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

by Sofia Daniel

  Chapter 11

  I lay beneath Henry and breathed hard. That second round had been even more intense than the first, but we had spent too long in the bedroom. Mrs. Bourneville would be livid if she knew we hadn’t made an effort to get changed. My gaze wandered around his bedroom at the charcoal-colored walls, lit by gilded sconces and floor lamps. There was no sign of a clock, but I found a bookshelf of leather tomes and gold-framed paintings of rugby players wearing nineteenth-century uniforms.

  Henry cupped my breast and kneaded it with his large hand. “One more.”

  I pressed both hands on his broad shoulders and gave his immovable body a shove. “What about dinner?”

  He placed a kiss on the tip of my nose. “I’ll eat you.”

  A laugh huffed out of my chest. “Behave yourself. Your mom’s probably holding up dinner. What if she gets impatient and sends someone to fetch us?”

  “You are right,” said a female voice through the door, the slight German accent giving it a creepy edge. “But his father sent me.”

  My heart jumped into my throat, and I stiffened. Who the fuck was that?

  “Aunt Idette,” Henry growled. “How long have you been standing out there?”

  “Long enough to hear you engaging in fornications with a young girl!” she snapped. “You had better get dressed and face your father.”

  “Sorry,” I whispered.

  He drew back, brows furrowed, blond curls in disarray. “What for?”

  “I should have stopped us before things got too far.”

  He snorted. “Nothing would have stopped me from fucking you. Not even Father standing in the middle of the room.” Henry rolled off me and sat up. “I’ve wanted you for months.”

  The dim lighting from the wall sconces accentuated the bulge of his muscles while deepening where they formed grooves, such as the dips that separated his six-pack. My throat dried. He looked like something out of a photoshoot, including for the knowing smirk. “Want a shower?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to think about all the things I had done while showering with Blake and Edward, and all the things I would like to do with a hot, wet, and naked Henry. “A quick one.”

  Henry’s dark chuckle made my nipples tighten with anticipation. My eyes snapped open, and I gave him what I hoped was a severe glare. “I mean it. Your aunt’s outside, waiting for us. No messing about.”

  “Of course,” he said in a voice too smooth to be believable.

  I stepped off the bed and padded across to one of the many doors around the large room. The first one I opened led to an impressive, walk-in closet of open rails laden with garments, mahogany shelves, and a leather lounge chair.

  “That’s the wardrobe.” Henry wrapped his arms around my waist and guided me out of his closet. “Here’s the bathroom.” He walked me to the next door down.

  It opened up into what I could only describe a stone room. Charcoal-gray slate lined the walls and the floors, with black marble forming the worktops. In one corner hung a stainless-steel shower head the size of a platter, and opposite stood a huge bathtub large enough to fit two.

  “We’re already in enough trouble today,” he murmured into my ear. “Why don’t we go for a long soak?”

  It was tempting, but Aunt Idette’s cruel voice still rang in my ears. The thought of her bursting into the bathroom while Henry and I soaped each other down dried up all my enthusiasm for getting in that tub. I turned back to Henry and said, “Another time. Let’s hurry and see if we can still make it for dinner.”

  After the quickest and most platonic shower I’d ever taken with any member of the triumvirate, we dried off. Henry entered his walk-in closet while I rifled through the shopping bags with a fluffy towel over my head.

  I slipped on the caramel satin dress and nude shoes Mrs. Bourneville had chosen and added the rose-gold earrings and matching bracelet. Then I rushed back to the bathroom and blew-dry my hair, so it didn’t look so much like a stringy mess.

  I stepped out into the bedroom. Henry stood by the door, clad in a navy jacket that was clearly tailored to fit his muscular physique. He wore it with a blue-and-white striped shirt, unbuttoned to the collarbones, and a pair of fitted, ivory slacks. My gaze flicked up to his face. Caramel-colored curls, still damp from the shower framed his tan skin and highlighted his sharp cheekbones. I swallowed hard. He was so fucking handsome. How could I have resisted him for so long?

