Page 108 of Because I Killed Him
“The same way I know you are only being nice right now in the hope that I will answer your questions.”
Rosamund reclines for a moment, watching me with a slow-buildingscowl, then snaps upright and shoves the monkey off her lap. “You’re right, Miss Waldsten. And do you know why? Because I don’t tolerate thievery. If you don’t believe me, ask your friend, Miss Deering. Ask her what happened when she tried to take what’smine.”
“I know enough about what you have put Miss Deering through,” I say, letting the edge show in my voice. “But if your claim is true, why do you tolerate Miss Hussey?”
“Because her marriage to my brother was arr—”
Rosamund cuts herself off, but it’s already too late. I incline my head enough to let her know I’ve seized on the slip, and I’m now certain the only reason she hasn’t slit Irene’s throat in her sleep is that she knows Edmund doesn’t love her.
A soft, startled flush spreads across Rosamund’s cheeks. Her fingers curl around the edge of the table, and the polite veneer cracks as she slowly rises onto her knees. “You’re blackmailing my brother, aren’t you?”
“You know him better than I do,” I say. “Is he the sort of man who could be blackmailed?”
“Answerthe question.”
“If he wanted you to know about our arrangement, he would have told you himself.”
Her lips peel back, showing teeth. “What are you insinuating?”
“Nothing at all, Miss Prew. I am simply reading it from the outside… just as everyone else is.”
Rosamund’s eyes narrow to slits. She inhales sharply, her nostrils flaring, before her hand shoots out and wraps around my wrist. Her nails dig in, a sharp sting at first, then a slice deep enough to break the skin. I try to pull back, but she only tightens her grip, harder and sharper, until I feel the warm drip of blood down my arm.
“Careful, Miss Waldsten,” she says. “I happen to know my brother despises low-citizens like you. However you’re blackmailing him, whatever trick you’ve used to con your way into his protection, I’ll find out. And once I have proof, not even that fawning parasite you call a father will be able to save you.”
I snap toward her, biting back a snarl. “Whatdid you say?”
A slow smile spreads across Rosamund’s face, as if I’ve just given awaymy weak point. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. Everyone knows your father is one of Reeve’s most devoted regulars, always turning up to those… infamous gatherings of his.” Her gaze glides over me, taunting and amused. “The kind of parties no decent man admits to attending, let alone returning to. One does begin to wonder how far loyalty like that really goes.” She clucks her tongue softly. “Yourpoormother.”
Heat courses through me. I try to control myself, to calm down before I slip up and lose more civil credits. Instead, I jerk upright, tearing free of Rosamund’s grip so forcefully that blood streaks down my wrist in a bright green line.
Rosamund’s lashes flutter in surprise at the sight of the wound. “Hoppola,” she says. “What have you made me do?” She unfolds a handkerchief and wipes her nails clean, as if erasing the evidence means the assault never happened. Then she tosses the bloodstained cloth at me. “Go on, Miss Waldsten. Defend your father’s honor. I know youwantto.”
My chin drops, and my legs burn with the urge to lunge. Rosamund’s throat is exposed; one clean strike and her voice would die mid-syllable. I can almost feel the collapse in my knuckles, the way her breath would choke in her windpipe before she even realized it. The effort to hold back makes my entire body shake.
I need to get out of here.Now.
I spin on my heel and dart from the booth, my vision blurring with black spots as I hurry toward the elevator.
A loud sigh follows me.
“So, you’re as cowardly as Miss Deering, then?” Rosamund calls. “How lucky for me.”
By the time I step into the elevator, I’m shaking so badly I can barely press the call button. I try to pull on my coat, but the sleeves twist around my arms as if fighting me. My fingers fumble at the zipper until I finally rip the coat off and hurl it to the floor.
I understand why Charlotte calls Rosamund a spider now. It’s not just the smile or the strike; it’s the way she weaves her web around you, slowly at first, then all at once.
I flatten my palms against the elevator wall, hoping the pressure will stop my hands from shaking. Rosamund’s words about Dad are already festering in my mind, rotting like dead tissue. She’s not the first to insult him; he has plenty of enemies. But Mom always kept that world at bay. She shielded us from the news reports tearing Dad apart and the gossip sites spreading lies about him cheating on her. Now the lies are everywhere, closing in without filters or buffers. There’s a sea of people frothing at the mouth, desperate to see Dad fall. And the worst part is that I could silence them. I could make them eat their words.
If only I were allowed to use a saber.
I clench my arms against my chest, trying to smother the burning anger. It doesn’t work. My breath is still ragged, and my shoulders still shake. When the elevator dings open, I step out too quickly and slam into a wall of blue.
I stumble backward, arms seeking something solid, until a hand shoots out and catches me around the waist.
“Pardon me, sir,” I gasp. “I did not—”
I cut off when I see Edmund staring down at me. He rights me, then steps away and clasps his hands behind his back. His face is taut, his cheeks pale enough to dull his tan. A rapid twitch runs through his left eye, as if he’s tunneled up from underground and the sunlight is still too harsh.
