew you’d come back for me.”
From the streaks of faded mascara running down her face, I got the impression she believed she had been stranded. If Mom hadn’t revealed that Rudolph was more calculating and malevolent than I’d originally thought, I would have ordered Charlotte out again.
Instead, I turned to Duncan. “Could you sit in the front, please? I want to speak to Charlotte in private.”
Duncan crossed his arms, lifted his chin, and gave me his most defiant stare. “Why am I the only one who keeps getting banished? You lot abducted me…”
His words trailed off at the sight of Edward brandishing a champagne bottle. “Blackwell,” said Edward. “I suggest you take this and leave.”
Duncan reached across, plucked it out of Edward’s hands, and opened the door, letting in the sound of traffic. “This is the last time I go anywhere with you wankers.”
“What’s going on?” Charlotte’s mascara-streaked face seemed to pale in the light of the limousine’s interior. Her gaze darted from Duncan’s retreating back to Henry.
I folded my arms across my chest and glowered at the girl responsible for my abduction. Partially responsible. A pained grimace crossed her features, and she shifted in her seat. She dipped her head, using her pale auburn hair, dyed to match mine, as some kind of shield.
The limousine pulled out and headed over Tower Bridge.
“Everyone blames you for what happened to those girls.” I kept my voice even, tamping down the rage simmering in my belly.
Her mouth flapped open. “I didn’t drug them.”
“But you told the police Emilia did,” said Henry.
“Because she tackled me to the ground like a beast.”
“You’re protecting someone,” I said. “Someone who is going to leave you to get the blame and watch the students tear you apart.”
She broke eye contact with Henry and picked at her nails. One of her knees bounced up and down.
I leaned forward. “If this person cared about you, he would have sent a car the moment he knew you were stranded in London.”
“Who are you protecting?” asked Edward, his voice deceptively mild.
Her chin trembled, and she pressed her lips together in a thin line. I narrowed my eyes. Any display of vulnerability was probably for the boys’ benefit. To make them ease off her, but they had seen the state of the girls on that boat. Some of them had been fourth and fifth years too young to drink, let alone to consent to any kind of activities in a sex party.
The limo sped through a restaurant-lined street, where crowds of people drank alcohol outside the pubs. I turned my gaze from the strange sight back to Charlotte, who now hunched forward in her seat.
“Talk,” Blake snapped. “Or we’ll dump you on the side of the road. Again.”
“Philippe de Connasse,” she whispered.
I turned to Blake, who shrugged. Charlotte stared at her lap, mascara-tinted tears falling onto her bare legs.
“Would you care to elaborate?” asked Edward.
“Philippe organized the party. He works for the Saturday Correspondent. I met him at your Valentine’s Party.” She raised her head and fixed me with a venomous stare. “He told me you were the leak who got my father arrested.”
I placed my hand over my mouth and frowned. None of this added up. I hadn’t met anyone with that name at the Saturday Correspondent and thought Charlotte’s mystery lover had been Rudolph.
“Clearly, he lied,” said Edward. “How could Emilia uncover details of your father’s expenses fraud all the way from Mercia Academy, when the crimes were conducted in Westminster?”
Her nostrils flared.
“A whistle-blower provided all that evidence against your Dad,” I said. “She was a former secretary.”
Henry leaned forward and showed her the screen of his smartphone. I assumed he had found the article and the name of the woman who had resigned and handed over the evidence to the paper.
“Who is Philippe?” I asked.
“You already met him,” said Charlotte. “He was standing outside the boat, making sure the boys didn’t get back inside.”
I ground my teeth. Henry had shoved two crew members aside to get on the boat. They had worn glasses with frames thick enough to conceal a camera. Philippe really was a member of the Correspondent’s staff. But why had Jackie, the editor, been insistent that I uncover the identity of Charlotte’s lover if he had been working for her all along? It didn’t make any sense.
Charlotte wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. “Everything you blamed me for was his doing. It was Philippe’s idea to raise money for Fathers’ legal defense by abducting you, not mine.”
“Did he also leave that fake invitation near my door?” I snapped.
Her brows lowered into a scowl, and she flared her nostrils. There were no doppelgängers or rugby boys to help her here, and she remained silent.
