Then Came You (The Gamblers #1)(29)

“What sort of prank was it?” Alex asked, looking from Dr. Thornwait to Henry.

Thornwait was the one to answer. “He blew up the front door of my home,” he said sternly.

Alex stared at his brother. “You did what?”

Henry had the grace to look away guiltily. “Gunpowder,” he confessed.

“The explosion might have caused serious injury to me,” Thornwait said, his spidery brows drawing low over his eyes, “or to my housekeeper.”

“Why?” Alex asked in bewilderment. “Henry, this isn’t like you.”

“On the contrary,” Dr. Thornwait remarked. “It is typical of him. Henry is a boy of rebellious spirit—resentful of authority, unable to accept discipline in any form—”

“Bugger you if I ain’t!” Henry shot back, glaring at the headmaster. “I took all you had to give and more!”

Thornwait regarded Alex with a you see? expression.

Gently Alex took the boy by his shoulders. “Look at me. Why did you blow up his door?”

Henry remained obstinately silent. Thornwait began to answer for him. “Henry is the kind of boy who doesn—”

“I’ve heard your opinion,” Alex interrupted, giving the headmaster a freezing glance that silenced him immediately. He looked back at his brother, his gaze softening. “Henry, explain it to me.”

“It don’t matter,” Henry mumbled.

“Tell me why you did it,” Alex said in a warning tone. “Now.”

Henry glared at him as he answered reluctantly. “It was the flogging.”

“You were flogged?” Alex frowned. “For what reason?”

“Any reason you could think of!” A flush came over Henry’s face. “With a birch, a rod…they do it all the time, Alex!” He threw a mutinous glance over his shoulder at Thornwait. “One time I was a minute late for breakfast, once I dropped my books in front of the English master, once my neck wasn’t clean enough…I’ve been thrashed near three times a week for months, an’ I’m damn sick of it!”

“I mete out the same punishment to other boys with similar rebelliousness,” Thornwait said crisply.

Alex kept his face expressionless, but inside he was roiling with fury. “Show me,” he said to Henry, his voice clipped.

Henry shook his head, his face reddening even more. “Alex—”

“Show me,” Alex insisted.

Looking from his brother to the headmaster, Henry sighed heavily. “Why not? Thornwait’s seen it enough by now.” He turned, reluctantly removed his jacket, fumbled at his waist, and dropped his britches a few inches.

Alex stopped breathing as he saw what they had done to his brother. Henry’s lower back and bu**ocks were a mass of welts, scabs, and bruises. Such treatment would not be considered usual or necessary by anyone, not even the strictest disciplinarian. The floggings had not been done for the sake of discipline—they had been done by a man who got perverse pleasure from inflicting pain on others. The thought that this had been done to someone he loved…Trying to control his rage, Alex raised a shaking hand to his jaw and rubbed it roughly. He dared not look at Thornwait, or he’d kill the bastard. Henry jerked up his britches and turned back to face him. His blue eyes widened as he saw Alex’s cold eyes and rapidly twitching cheek.

“It was entirely justified,” Dr. Thornwait said in a self-righteous tone. “Flogging is a normal part of the Westfield tradition—”

“Henry,” Alex interrupted unsteadily. “Henry, did they do anything to you besides the flogging? Did they hurt you in any other way?”

Henry looked at him in confusion. “No. What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” Alex motioned to the door with a jerk of his head. “Go outside,” he said quietly. “I’ll be right there.”

Henry obeyed slowly, glancing back with unconcealed curiosity.

As soon as the door closed, Alex strode to Dr. Thornwait, who instinctively backed away.

“Lord Raiford, flogging is an accepted method of teaching the boys—”

“I don’t accept it!” Roughly Alex seized him and shoved him back against the wall.

“I’ll have you arrested,” the headmaster gasped. “You can’t—”

“Can’t what? Kill you as I’d like to? Perhaps not. I can come damn close to it, though.” Gripping his collar, Alex held him up until Thornwait’s toes barely grazed the floor. He relished the faint choking sound coming from the headmaster’s scrawny throat. Thornwait’s blurring vision was filled with Alex’s steely eyes and snarling white teeth. “I know what kind of perverted bastard you are,” Alex sneered. “Taking out your frustrations on boys. It satisfies you to whip some poor lad across the backside until you draw blood. You’re not fit to be called a man. I’ll bet you enjoy the hell out of beating my brother and the other innocents in your care!”

“D…discipline…” Thornwait managed to gasp painfully.

“If any permanent damage results from your so-called discipline, or if Henry reveals that you’ve abused him in other ways, you’d better flee before I can get my hands on you.” Alex gripped Thornwait’s throat then, pressing inward as if he were molding clay. The man writhed and gurgled in terror. Alex waited until the headmaster’s face turned gray. “Or I’ll have your head stuffed and mounted on Henry’s bedroom wall,” he growled. “As a memento of his days at Westfield. I think he’d like that.” He let go of Thornwait suddenly, allowing him to collapse to the floor. The headmaster choked and wheezed. Wiping his hands on his coat in distaste, Alex opened the office door with such force that it slammed against the wall and the bolt fell from one of the hinges.