This isn’t a joke.
I debate drawing my knife from my sleeve and skewering Cleo. As much as I enjoy the vision, I think it’ll cause more problems than it solves. All Daddy’s lessons never prepared me for this.
Except… maybe he did.
I narrow my eyes at Duke Blackwich, trying to get a read on him. He must’ve been handsome once, like Gabriel with his wavy dark hair and sharp cheekbones. He might be handsome still, to certain women – he has a dignity of bearing, a commanding presence that makes everyone in the room defer to him. His skin sags around his eyes, and his hair – still dark, probably dyed – falls luxuriously over one eye, but there’s none of Gabriel’s pagan warmth in his eyes, only cold cruelty.
He disowned Gabriel publicly, which means he’s demanding this marriage out of some kind of desperation. And desperate people have weaknesses that can be exploited. So what’s his weakness?
Gabriel’s been disowned, which means he’s not expecting to inherit. He has no siblings, so the duke’s line will die with him. And I bet for a man like the duke, this is unacceptable. But Gabriel’s also only eighteen, and the duchess is young enough to be able to have more children. There’s time for them to sort out a solution. There’s no reason for this desperate need to reconnect with their son… unless there’s a ticking clock on this we don’t know about.
Why now? And whyCleo?
That question is plaguing Gabriel too, because he manages to choke out the words. “Why her? She’s not exactly being written up in Debrett’s.”
“Ms. St. James brings other assets to this marriage. Her blood is pure enough for our heir.”
Other assets?At first, I think he’s talking about Cleo’s ample cleavage, which proudly launches itself into the discussion thanks to the corsetry in her dress. I’m about to call him a filthy pervert when I reconsider. The duke and Cleo exchange a look – not one of lust, but of cold, calculating understanding. They have plans for Gabe they’re not revealing now.
I remember something Noah said to me at the after-party.Cleo’s a seventeen-year-old living her life on the internet and she has no idea which version of herself is the real one.
I think the real Cleo stands in this room, once again trying to snare Gabriel in her trap.
That’s why Duke Blackwich wants her – he needs someone to control Gabe. He knows my fallen angel won’t play nice and live in his castle and go to high teas and bow and scrape and shove a gold-plated stick up his ass (sorry,arse). He’s seen Cleo attack Gabe in the media after homecoming. She failed, but only just. If this marriage goes ahead, Cleo gets what she wants – the hot trainwreck boyfriend with the title who’ll make her infamous – and the duke has someone who will do whatever it takes to tighten his chain around Gabriel’s pretty neck.
This is not happening.
Noah and Eli appear beside us, creating a wall around Gabriel. “You don’t have to listen to this, Gabe.” Noah’s dark eyes scald the duke. I can see he walks the edge of losing control, and I don’t blame him one bit – I’m already there. “We should leave now.”
“Don’t leave, Gabriel,” Cleo coos. “We’ve got so much to talk about. I’ve started planning the wedding, and I’ve made an appointment to have you fitted for a tux and an STI check since you’ve been fucking that whore—”
“He’s not marrying you,” Noah growls.
“Don’t you think Gabriel should answer that, or do you control his thoughts as well?” Cleo smirks. “Mackenzie knows all about that, doesn’t she? She’s got you all wrapped around her little fingers, just like her daddy. But I know secrets about the precious homecoming queen that’ll make your hairs stand on end. Starting with why she disappeared all those years ago—”
The knife flies across the room before I even register throwing it. Cleo gasps as the blade slices through her skirts, pinning her to the wall near her hip. She bends down to tug at the fabric, aware now with cold certainty that she’s trapped in this room with a crazy bitch.
“You—” she starts, but her words cut off into a scream as I whip the sword from the hands of a suit of armor and rush her. She ducks as I swing the sword at her head. I punch through the wall, raining plaster down on Cleo.
“Restrain her,” the duke yells.
Footsteps clatter across the floor. Duchess Blackwich screams. Rough hands grab me, throwing me to the floor and trying to wrestle the sword from my grasp. I kick wildly. I fling out my arms, not seeing or caring what I destroy. A glass smashes. Someone grunts. The hand pinning my arm is jerked away. I leap to my feet, landing the way Antony taught me, and swing the sword around to point the tip at Duke Blackwich’s throat.
The room falls deathly silent.
“Your move,Your Grace,” I hiss.
The duke freezes. His Adam’s apple bobs.
“Go on. You talk a big game, so let’s see you do your worst. Unleash the hounds, have me thrown in your dungeon.” I let him see my slow smile as I twist the blade against his throat. “You think you’re untouchable, old man. But you have no idea what I’m capable of.”
“And you have no idea what I’m capable of,” he whispers. There’s no fear in his eyes, only a surety that he cannot be beaten. “If you run me through in a room full of witnesses, you’ll never see the outside of a jail cell. But perhaps that’s what you want? To rot behind bars alongside my son. Gabriel will do as he’s told, or he will be convicted of the murder of his beloved friend Dylan O’Connor.”
I glare into the duke’s eyes, wishing I could rip those expressive orbs from their sockets so he will no longer bear any resemblance to the beautiful boy I love.
My blade wavers. “Gabriel was cleared by the police.”
He scoffs. “Perhaps in America. But you see, Ms. Malloy, Gabriel has not answered for his crimes on British soil. I have connections in the highest courts in this land. There’s nothing my money can’t buy, including a guilty verdict. If my son insists on burning our legacy to ashes, then I will make certain he burns along with it.”