I folded my arms acro
ss my chest. This Philippe story sounded like bullshit. Where did a reporter get the kind of money to lavish on someone as annoying as Charlotte? Very few people had the type of wealth that could pay for cosmetic surgery and Mercia Academy tuition fees. And Charlotte’s helpless victim act was a sham, too. Even if Philippe was the driving force behind my abduction and the disastrous sex party, he couldn’t have achieved any of this without Charlotte’s full cooperation.
“Where does this Philippe live?” snarled Henry.
She shrugged. “We only met in hotels.”
“How convenient,” muttered Blake.
“Give me his number, and we’ll arrange a meeting tonight,” said Henry.
Charlotte tapped a few buttons on her smartphone and handed it to Henry, who called his number. Hot, angry breaths streamed through his nostrils as he waited for Philippe to answer.
I swallowed hard. Charlotte didn’t seem the type to throw a wealthy benefactor under the bus. Maybe he really had abandoned her as she had claimed. What if this Philippe was the person behind recent events? A million-pound ransom was a big enough motivation to do anything, and if he planned on keeping the money for himself, it made sense that he would set things up for Charlotte, her brother, and Mr. Carbuncle to get the blame.
“He’s not answering,” said Blake. “Who are you protecting?”
“No one,” whispered Charlotte.
I lowered my head and stared into my hands. Charlotte had met someone at the Valentine’s Day Massacre, which had been staffed by employees of the Correspondent dressed as waiters. Maybe she was telling the truth, and I was too blinded by hatred to see it.
“Hello?” asked a male voice on the speakerphone.
My heart jumped.
Henry held the phone out to Charlotte.
“Philippe,” she said in a wheedling tone. “You left me to get the blame, and Emilia hurt me again.”
“I am sorry, ma chérie,” he crooned in a French accent. “That girl has always hated you. She is the cause of everything that has gone terrible in your life.”
Charlotte shot me a hateful look. I glowered back.
She made a whining noise at the back of her throat. “But why did you have to leave me to the police?”
“Did they arrest you?” he asked a little more urgently.
“No, but—”
“What did you tell them?” he asked.
“I said Emilia put something in the girls’ cocktails.”
Philippe’s throaty laugh filled the limousine, and blood pounded in my ears. Who the fuck was this guy, and why did he take such delight in hurting me? Edward curled his fingers around mine and pressed a kiss on my temple, but it did nothing to distract me from the odious Frenchman.
Henry made an urgent hand signal at her, and she nodded.
“When can I see you?” she asked in a baby voice.
“Soon, ma petite puce. Soon.”
“What should I tell everyone when we get to school? They’re all going to think I did it.”
“Keep to your wonderful fiction,” said Philippe. “Emilia poisoned the drink because she was jealous not to have been invited. And she needed a follow-up article for the Saturday Correspondent to discredit you and to drum up ill will toward your father before his trial.”
My teeth ground together, and blood rushed through my ears. The worst part about Philippe’s plan was that the students of Elder House would believe Charlotte’s version of events and not mine. Ignoring Blake’s comforting hand on my back, I leaned forward, met her hazel eyes, and mouthed, ‘tonight.’
Charlotte tried to wheedle an invitation to his hotel, hovel, wherever this troll was staying, but he said it wasn’t possible. I stopped listening to Philippe’s excuses. He was obviously a conman, using Charlotte as his cat’s paw, but I still couldn’t work out why someone I had never met hated me so much.
Philippe hung up, and Charlotte turned to me. “You see? It was him all along.”
“Where does Rudolph Trommel fit into this?” I asked.
Charlotte tilted her head to the side. “He’s your stepfather. I’ve never met him.”
I didn’t reply. All evidence might point to this mysterious Frenchman, but something about him still didn’t ring true.
We finished the rest of the journey in silence. Charlotte’s posture straightened with triumph, the boys sat back with pensive expressions, and my mind whirred like the mechanism of a malfunctioning pocket watch. Was there a link between Philippe and Rudolph or between Rudolph and Charlotte? I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it deep in my gut. The only trouble was working out the details.
We reached Elder House just before midnight. The limousine’s tires crunched on the gravel courtyard outside the ancient building. Duncan left the limo first and staggered up the stone steps, still holding the champagne bottle.
Charlotte reached out her hand. “Phone, please.”
“You’ll get it back tomorrow.” Edward opened the limo door. “Get out.”
With a huff, Charlotte climbed out and stormed into Elder House.
