“How magnanimous, Simms,” my stranger —Lord Thorne?— drawls from beside me. “But I think I’ll stay for the show.”
“If you wish, my lord.” Simms sighs tiredly before his eyes slide back to me. “As for you…”
My brows lift.
He pivots sharply and starts walking down a hallway to the left. “Follow me, please.”
I glance over and find Lord Thorne —I am never calling him that aloud, I don’t care if it’s a royal transgression— watching me carefully.
“Still don’t want to run?”
“Nope,” I lie through clenched teeth.
He smirks, as if he knows I’m full of shit, and gives a mocking bow. “After you, then.”
I swallow hard, set my shoulders, and stride after Simms, trying not to wobble on my heels. God forbid I stumble into a 15th century antique end table and break it. I may be petite, but I’ve never exactly been graceful. Mom always says I move through life like a force of nature, a tornado overturning everything in my path.
Alwayssaid.
The verb tense still trips me up, every now and then. It’s been nearly two years, but I’m still not used to her beingpastinstead ofpresent. I doubt I ever will be.
We pass several closed doorways as we move to the end of the hall, where an archway opens into a large sitting room. I press my lips together to keep my jaw from going slack with awe.
Everything is decorated in creamy tones, from the furniture to the curtains to the crown moldings to the pale hardwood floors beneath my feet. Tasteful bookshelves line the walls, a grand piano dominates one corner, and three white settees are artfully arranged around the focal point of the room — an incredible marble fireplace, its mantelpiece thicker than my body and twice as long.
The only point of color is the coiled auburn hair of a glamorous middle-aged woman sitting by the roaring fire, her legs crossed gracefully, the white linen of her dress a perfect match for the sofa beneath her. When my eyes meet her light blue ones, I try not to flinch at the icy unwelcome in her stare. Thankfully, they soon move past me to focus on the man at my side.
“Carter.”
It’s truly amazing how much distaste she’s able to convey, just saying his name — a name that, it must be said, suits him well.Lord Carter Thorne. I glance at him and find his whole demeanor has changed. He’s carrying himself differently: his shoulders stiffer, all traces of humor and nonchalance stripped from his countenance. He might be made of the same marble as that fireplace, for all the humanity left in him.
“Where is Chloe?” the woman asks in that same frigid tone.
“I’m not her keeper, Octavia.”
The woman doesn’t react, other than to reach out and lift her teacup off the coffee table in front of her in a smooth, soundless move. She takes a methodical sip, holding Carter’s eyes the entire time over the rim in some sort of strange staring contest. I’m not sure who they are to each other, but the air between them is so frosty I’m surprised I can’t see my breath. Even Simms looks uncomfortable as he hovers dutifully by the far wall, awaiting a command like a well-trained dog.
Carter breaks eye contact first, glancing down at his dress shoes. I’m standing close enough to hear the resigned exhale of air that hisses from his lips. “Last I heard, Chloe was going to a club opening in Lund with Ava. I’m sure they went straight to the hospital when they heard the news about Henry.”
The woman sets down her cup and saucer without even the faintest rattle before lifting her eyes back to Carter’s. “And you didn’t feel you should accompany them?”
“To sit there and watch him die? No. I think there are enough people doing that already.”
“You’re being quite dramatic.”
“And you’re being predictably indifferent.” Carter’s voice is a snarl of disgust. “God, Octavia, you could at least pretend to feel a little grief for Henry. But why bother, right? You’ve landed yourself exactly where you’ve always wanted to be. I expect you’ll be doing cartwheels down the castle corridors as soon as the smoke clears.”
“Again with your dramatics.” Her lip curls with disdain. “Someone has to step up in this time of turmoil, to take command before things begin to spiral out of control. Though, seeing as you live your life stumbling belligerently between one party and the next, I wouldn’t expect you to understand what I’m talking about.”
“War profiteering?” he suggests bitterly.
“Duty.” Her blue eyes flash. “I will step into the role that has been thrust upon me and do what I must for the sake of my family, my husband, and my country.”
There’s a marked pause before Carter’s hands begin to smack together in slow, mocking applause. I flinch with each sharp clap in the silent room. In the corner, I see Simms doing the same.
“Wow.” Carter whistles. “That was a nice little speech. Almost soundedrehearsed. Something you’ve been practicingfor weeks.”
“Rehearsed?” The redhead’s voice drops low. “Don’t be absurd. This was a terrible accident.”