Revenge and the Wild(52)

Westie hung her head, wondering how she would get herself out of the mess she was in.

He surprised her again by saying, “I know your game.” She braced herself to look at him. “You thought you would try to get close to James, but you know the fortune will soon be in my hands after we invest in Nigel’s machine. That’s why you turned on your own friend, to seek my notice.”

He didn’t know the game after all. She felt more confident when she met his eyes.

“I won’t deny that I have bigger goals in mind than James.” She smiled sweetly.

His smile was less sweet. “I like a girl with ambition.”

She gave him a flirty poke to the chest. “Then you will love me.”





Twenty-Five


After getting through her dance with Cain, Westie was confident she could handle his father. She fished the key from her bodice and clutched it in her hand as she made her way to the Fairfields’ table, where Hubbard and Lavina sipped glasses of wine.

“Lavina, I’m so grateful you could make it to my party,” she said with a practiced smile. Lavina stiffened when Westie bent to hug her. Westie took the opportunity to slip the key back into Lavina’s handbag.

Once released from their embrace, Lavina relaxed and looked genuinely happy about the interaction. She wore a gorgeous blue gown with a floral bustle so large it practically required its own chair.

“It’s we who should be grateful. I’m surprised you would even want us here after the way the boys behaved in the general store,” Lavina said.

Westie shrugged. “Boys will be boys.”

Lavina chuckled at that and seemed to relax.

“I believe it’s time for me to steal your husband away for our dance.”

Lavina looked at Hubbard, then back at Westie, shedding some of the cheerfulness she’d been putting on, replacing it with confusion. “You want to dance with Hubbard?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

Westie was sure Lavina knew exactly who she was, but if Lavina thought Westie didn’t remember them, she might let her guard down over time. What better way to feign cluelessness than to dance with the man who’d cut off her arm?

Trying not to quiver, Westie took Hubbard by the hand and led him to the dance floor. He was not as copper-shy as his son and was a fair dancer. What she first thought were pockmarks on his face looked to be scars upon closer inspection, like something—or someone—had gouged at his skin with their nails.

“So,” Westie said. She was getting much better at her forced smiles. “You’re a lovely dancer. What a relief. After dancing with Nigel, I’m lucky to still have use of my feet.”

Grunting in reply and leaning back, Hubbard seemed to want to dance with her as much as she wanted to with him.

He had a permanent scowl that dug lines into the corners of his mouth. Thick brows grew together in the middle, making it difficult to see the deep-set hazel eyes lurking beneath. Seeing his eyes up close again was like looking through a filthy window into her past. They reminded her of being in the cabin, her breath in her ears, his heavy footsteps behind her as she ran. Candles shed just enough light for her to see the clothes, blood, and bones of her traveling companions behind the butcher block when she ran into the kitchen. And then she turned, seeing those eyes, the look of absolute indifference, as if killing her would be no different from shooting a wild rabbit for their supper. Then she remembered the screaming.

“Westie!”

Someone shouting her name pulled her from her memories. She looked down, confused at first as she saw Hubbard on the ground, his hand crushed between her metal fingers.

“Westie, let him go!” Nigel shouted.

The music had stopped. Everyone watched her.

Dropping his hand, she jumped back. “Oh God,” she breathed.

Lavina and her children rushed to Hubbard’s side, their accusing eyes reaching out to her.

“What have you done?” Nigel said, more to himself than to her.

“I’m sorry,” Westie pleaded, afraid she’d blown her plan and any chance she might have had at learning their secrets. “It’s this damned machine. I—I—can’t always control it.”

Hubbard had a voice like a coffee grinder. “I’m all right,” he said, letting Nigel haul him to his feet with his good hand. He tested his fingers to make sure they still worked, pain twisting his lips. After some stretching, they seemed to be fine.

Westie was shocked to see his smile, sharp as a scythe. It started at his lips and stretched until reaching his eyes. “If Emma works near as good as that mechanical arm does, then you best believe you have my investment.”

He began to laugh, exposing chipped yellow teeth. The sound reached across the room to the dark corner where the antisocial vamps were sipping flutes of blood. Costin looked at her with a raised brow.

Nigel forced a smile, sweat dribbling down his temple. “Wonderful.” He turned to Westie and gave her a we’ll talk about this later look before walking away.

After the party, Westie knocked on Alistair’s bedroom door but didn’t wait for an invite before barging in.

“Did you get the mold?” she said.

He sat on his bed, his clothes wrinkled, holding up a piece of dried clay with the impression of a key stamped into the middle of it.