  Henry’s green eyes gleamed with delight. “You look like a girl who’s just been fucked.”

  I smirked. “You look like a boy who’s just been robbed of his virginity.”

  “Yes, yes,” growled Aunt Idette from behind the door. “Save the lovey-talk for the dinner table, so we can all enjoy it.”

  Henry rolled his eyes. “Go away.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” I mouthed.

  “She’s Father’s minion and agrees with everything he does,” he whispered back.

  I checked myself in the mirror and frowned. My hair wasn’t quite dry but was passable, but my swollen lips and flushed cheeks were incriminating. Henry hadn’t been joking when he said I looked like I’d been fucked.

  “I can’t go out like this!”

  He strolled over and combed through my hair with his fingers, making it even more of a mess. “There. It’s very Brigitte Bardot, now.”

  I shoved his fingers away and tried to smooth out of the auburn rats’ nest on my head. “Do you have a brush or something?”

  His arm wrapped around my waist, and he guided me to the door. “Let’s go.”

  “To dinner?”

  “Another hotel.”

  “Don’t you think your mother—”

  “She’ll understand.” He turned the door and pulled it open.

  Mr. Bourneville stood in the hallway next to Aunt Idette, his face the color of her burgundy pants suit. Aunt Idette’s features were twisted into a smirk of triumph.

  I furrowed my brows. Why on earth would she be pleased Henry was in trouble again?

  Mr. Bourneville bared his teeth. “Of all the stunts you’ve pulled, this has to be the most desperate.”

  “What are you talking about now?” Henry snapped.

  My heart resounded in my chest. The sounds of Mr. Bourneville’s angry breaths filled the hallway. His hazel eyes burned with a fury so fierce, I glanced away. My eyes dropped to Aunt Idette, who mirrored his body language, only with that manic look of glee in her eyes.

  Schadenfreude.

  It was a German word that meant the delight in someone else’s misfortune. Aunt Idette had it in droves. I blocked out the father-son stand-off to focus on what I knew about the peculiar woman. Wasn’t she the mother of Jonas Bourneville, the person they announced in The Times would become new heir to the business? If her son had already been given Henry’s birthright, why was she hell-bent on destroying what little goodwill he had left with his parents?

  “What is this,” his father snarled. “A desperate ploy to prove you’re not queer?”

  My mouth dropped open. Most fathers would object to their sons having sex with girls under their roof, not the motivations behind the act.

  Aunt Idette placed her hands on her hips. “He thinks he can earn back his inheritance by fornicating with his beard.”

  Anger surged up from my gut and rushed to my cheeks. “Excuse me?”

  Her malevolent gaze snapped to me. “What did he offer you for this stunt? Another new coat?”

  “You’re deluded,” I snapped.

  “Aaaah!” Aunt Idette clapped her hands together. “I understand.”

  “Tell me,” said Mr. Bourneville, “because I don’t know what is happening to my son.”

  “Stockholm Syndrome,” she said.

  My eyes bulged. “What?”

  Aunt Idette paced the hallway like she was the female Sherlock Holmes about to announce a great feat of deductive reasoning. She rubbed her chin and said, “This little fool fell for Henry during the fake kidnapping. Why
else would she still be by his side after he blamed the whole spectacle on her? Now, she is under the delusion that she can replace Blake, Henry’s true love.”

  “This is ridiculous.” I turned to Henry, urging him to put the bitter woman in her place, but he remained silent, his eyes locked on those of his father.

  Aunt Idette raised her chin. “Tell me I’m wrong!”

  “You’ve twisted everything to ridiculous conclusions.” I tried to make eye contact with Henry’s dad, but he continued glaring at his son. “Henry had a drunken fumble with another boy, and now you think he’ll never give you an heir and needs to be disinherited. When he finally sleeps with a girl, you think he’s doing it to get his inheritance back.”

  Mr. Bourneville turned to me, his brows furrowed. “What is she talking about?”

  I shot Henry a look and flashed my eyes. Now was the time to say something in his own defense.

