The mention of him sent a flutter through Clara’s stomach that had nothing to do with nerves. She followed Lotus down to the tech room, where Jonas sat surrounded by glowing monitors. He was hunched forward, headset slung around his neck, eyes sharp as they scanned camera feeds of the care home. He looked utterly in his element, fingers dancing over keys with unconscious precision.
When he noticed her, he straightened and something in his gaze softened. He stood, almost awkwardly, and approached. “You look…” His throat worked. “You look good.”
Heat rose to her cheeks. “Thank you.”
His hand twitched at his side as if he wanted to touch her but wasn’t sure if he should. Then, with visible effort, he tucked it into his pocket. “Everything’s ready. You’ll go in with Valentina and Lotus close by. Duchess has MI5 on standby if things… escalate.” His voice clipped over the last word.
“And you?” she asked quietly.
“I’ll be in your ear,” he said, gesturing to the discreet earpiece on the table. “With you the whole time.”
She nodded, comforted by the thought of his voice steadying her, even unseen.
Valentina entered then, her dogs trotting at her heels, harnesses jingling. “Time.”
Clara drew in a slow breath, gathering her courage. She slipped the earpiece in, feeling the weight of it like a tether between her and Jonas. Between her and safety.
As they left the compound, the crisp mountain air filled her lungs, scented with damp earth and pine. She focused on eachsensory detail, the crunch of gravel underfoot, the warmth of the sun on her face, the distant birdsong, grounding herself against the swell of fear.
Because soon, she would be face-to-face with her mother. And maybe, finally, the truth.
Chapter 36
The drawing roomwas too warm. Stifling. Clara hovered just inside the doorway, her coat still on, her pulse too loud in her ears. The fire hissed and spat in the grate, shadows leaping across the walls. The smell of beeswax polish and roses clung to everything, a mix of home and suffocation. It was strange being here again, but knowing that her friends had eyes on her made her feel safe, even though she was pretty sure Oliver and her father were both here. She hoped she was wrong, God did she, but the team had intel suggesting this was the perfect trap for Oliver. Jonas was dead against it but in the end, it had been her decision to walk into this and use herself as bait.
Her mother looked up. Penelope Mason, elegant as always, was perched on the settee like she was posing for a portrait, back straight, ankles neatly crossed. When her eyes landed on Clara, they softened, just a little. “Clara.” Relief cracked her voice. She rose in a graceful sweep, skirts whispering, and came forward with outstretched hands.
Clara let herself be taken in a light embrace, her cheek brushed with the ghost of a kiss. But her body was stiff, arms hanging uselessly at her sides.
Penelope drew back and tutted softly. “Thank heavens you’re safe. You’ve no idea what you’ve put us through.”
Clara blinked. “Safe?” The word felt foreign. She pulled back a step, holding her mother’s gaze. “Do you even know what’s happened to me?”
Her mother frowned, lips tightening. “Darling, please. Let’s not have hysterics. We’ve been managing, holding everything together, while you…”
A hesitation. Too long. Her eyes flicked toward the closed door before she caught herself.
Clara felt it like a physical blow. A chill slid down her spine. “While I what?” Her voice sharpened. “While I’ve been dragged into something I never agreed to? While you handed me to Oliver like some… some contract?”
Penelope’s chin rose, that old imperious look returning. “You’re being melodramatic.”
Clara laughed. It came out brittle, jagged. “Melodramatic? Mum, I thought I was marrying him to save our home. To save you. All this time,” her throat closed, rage and betrayal burning in equal measure, “what was it really about?”
Her mother’s composure cracked. Just a hairline fracture, but Clara saw it. The twist of her fingers against her skirt, the dart of her gaze. “Your father.”
Clara cut across her. “Stop.” The word was raw, ragged. “No more deflecting. Tell me the truth. What does Father have to do with Oliver?”
Penelope pressed her lips together, colour draining from her face. For a moment, Clara thought she might actually confess. Her hands trembled before she stilled them against her sides. “You don’t understand,” Penelope said finally, voice low. “It isn’t that simple. Your father… he has obligations. Arrangements. Marrying Oliver secures those. It ensures…”
“It ensures what?” Clara’s voice cracked. “That everything you care about is protected, except me?”
The silence that followed was brutal. The tick of the grandfather clock filled the room, each second pounding like a gavel.
Penelope’s eyes glistened, but she shook her head. “We did what was necessary.”
Clara stepped back, her stomach twisting. “No. You did what he told you to do.”
Her mother’s face pinched. Her eyes darted again toward the door.
