The Beautiful (The Beautiful #1)(36)

He bent toward her right ear. “Sit down,” he directed her, “before you embarrass yourself any further.”

Outrage flared through Celine’s body, hot and cold all at once. “How dare—”

The young detective turned his back on her before she could finish admonishing him. That time she could not ignore the chortle that escaped Nigel’s bearded mouth, nor the look of puckish glee Arjun passed her way. Celine dared not glance at Bastien, though she desperately wished to glower at the figure standing nearby in silence, taking up too much confounded space.

Bastien had come to Pippa’s defense. Why had he done nothing to help Celine?

The very next instant—as if she’d heard Celine’s unspoken plea—Pippa shot to her feet in a rustle of voile. “Detective Grimaldi, I would kindly ask that you not forget there are ladies present.” Her voice shook on the last word, but her fists curled against her sides. “Furthermore, I would also request that you make your inquiries in an expeditious manner. We’ve been waiting here for quite some time and are likely to incur the wrath of the Mother Superior at the Ursuline convent.”

Detective Grimaldi pivoted on his heel. “You reside at the convent?” He looked to Celine first for an answer. She held her tongue, refusing to reply, humiliation still rippling through her veins.

“Yes,” Pippa answered, moving closer to Celine in solidarity. “We do.” She inhaled through her nose. “So does”—she swallowed—“so did Anabel.”

“Anabel?” He cast Pippa a searching glance.

“The young woman who perished tonight,” Celine offered in a quiet tone.

Michael Grimaldi stared at her for a breath before nodding. “Then you knew this poor girl?”

Celine balled her fists, her nails digging into her palms. “Yes. She is one of us. One of seven girls who recently took up residence at the convent. Her name is Anabel—” She turned to Pippa.

“Stewart,” Pippa said, her voice cracking. “Anabel Stewart, from Edinburgh.”

“I see,” the detective mused. “Did Miss Stewart accompany you here tonight?”

Pippa eyed Celine sidelong. “Well—”

“We didn’t know she followed us,” Celine said, her words filled with resignation. Now that Pippa had disclosed their associations, it was better they reveal everything at once, rather than prolong the matter by forcing him to wring from them every last drop of information.

Though Celine would not have been unhappy to watch him struggle.

Another bout of shame clawed up her throat. How could she be pleased to thwart the young detective charged with bringing about justice for Anabel? After all, Celine was partly to blame for what had happened tonight.

The moment she’d pondered earlier—the moment in which she’d realized she was making the wrong choice—crushed her with its finality. Even then, she’d known she would regret her actions, though she never could have conceived of such a terrible outcome. Celine despised feeling this way. Like a cog in a wheel, powerless to her fate.

Better to be anything else.

To be a ghost in the night, commanding those around her without words.

In that instant, Celine thought she had an inkling of what it must be like to be a monster. To commit monstrous deeds. To wish for monstrous things to come about.

To revel in the dark.

“Miss?” Detective Grimaldi said loudly, as if he’d tried to catch Celine’s attention several times already.

She shook her head, forcing her raging thoughts to quiet.

“Celine?” Pippa whispered beside her. “The detective asked you a question.” She reached for Celine’s hand and squeezed it, their wordless affirmation that each of them was not alone, no matter what happened. More than ever before, it strengthened them both.

Detective Grimaldi studied Celine, his pale, almost colorless eyes unnerving in their focus. “Do you know why Miss Stewart followed you here without your knowledge?”

“I am not privy to anyone’s real thoughts but my own, Detective Grimaldi.”

“True.” He paused. “But perhaps”—he shifted closer, bearing down on Celine with his impressive height—“you would indulge me for just a moment.”

Incredulity settled across Celine’s features. The brashness of this boy, to make requests of her after humiliating her so publicly! “Of course, Detective Grimaldi,” she said through clenched teeth. “I would be happy to oblige you.”

“Charming,” he pronounced in a flat tone. The next breath, his expression grew stern. He stood even taller, an unspoken threat emanating from his broad chest. “I must insist you answer my questions honestly, without further delay, or I will be forced to use the full breadth of my office to—”

“That’s enough, Michael.” Bastien’s words were a dangerous whisper.

Finally, Celine seethed to herself. Lucifer had finally seen fit to extend his magnanimity her way.

Bastien shouldered past Celine, stepping before Michael Grimaldi, standing much too close for comfort, matching him toe to toe.

Detective Grimaldi eased back. A dark satisfaction coiled in Celine’s chest. How she longed for the ability to frighten someone with nothing more than her presence. To live in Bastien’s skin for just an hour. To know what it felt like to have that kind of power.