  He folded his arms across his broad chest and thrust his chin up. His lips were clamped so tight, they appeared thin and pale.

  “Typical,” Aunt Idette waved her hands in the air. “The boy gets his friends to do his talking. This one is just another Blake!”

  I bared my teeth and whirled on Mr. Bourneville. “You’re all too deluded to see that this old witch has a vested interest in keeping you apart. Who stands to benefit if Henry falls from grace? She does… along with her son, Jonas!”

  Mrs. Bourneville stood at the end of the hallway, breathing hard. From the way she nodded, it seemed like she agreed with everything I had said.

  I yanked on Henry’s arm, silently urging him to speak, but he stared at a spot on the wall.

  “Henry, take Miss Hobson and leave,” snarled Mr. Bourneville.

  Shoulders sagging, I exhaled a disappointed sigh but hitched them up again and straightened my posture. What had happened to Henry? At one point during my argument with Aunt Idette, Mr. Bourneville had seemed interested in hearing his side.

  My gaze flickered to the end of the hallway to Mrs. Bourneville, who gave me a watery smile and mouthed, ‘thank you.’

  The smile I gave Mrs. Bourneville was apologetic. Perhaps by squaring up to Aunt Idette and raising my voice, I had taken away Henry’s chance to fight back. That time when Coates and the other rugby boys had occupied the head table, he had been ready to defend his friends and had even lashed out at Coates for holding Blake in a wrist lock. Maybe I needed to stand back and let Henry build up whatever emotional reserves he required to make a stand against Mr. Bourneville.

  After hugging Henry’s mom goodbye, we walked through the maze of hallways in silence. Cameras were everywhere, and I had no doubt Aunt Idette would be at the control room, scraping up things to use against Henry.

  Guilt weighed my heart, and regret weighed my steps. This wasn’t the first time I had contributed to Henry’s estrangement from his family, but I hoped it would be the last.

  As soon as we reached the underground parking lot and climbed into the limo, I settled next to Henry and held his hand. “Why didn’t you stand up to your father?”

  He leaned forward and stared into his lap. “You don’t know what he’s like.”

  “A bully?”

  “It’s always the same with him. I’m not good enough. Not strong enough. Not as impressive as Jonas.”

  The limo drove through the dark passageway under the stores that led to the multistory parking garage. As it ascended the ramps to street level, I wrapped an arm around Henry’s broad shoulder.

  “How old is your cousin?”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “And how long has your dad compared you to him?”

  With a weary breath, Henry shook his head and gazed out of the window. The limo exited into the still-bright evening, where shoppers and tourists still occupied the streets.

  “For as long as I can remember. It doesn’t matter what I do, Jonas will always be better.”

  “Of course he’ll be better,” I said.

  Straightening, he turned to me with pained eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s thirteen years older than you. When you got kidnapped at ten, I’ll bet your father said Jonas would never have gotten snatched. He would have been twenty-three, then. That’s hardly a fair comparison.”

  His shoulders drooped. “You sound like Mother.”

  “Because she’s right.” I twisted in my seat and grabbed Henry’s forearms with both hands. “If you want your father to stop talking shit about you, stand up to him.”

  “I will.”

  “Should we turn the limo around?” I asked.

  Henry shook his head. “Give me some time.”

  I rested my head on his shoulder. If I thought a single conversation could undo years of his father’s brainwashing, maybe I was as deluded as Aunt Idette had said. If Henry’s mother couldn’t do it after years of trying, I didn’t have a chance.

  “Let’s go back to the academy. I think we’d both sleep better with Blake and Edward.”

  By the time we reached Elder House and climbed up the stairs to Edward’s room, it was empty. We walked down to his study, opened the door, and stepped into a cloud of cigar smoke mingled with the fruity, caramelized scent of Armagnac.

  Edward lay on the Chesterfield sofa with a newspaper over his head. Blake sat on the floor with his back propped on the sofa, legs sprawled over the Persian rug. At his sides lay two open laptops.

  “Guys?” I said.

