Page 106 of Red Masquerade

“He’s the least of your worries.”

I faltered, my hand reaching for my cup but stalling mid-air. “What do you mean?”

Flora blinked at me. “Oh. Did you not know?”

“Knowwhat?”

She sighed. “I wish I had a newspaper.” She looked at me directly. “Lucas has come out with it. He’s put a reward on your head.One million dollars.”

Thirty-Six

One million dollars.

I nearly choked at the thought. I couldn’t imagine such a sum, and I couldn’t believe that Lucas actuallyhadthat money. There was no way. Was he really willing to lose any savings he must have had? Was he willing to put up his stakes in the company? Such a high reward would mean heneededme back, that maybe he actually cared. But I knew he didn’t. It had to be something else—and it was unlikely Wright really cared that much. He could probably find another woman hereorin England that would want to manage his house in return for that comfortable lifestyle.

One million dollars. To get me back.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“If I didn’t love you, I’d turn you in myself,” Flora joked, not noticing my silence. “I’d break you out again, of course. And we could run away with the money!”

I shook my head, mostly to myself, turning the information over and over. “That can’t be right.”

“What, the money?”

“He wouldn’t—”

“Maybe he’s had a change of heart, a coming-to-God? Maybe your mother finally smacked some sense into him.” Flora shrugged. “He’s not going to have to shell out the money anyway, right?”

I’d been at the party a few days prior. How many people had seen me? How many people had caught mewith Vince? They’d knowexactlywhere to find me. And if Lucas found out about Vince, aboutAdam, I knew his threats to lock me away somewhere were more likely to become reality.

I ran a hand down my face.

“Dixon wouldn’t—”

“No!” Flora nearly rose from her seat. “Why would he send you back to your brother for a measly million?”

One measly million.

“You know how much he doesn’t like Vince.” I sighed, standing and wiping my palms down the front of my dress. “I have to go tell him.”

“Who?”

I raised a brow. Flora’s concern changed to excitement in one second, and she joined me as I walked toward the door. “Does this mean I get a tour?”

“I was going to show you around anyway,” I grumbled, linking my arm with hers, just like old times.

The only place I knew to look was his private study, the one Sinclair had led me to that night weeks ago. My memory of the layout of the house was still fuzzy, but when we turned down the hall, I recognized the statues against the wall, the portraits hanging, watching us as we walked past. The hall was silent, except for Flora’s gasps and our footsteps.

As we approached, the door swung open. Like he heard us coming. Perhaps another advantage of his species.

Vince stood, waiting. When he saw Flora, I swore his eyes flashed. But he plastered on a smile and held his arm out for me, pulling me to him.

“Hello again,” Flora beamed at him. Bright as always.

The room was the same—a fire burning to chase away the chill, the curtains drawn closed still, no breakfast, only glasses of a deep red liquid set on the table. And Veronica, sitting on one of the couches, silent as we entered. We must have been interrupting something, because papers were scattered across the table, which she cooly reached for and pushed together in one pile when she saw us.

“I hope you’ve been—oh.” Flora’s words to Vince were stilted once she realized there was one more in the room.