“I’m going to search through her messages.” Edward squeezed my hand. “Why don’t you go up to my room with Blake?”
“Do you need any help?” I asked.
“Get some rest,” said Henry. “I’ll work with him.”
While Edward and Henry retreated to Edward’s study to rifle through Charlotte’s phone, I walked up the wooden staircase to Edward’s room with Blake. Ever since Mr. Carbuncle had evaded the police in Chelsea Heights, the boys hadn’t let me out of their sights. My heart weighed heavily in my empty chest, and my stomach felt like a lead weight. After a night like this, I really needed company.
Blake squeezed my hand as we reached the darkened top floor. His life had been as chaotic as mine. His father had been an alcoholic, and mine had been addicted to drugs. Both our mothers had married powerful, unscrupulous men and both of us felt slightly estranged from our mothers as a result.
“You must have worsened your injuries from wrestling with Charlotte.” Blake’s whisper echoed through the hallway.
“Probably,” I muttered. “Though I didn’t feel it at the time.”
He chuckled. “Adrenaline blocks pain. You should see some of the bruises Henry gets after a rugby match.” He turned the key in the lock and opened the door to Edward’s room, letting out a cloud of sandalwood-scented air.
In a smoky voice that curled around my libido, he said, “Let me help you out of those clothes and tend to your wounds.”
Chapter 2
Blake and I made slow love, only pausing to change the condom after he had climaxed. Pushing away the unsolved pieces of the puzzle that was Philippe, I fell asleep in the comfort of his embrace. It was the same way I’d lain in his arms when I had been too traumatized to sleep on my own. It had been exactly what I’d needed. A break from all the unpleasantness of the evening.
I drifted to sleep in his arms feeling content and secure until soft kisses on my neck pulled me from my slumber, and a gentle hand stroked circles over my belly. Warmth spread across my insides and pooled between my legs. I sighed against Blake’s broad chest. At any moment, an erection would rub against my ass, and Edward would wait for me to arch before sliding into my core for our usual morning screw.
When I didn’t feel him against me, my eye peeped open. Pale sunlight streamed in through the window, indicating that only a few minutes had passed since dawn.
“Edward, don’t you ever sleep?” I murmured.
“We need to leave soon if you want to make it in time to meet your mother for breakfast,” he replied.
A bolt of panic shot through my veins. My eyelids snapped open, and I bolted upright, jostling Blake. “Mom!”
“What?” Blake slurred.
All three of us piled into the bathroom for the longest quick shower of my life. The cubicle was barely wide enough to accommodate three, but the temperature of the water and the heat of our bodies more than made up for it. Taking up the
middle spot, I soaped the boys with shower gel and gripped their erections with both fists.
Edward shuddered, and Blake let out a gasping breath.
“Ready?” I turned from Edward’s blue eyes to Blake’s chocolate brown.
They both gave me eager nods.
I tightened my grip on their thick, pulsing lengths and made slow, twisting actions with my wrists. Blake shivered under my touch, and Edward let out a low moan that went straight to my core.
With the slowest and most deliberate of movements, I moved my hands back and forth along their erections, reveling in the way they pulsed and lengthened under my touch. They were both of an equal length, except Edward was thicker along the shaft, and Blake thicker at the head.
The shower gel lathered over their lengths, easing the glide of my hands over their flesh. I tightened my fingers around their erections, and both Blake and Edward let out appreciative moans that made my insides ripple with delight. My tongue darted out to lick my lips. If we’d had the time, I’d be on my knees in front of them, taking their dicks in my mouth. Heat pulsed between my legs, and I bit down hard on my lip as my hands faltered at the thought of tasting them both.
“Can’t handle us?” said Blake with a chuckle.
“Just thinking about swirling my tongue over your cock-heads.” I ran my thumbs over both their slits. Edward’s skin there was silkier than Blake’s, who had a slightly rougher texture I ached to explore. “It’s a shame we have a prior appointment.”
“Not fair,” Blake moaned.
Edward snickered. “I’m sure Emilia can give us a blow by blow demonstration in the limo.”
A laugh bubbled up to the back of my throat, and I quickened my movements.
Their breaths came in shallow pants, and I varied my ministrations. A squeeze at the base, a twist at the head, each time, I reveled in the boys’ gasps and moans and shudders.
“Which of you will last the longest?” I asked.
“At this rate,” said Blake between clenched teeth. “Neither of us.”