  Blake blinked his eyes open. “Emilia, you’re looking well, but what are you doing back so soon?”

  “It’s a long story.” Henry pulled Blake to his feet.

  “Did you have any trouble in London?” Blake stretched and yawned. His shirt rode up, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his dark treasure trail.

  “You could say that.” Wrapping my arms around Blake’s middle, I pressed my lips on the juncture of his neck and shoulders. I inhaled Blake’s cedar and spice scent and sighed. “What have you been researching?”

  “Something Father mentioned.” Edward pushed his newspaper to one side and sat up. “Rudolph Trommel went to great lengths to stop his former wife from publishing a memoir featuring him, but back then, he had no ties to England.”

  I bit down on my lip. “He owns at least one paper here, even if it’s through a shell company.”

  Edward swung his legs off the sofa and onto the Persian rug. “I don’t think we can rely on Charlotte’s exposé even reaching the press.”

  “You think he’ll block it?” I asked.

  “More like bribe the paper not to release that article,” said Blake.

  Edward drew a hand through his mahogany hair. “He might even have blackmail material against the owners of all the major papers in the UK.”

  I turned to Henry, who scowled. “Do you still think we can use it for blackmail material?”

  Henry rubbed his chin. “I think we should hand it to your mother’s lawyers and be rid of the twat.”

  “Edward and I worked out another angle,” said Blake.

  Edward reached down to the mahogany coffee table by the Chesterfield and picked up an old copy of the Times. “Rudolph has left Peter Underwood in prison without bail and likely without a legal defense. It says here that he was the mastermind behind your abduction, but we know that’s not true. Why not see if he’s willing to reveal who hired him?”

  Suppressing a shudder, I wrapped my arms around my middle. “How can we contact him?”

  “He’s at Brixton Prison.”

  Blake wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Charlotte has agreed to let us tag along when she visits him tomorrow.”

  My brows drew together. “Can we trust her?”

  “No.” Blake kissed my temple. “But we can trust her to want to do right by her family.”

  Edward put down the paper and stood. His brows creased, and storm clouds filled his eyes. He wrapped his hand around mine. “You don’t need to come with us,” he said in his gentlest voice. “After that business with Carbuncle
earlier today, I can’t imagine you wanting to visit his accomplice.”

  My gaze traveled from Henry to Blake to Edward. All three of the boys wore the same grave expressions I’d seen when they had visited me the day after Blake had rescued me from that abandoned apartment.

  “I can handle seeing Peter Underwood,” I said.

  “Are you sure, Emilia?” asked Edward. “You don’t need to—”

  “I’ll be fine.” My voice was firmer this time. It wasn’t like I was meeting him in a dingy basement or anything. We’d be in a prison, surrounded by guards. There might even be a glass screen separating us. “Besides, I think he’s had enough time to realize he’s been abandoned by Philippe. He’ll be pissed enough to reveal his other accomplice.”

  “Very well,” said Edward. “We will set off tomorrow.”

  Tamping down the apprehension writhing in my gut, I gave him a sharp nod. It looked like Henry wasn’t the only person who needed to face his demons.

  Chapter 12

  The next morning, I awoke wrapped around Henry and with Edward spooned at my back. Blake lay on his side with his head on Henry’s chest, just as I had lain on Blake since we had slept together at the palace.

  Sunlight streaming from the window played across their muscled bodies, making them look like they were in some kind of artistic movie shot by Andy Warhol or some other connoisseur of male beauty. Warmth spread across my chest. We were complete… almost.

  Threats still hung over our heads. Mr. Carbuncle was still at large, probably madder than before and blaming me for getting shot. Then there was Rudolph, the most diabolical of all. That malevolent old bastard had coerced Mom into not breaking their engagement and then resented her for failing to jump into bed with his syphilitic self.

  A sigh slid from my lips. If only I had known this before and not played into his hands by working for the Correspondent. I’d only opened the door to more creative ways for him to exact his revenge on Mom.

  I was so glad she would be away in Casablanca when the shit hit the fan.