The Knight (Endgame #2)(48)

I helped throw a hundred balls in the house, the hostess on behalf of my father. We had party planners and caterers, florists and valets, but I was the one who welcomed guests to our home. I always loved seeing the house lit by chandeliers, sparkling and brimming with champagne. It made me feel closer to my mother, knowing she would have done the same thing if she had been alive.

Except I know she left. She wore a beautiful dress and glittering rubies so that she could leave us behind. Even if she was afraid of my father, why would she leave me?

Now I arrive on the other side, in a dark limo gliding down the long drive. Someone has done extensive work on the house, trimming the bushes and restoring the front. No sign that it was vandalized only a week before. Yellow light glows from the windows, reflected in Gabriel’s cold regard.

“We don’t have to go in,” Gabriel says softly.

He doesn’t want us to be here when the truth is revealed. Because he thinks it will protect me? I’m already shattered in a thousand pieces, knowing that I was left behind. Unprotected.

A pawn in my own family.

The tinted window reflects my face back to me—the dark lips and upswept hair, rubies shining around my neck. “Whoever did this has been tormenting me for years, before I even knew he existed. I need to know, Gabriel.”

It’s with my chin held high, my hand wrapped around Gabriel’s arm, that I enter my house for the last time. There’s no hostess to greet us, but the house is packed. People spill out from every room. Most of the furniture is still gone, but large rugs and credenzas make the space feel intentional. Men in tuxedos hold silver platters piled with caviar on little spoons.

We continue to the ballroom, where the walls have been redone in a deep gold damask.

A string quartet plays near the parquet floor, a few couples dancing. Behind them is the largest fireplace in the house, almost as tall as a person, flames dancing along with the people. My mother had loved that it warded away the chill in the huge room.

I recognize many faces. Most have been to the house before. Do they know why they’re here tonight? Judging by the way everyone glances at me and whispers, they probably do know. And many of them have seen the naked pictures.

My cheeks flush.

“They can’t touch you,” Gabriel says.

“It feels like they can,” I whisper. “Like they’re looking right through my clothes.”

His gaze darkens. “Those pictures aren’t you. They’re a bloody knife. Fingerprints on a window. Evidence of a crime. And anyone who delights in that can go fuck themselves.”

I can’t help a small, grateful laugh. “I like fighting at your side.”

“Good, because I play to win.”

My breath catches. We both know this is the last day, the final night bought and paid for at auction. What will happen after this? It’s as much a question as who the culprit is.

From across the room I see Nina Thomas holding court from a chair, Charlotte hovering at her side with a glass of water. Nina doesn’t look pleased to see me, her gaze decidedly cold.

Does she think I’m in danger? Or does she not want me to find out the truth?

I don’t want to believe that she could have done anything to harm my mother. She loved her, in more ways than just a friend. But as Gabriel pointed out, love could make men do terrible things. Women, too. She might have been jealous that my mother got married.

Uncle Landon is here, looking more determined than when I met him at his office. He exchanges a look with me only briefly before turning back toward a man at the center.

His true rival. Not my father like I’d thought.

Jonathan Scott has the same dark eyes as his son, hair shot through with gray. While Damon has an air of good humor, even when he’s doing something dark like auctioning a virgin, his father looks hardened by life. Was he that way when my mother fell in love with him? Or did he become that way after her death?

He speaks to a small group of men, their tones hushed, gazes suspicious. And oh God, Justin is with him. Is that who he’s talking to about fundraising in Tanglewood? He glances over at me and Gabriel but doesn’t break from his conversation.

“My father isn’t here,” I say, relieved.

I haven’t gone to visit him since I returned to Gabriel’s house. Maybe I could have used the remainder of the thirty days as an excuse, but the truth was that I didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want to hear him say any more criticisms of my mother, didn’t want to face him with suspicion in my eyes. I don’t think he can be the man who took naked pictures of me—but the possibility alone makes my heart careen in my chest, wild and unhinged.

Gabriel snags a glass of champagne from a passing tray. “The night isn’t over yet. Have a drink. It will help your nerves.”

“What nerves?” I ask with an uneven laugh.

It’s a joke because I must look like the picture of anxiety. Not only to find out who scared my mother, who maybe murdered her, but also to face society for the first time since my auction. Most of the men who attended are here tonight. And everyone else surely knows why I’m with Gabriel Miller tonight.

Of course he looks stunning, the picture of masculine elegance and power. Not a hint of worry surrounds him. His tux conforms to his muscled body, emphasizing the breadth of his chest, the taper at his hips. At least a few of the looks coming our way are appreciative of him.