“Little country girl,” he said. “I should’ve known from the beginning you’d try to use Sophie to your advantage.”
I couldn’t speak. I stood between him and Sophie, desperately looking around for a fireplace poker or vase—anything that could serve as a weapon. But he didn’t seem interested in attacking me.
“You aspire to too much, girl,” he said. He almost sounded calm, conversational. “There are consequences for those who cross me.”
With that, he turned, heading for the door.
Sophie folded to her knees, her crimson gown spreading out around her. Her hair had been shaken loose, and it fell around her shoulders, tumbling down her back.
“Are you all right? Should we get help?”
Without speaking, she shook her head.
“Are you sure?”
“He’s gone.” She choked and started coughing. She pulledaway from me as the hacking sounds racked her body. Impulsively, I took her hand and then released it, startled. It was freezing cold, as chilled as the body of a corpse.
When her coughs slowed and became smaller hiccups, I asked, “What was that, Sophie? Who is he to you?”
“He’s my benefactor.” She straightened up and wiped her eyes. Even though her shoulders shook a little, she started adjusting her dress and hair. Bit by bit, she put herself back together.
“Your benefactor?”
“When my parents died, their will appointed him as my guardian until I come of age. I lived with him until I got into the Fashion House.”
“He seems... volatile.”To put it lightly.
“Yes.” She rose gracefully to her feet, brushing off her skirts. “Now, don’t we need to meet Cynthia in the gazebo?”
I didn’t know what to say. Moments ago she’d been choked by a man three times her size. Now she was talking as though nothing had happened.
“Do calm down, Emmaline.” She let out a small laugh, even though coughs still shook her frame and her hands trembled. She must have read the uncertainty in my face. “Don’t worry about Alexander. I know my way around him.”
This sounded preposterous when I looked at the five finger marks on her white neck. In the dark light of the room, they loomed shadowy on her skin.
“You’re certain you don’t need more time to rest?” I wavered, and then asked, “You’re certain Mr. Taylor won’t complicate things? He’s a member of Parliament!”
“As I said, I know my way around him.” She pulled a small bottle of perfume out of her pocket and sprayed it onto herself. It sparkled on her chest, beading like dew or raindrops. Reaching down to her hem, she tore a narrow, long piece of tulle from its bottom. She wrapped it around her neck, tying it off in a dramatic bow that covered Mr. Taylor’s marks and lay across the thin bones of her chest.
“Very well,” I said, reaching for my clutch. It seemed like we were preparing for a leisurely stroll, as though the terrifying events from just moments before hadn’t happened.
But even as we walked back to the hallway, the terror from earlier came with me, wove through me like thread being pulled through satin. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get free of it.
Chapter Fifteen
IWAS GRATEFUL WHEN WEstepped back into the ballroom. The jarring sounds and bright lights of the gala filled my senses, overcoming my ability to think.
When I’d moved around the ballroom earlier, I’d stayed to its sides, but Sophie crossed right through its center, stepping around the couples dancing and the people gathered in conversation. I followed in her wake. Eyes trailed her as she moved. Her gait fell into a saunter, as though she knew she commanded the room, even though she kept her head erect and her gaze fixed straight ahead.
When we reached the two French doors that led out to the patio, I rubbed the foggy glass, clearing a patch to see out. I assumed the gazebo would be empty. Even without the protestors, it was doubtful that Cynthia would come. But as I squinted at the outline of the gazebo, I saw something move. Someone was there. My heart jumped excitedly at the sight and I smiled. It was nice to finally feel something other than stress or fear or guilt.
I stepped outside, Sophie close behind me. The atrium’sbeautiful, controlled environment vanished as cold air and wind pulled at my hair and skirts, tugging them into disarray. Raindrops stung my cheeks, and goose bumps raced up and down my arms and legs.
Bending down, I gathered my skirts high above my ankles with one hand. There were so many layers to my gown that it took me a few tries to grab all of it. With the other hand, I shielded my hair with my clutch. Mud sucked away at my heels, pulling me down.
Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw the windows of Charwell Palace lit with warm light, silhouetting the people dancing inside. That was where I should be. Not out in the rain, trying to find a client I didn’t know and wasn’t supposed to be meeting in the first place.
That was the problem with my scheme. I couldn’t tell if I was getting closer to or farther from my dreams.
