“Damn it, Elliot.” My voice comes out breathless. “You’re doing it wrong.”
For several moments, all I can hear is my raging heart, unable to look away as his gaze traps me like prey. Something moves inside me, but I can’t identify it. Is it fear? Panic? No, neither of those. Excitement? My pulse speeds even faster at the thought.No, it most certainly isn’t that. Not over the wolf king.
“Miss Bellefleur, that’s hardly what I’d call brushed,” Foxglove says from the door, freeing me from the king’s gaze.
I slam the brush on the bureau and stalk away from Elliot, arms crossed. “I’ve given up. Shave it clean off if you must.”
Elliot groans a protest, and I answer him with a glare.
“I’ll do whatever I can,” Foxglove says. “Oh, and by the way. The coach that arrived was not here for me after all. It brought humans and they refuse to leave.”
My eyes go wide. “Who are they?”
“Some Richard Bellefleur,” he says with a shrug. “A relation of yours, I presume.”
The blood drains from my face, and my heart hammers for a whole new reason. “Shit,” I say. “My father’s here.”
20
It takes me several minutes to compose myself in the hall as I gather the nerve to meet my father. I’ve known in the back of my mind that I’d eventually need to confront him, but I hadn’t been prepared to do it this soon. How did he even find me, anyway? When I sent Bertha with my letter informing him of my new employment, I gave no indication where said job was, only that I was being provided room and board and would not be returning to the townhouse.
Then it dawns on me.
Nina. My sister saw the address when I received the invitation for the interview. She warned me not to come here. Torn between feeling betrayed and guilty that I hadn’t sent an additional letter just for her, I take a deep breath and force myself out the front door.
Once outside, the first thing I see is Gray and Blackbeard standing guard before the door, their stern expressions a silent threat barring entry to the manor. Both fae appear to have been gifted new clothes. Neither are outfitted as elegantly as the king, but their linen shirts are clean and their trousers well-fitting. They give me curt nods as I pass, but keep their gazes fixed ahead.
That’s when I see Father pacing alongside the rows of wagons in the drive, his coach-and-four at the very end. His face is beet red, and upon seeing me, he halts his pacing, eyes bulging with rage. “What is the meaning of this, Gemma?”
I stop several feet before him and fold my hands at my waist. Lifting my chin, I wear not the mask of the dutiful daughter, but the one I don for the townspeople. Confident. Cold. Haughty. “If you got my letter, then surely you know exactly what the meaning of this is.”
He bares his teeth for a moment, fingers curling into fists. “You have no right to send me a letter informing me you’ve taken a position of employment. I forbade you from seeking work the first time you brought it up.”
“I’m eighteen,” I say. “You cannot forbid me from taking a job.”
“I can so long as you live beneath my roof.”
“That’s just it, Father. I no longer live beneath your roof, for my new position provides room, board, and ample salary. Your threats to disown, disinherit, and displace me will now fall on deaf ears, should you choose to repeat them.”
“Was one scandal not enough?” he growls.
I narrow my eyes. “I fail to see how me gaining employment is worthy of the termscandal.”
“It is when your employer is a stranger whom you take room and board from. Who is he?”
“How do you know my employer is ahe?”
“Are you his mistress, hiding out at his country estate? Is that what this is? Another case of the Viscount of Brekshire?”
The Viscount of Brekshire.The name crushes my chest, making my lungs feel too small, sending my head spinning. My mask falters.
“When will you learn, Gemma? You will ruin yourself once and for all if you keep throwing yourself at the feet of taken men.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, seeking the sting of pain. Anything to free myself from the whirl of sound that beats at my mind, invades my senses.
Seductress.
Harlot.
