The Governess (Wicked Wallflowers, #3)(75)

Reggie stared at the young woman, unable . . . unwilling to look away from the tangible suffering until the carriage carried her away.

That had been her.

And that will be me again. There could be no doubt that if she were to stand in the way of Lord Oliver, he would exact retribution. The threat he’d made last evening hadn’t been an empty one.

Reggie warred with herself. He’d promised her money so she could finally be free. So that she’d never have to look over her shoulder in fear that he’d be there.

And yet, having him step back into her life, she confronted the truth: he would always be there—from the haunted memories she’d always carry to the absence of the family she’d once loved and then lost because of her sins.

He would always have a hold over her . . . but she would have her hold over herself be stronger.

Even as it meant he would destroy her. It was an inevitability. A certainty. The Duke of Glastonbury would never calmly accept being thwarted by a village girl whose virtue he’d taken.

And then Broderick would know.

Nausea roiled in her belly.

Her past would no longer be a shameful secret that belonged solely to her and the duke who’d ruined her. She squeezed her eyes shut. He’d destroyed her life. She’d not allow him to do the same to Gertrude.

The carriage drew to a stop a short while later. Collecting her books, Reggie took assistance this time when Nerrie held a hand up.

With a murmured word of thanks, Reggie accepted her things and hurried along the pavement.

She was greeted in the foyer by a smirking Stephen. “Spark.”

Reggie stopped abruptly. Why wasn’t he in his lesson? That incongruity, a warning, tripped along her spine. There was no place for incongruities in life. They only ever spoke calamity. It was an age-old lesson of the Dials.

Looping his thumbs inside the waistband of his trousers, Stephen sauntered over with a cocksure arrogance surely inherent in any noble child’s blood.

That dread strengthened, sending warning bells clamoring at the back of her mind. “What is it?” she asked without preamble. Ignoring the servant who came forward to gather her cloak, she took a step closer to the miserable cur.

“Gertrude found herself a suitor,” he announced with a smirk.

She rocked back on her heels. Her heart picked up its beat. “She did?”

Stephen narrowed his eyes. “Did you think she wouldn’t?”

“No,” she exclaimed. “Of course I did.” Just not one worthy of her, and there never would be. Relief coursed through her, and along with it . . . something else—hope. The duke had given Reggie a week to come ’round to encouraging his suit, and she’d been so consumed by the initial terror that she’d not considered there was another way out—for Gertrude and herself. She shrugged quickly out of her cloak. “Who is he?”

“A duke.”

Chills scraped her spine. “A . . .”

“Duke.” Stephen preened. “Glaston-something—”

“Glastonbury,” she whispered. A dull buzzing filled her ears, drowning out Stephen’s voice.

“Spark? You listening to me?” Stephen asked, a faint and unexpected worry there.

She snapped to. She didn’t have time to stand here and debate the belligerent child. “Where are they?”

“He’s in Broderick’s office. Gert ain’t back yet.”

Oh, God. Panic threatened to choke her. “If she returns, be sure that she goes to her rooms and stays there.” Reggie started forward.

“Spark?”

Reggie paused, glancing back.

Stephen flashed a lopsided grin. “Broderick isn’t going to be happy that you’ve been running about seeing to your own business.” He hung a fake noose about his neck and rolled his eyes sideways.

Muttering under her breath, Reggie resumed a path down the hall—albeit a quicker one for Broderick’s office.

A suitor.

Lord Landon. He was tenacious in his determination to link himself to the Killoran family. First he’d courted Cleo and then Ophelia, and now Gertrude. How odd that he should now be the safer, best option for the young lady.

She staggered into Broderick’s office and stopped.

By all intents and purposes, with the hothouse flowers in his hand, the gentleman seated in the winged leather chair before Broderick’s desk may as well have been any proper lord courting a proper miss. But he was not just any gentleman. He was not any man. He was a devil with a soul blacker than Satan’s, and Reggie well knew the evil that coursed through his veins.

“Hello, Miss Spark,” he greeted with a cold smile. “What a pleasure it is to meet again.”





Chapter 20

Retribution will belong to me, and no marriage your sister might make will save your worthless soul.

As Broderick entered through the front doors, Stephen sprinted over with such force he knocked into Broderick.

He caught the boy by his shoulders.

“I think there’s trouble,” Stephen panted.

Shrugging out of his cloak, Broderick tossed the garment over to a servant. Just once, he wanted to know a damned sliver of peace where doom wasn’t around the corner waiting to upend his existence. He ordered the servants gone and turned to his brother. “What is it?”