Page 36 of Deposed

“That’s beside the point.” I turned to the chair, took my skirt and slipped it on over my head.

Edward pulled up the zipper. “Play along with them. I’ll make them back off if you cause a fuss. It’s just taking them a little more time to forgive you.”

Irritation flared across my skin. “Even though they—”

He placed his finger on my lips. “I know… None of this would have happened if we hadn’t allowed you to take the blame for Henry’s kidnapping. And we did a lot of awful things to you before then.”

“I’m glad I’ve gotten through one of your thick heads.” I shrugged on my shirt and fastened the buttons.

Edward lay back on his bed with his hands resting behind his head and smirked. “A really good fuck can clear the mind. Blake and Henry would probably tell you the same.”

I snorted and stuffed my bra, hose, and panties into the pockets of my blazer, then slung the garment over my shoulder. “They need to adjust their attitudes.”

He sat up on the bed and blew me a kiss. “See you at breakfast.”

After slipping on my loafers, I backed out of the room and let the door click shut. The hallway was dark, and the floorboards creaked under my feet, but I continued toward the staircase.

“Miss Hobson?” whispered a voice from behind.

I whirled around to find Mr. Jenkins striding toward me in his tartan dressing gown. A pained moan reverberated in my throat. Didn’t he have a lodge like Mr. Carbuncle or somewhere else to sleep? I was in no mood to speak to him, so I shook my head and padded down the stairs. The man followed me all the way to the first floor and halfway down the hallway leading to the room I shared with Rita.

“Miss Hobson!” His voice was a whip-crack.

I turned around. “Yes, sir?”

“What were you doing in Mr. Mercia’s room?”

“The usual, I suppose.” I rubbed the back of my neck and glanced in the direction of my room.

His nostrils flared. “Must I warn you of the dangers of premarital relations?”

“I would have thought all the bullying you allow here is a bigger issue than people over the British age of consent having consensual sex.”

His face turned red. “Now, look here—”

“No, you look,” I snapped. “You can’t just grow a backbone when it suits you. Mr. Carbuncle had a girl in his lodge, and you said nothing to him about premarital relations, or is it all right when an adult male preys on little girls?”

The man’s mouth opened and closed. “I will be writing to your mother about your conduct.”

“Good luck. Tell her to respond to my texts before I give her a litter of grandkids.” I turned around and headed for my room. Mom hadn’t bothered to contact me once since I left New York. I doubted that she would chew me out for spending the night with a boy. I unlocked the door and stepped in.

Rita’s head snapped up from her bed. “Emilia?”

I shushed her. “It’s me.”

“Oh.” She relaxed back onto her pillow. “Goodnight.”

With a smile, I pulled off my clothes and slid under my cool sheets. Her alarm would probably wake her in an hour and a half.

Hours later, the sun blazed through my window, and I grabbed my smartphone. It was eight-fucking-thirty. I groaned and pulled myself out of bed. How could I have slept through all the bells? I jumped into the shower, dried myself off, slipped on a clean uniform, and grabbed my satchel. If I hurried straight to the main teaching block, I might only get two demerits for being late to my first period.

I stepped out of the room, and my gaze caught a white piece of paper at the window end of the hallway. After casting a glance toward the stairs, I walked toward it. If someone had dropped a letter, I needed to place it in their mailbox in case one of the cleaners cleared it away by accident. It was a flyer on thick card stock, printed in gold leaf:

~ Spring Party ~

Saturday 3 June

Penthouse 16, Chelsea Heights