It sounds more like a command than a request, and I raise a brow at her.
“No.”
“Lord Graham sent me,” she insists. “I’m here to ensure?—”
“Go away.” I don’t try to keep the snap from my tone. No fucking way am I accepting help from my father.
He’s not actually concerned with helping me; he’s trying to avoid a scandal.
I’m not even sure how he found out about my arrest so quickly, but I’m not surprised. He has connections in law enforcement and local government. Someone will have alerted him to the mess I’ve made.
“If Dr. Graham doesn’t consent to your presence, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave,” the detective says.
He probably thinks that my refusal to cooperate will make his job easier. I plan to make this process as painfully frustrating for him as possible, and I don’t need a solicitor for that.
“Daniel!” My mother’s voice is shrill, echoing down the hallway just outside the interrogation room.
My stomach drops.
Fuck.
The last thing I want is to see my parents when I’m in such a vulnerable position.
Mum pushes Ms. Taylor aside and strides into the room, my father right behind her.
“You can’t be in here.” The detective’s chest puffs with outrage.
My father flicks an imperious wave at him. “Leave us.”
“I don’t think?—”
“This is Lord David Graham,” Ms. Taylor cuts him off in brittle tones. “If you want him to leave, complain to your superiors. See what they say to that.”
The detective’s cheeks turn red, and his shoulders stiffen. His jaw works as though he’s chewing over a retort as he exits the room.
“I’d like a private word with my son,” Dad tells the solicitor.
She quickly excuses herself with a deferential nod.
Her obsequiousness sets my teeth on edge. My father thinks he can buy anything he wants: her loyalty, the detective’s compliance, and my freedom.
But I’m not going anywhere. Abigail will not face arrest because of my cowardice. I will not bend to my family’s will.
“What have you done this time, Daniel?” My mother huffs, beady green eyes flashing with fury. “A murder charge? I thought we were clear when you were a child. You’ve always known what would happen if you didn’t curb your violent nature.”
“Do you know what you might’ve cost this family?” Dad thunders, face going almost purple with his own rage. “If the chief constable hadn’t called me, this might’ve gone too far for damage control. As it is, you will be able to walk out of here within the hour, and this incident will be forgotten.”
“And then you’re coming home, where you belong,” Mum insists. “No more wayward behavior or galivanting off to America.”
“I gave up the fucking title, and I will not come home to accept it,” I growl, hackles up like a cornered beast. “Now, get out.”
My mother scoffs. “As if you would ever be allowed to inherit the title after what you’ve done. No, James remains the heir. You will come back to the estate where we can keep an eye on you.”
All of my muscles tense with barely suppressed aggression: the primal urge to defend myself. She wants to lock me in a cage far smaller than prison, even if it would seem vaster. I’d rather be confined to a cell than that awful manor with my parents as my jailors.
“I’ve already confessed.” I fling it at them like a grenade. “By the time the morning news comes out, your precious reputation will be in tatters.”
Mum splutters, at an uncharacteristic loss for words.
