Page 8 of Deposed

“Why?”

A burst of fury seared through all traces of guilt, and my head snapped up. “After you took me back, none of you wanted to clear my name for the kidnapping. I don’t care that juvenile records get expunged. You set me up for something that could have gotten me imprisoned for years and didn’t have the decency to set things right.”

His brows drew together. Before he could speak, I blurted, “Sex doesn’t count, otherwise you wouldn’t be so hurt about what I did to you.”

“You didn’t hurt me.” He sniffed.

“Do you need more reasons? Nearly blinding me with doctored shampoo, getting me kicked repeatedly by Charlotte Underwood, leaving me in a field in the middle of the night, two counts of false imprisonment… Do I need to continue?”

“No,” he said through clenched teeth. “But I told you why I did what I did.”

A frustrated breath huffed out of my nostrils. “I get it. Hurting and controlling others made you feel better about your shitty life, but people fight back, and you shouldn’t complain when it hurts.”

“Why did you return?” he growled.

I’d be damned if I told him I had nowhere else to go. “Because you asked. Repeatedly.”

His cold gaze flickered up and down my body then lingered on my breasts. “Blake and Henry are waiting for you in my study. If you think I’m angry, wait until you see them.”

Chapter 4

We remained silent for the rest of the journey. There wasn’t much point in discussing why Henry and Blake were angry. Edward had told them I had either leaked information to the press or had been involved in the coercion of Mr. Frost and Mr. Carbuncle, the two people known to have collaborated with the Saturday Correspondent.

The limo stopped at the front of Elder House, its gardens a deceptively peaceful display of pink and white blossoms. Bile rose to the back of my throat as my mind dredged up what would wait for me inside. Another gauntlet, a baying mob, or a group of everyone who had been hurt by the articles in the Saturday Correspondent.

The driver opened the door, and my heart thudded. I stole a glance at Edward, who wouldn’t look at me, and I prayed to whoever was listening that things wouldn’t get out of control.

Edward stepped out first and turned to offer his hand. It was as though he knew I would need help walking. I stared into eyes that bored into mine with such intensity, I forgot about impending punishments and became locked in his gaze. They were a storm of clouds reflecting on the surface of the ocean, threatening to drown me in their depths. But he blinked and broke the illusion.

“Come,” he said, in a voice so resonant, so commanding, I placed my clammy hand in his.

The touch sent tiny tremors running down every bone in my body. Edward stared down at my hand and creased his brows. The expression was so fleeting, it might have come from my fevered imagination. He helped me out of the limo, and we walked hand-in-hand across the gravel courtyard. Stones crunched underfoot, the sound making my insides writhe with discomfort.

If I endured the ordeal waiting for me beyond the doors, would the boys forgive me, or would they resume the campaign of bullying they had started in my first term?

We stepped through the double doors, through the reception hall beyond, where students bustled through the hallways and up and down the stairs, oblivious to our presence. My breathing shallowed, and I blinked several times.

“What’s happening?” I whispered.

Edward glared at me through the corner of his eye. “If you were expecting a welcoming party, then you think less of me than I’d originally feared.”

His words stung as hard as a slap. Edward was acting as though the triumvirate hadn’t brought any of the public humiliation they’d suffered onto themselves. I stopped walking and placed my hands on my hips. “Perhaps if you three had explained your actions, I might not have taken things too far.”

“What?” Edward turned around, fixing me with a dark stare.

I clenched my fists and glowered straight into his eyes. Students in the hallways rushed past, too busy with beginning of term greetings to notice us. Still, I kept my voice to a low hiss. “You were too busy protecting your precious Mr. Frost. I had to learn that he framed me from the Correspondent, and by then, I’d already set everything in motion.”

Edward didn’t reply, but his eyes softened. Perhaps he was beginning to see the situation from my point of view.

The anger roiling in my gut cooled and faded into the background. Without meaning to, I stepped closer to him and said, “I shouldn’t have taken things so far, but can you blame me?”

His face tightened, and he continued down the hallway, leaving me trailing behind, staring at his broad back. I swallowed. Edward seemed conflicted about me. He’d had the entire Easter break with Henry and Blake to work himself into a frenzy about how I’d unjustifiably betrayed the triumvirate, but it had taken a few words for his resolve to waver.

I sucked in a deep breath and wrapped my arms around my middle. Was it too optimistic to expect the other members of the triumvirate to listen to reason?

Edward paused at the door of his study and gave me the tightest of smiles. “Let’s wait until the others are present before making excuses, shall we?”

My stomach hardened with dread. So much for my wishful thinking.