A Lesson in Thorns (Thornchapel #1)(17)

“Totally all right,” I lie. But it shouldn’t be a lie. Or should it?

I want to hit myself in the face with Estamond’s ledgers. This is exactly what I’d wanted to avoid when I came to Thornchapel. This exact situation.

Becket sets down the tea things in the middle of the room, presumably to help me, but Rebecca is already on her way over. “Do you want to hand those to me?”

“Yes, please,” I say gratefully, twisting enough to pass them down, and then I hear her suck in a breath. I crane my neck to see what she’s reacting to, but it’s not necessary. At that same instant, I feel her finger trace a line over the marks on my thigh.

Oh, holy fuck. The marks.

Rebecca’s face is thoughtful. “This looks like a cane.”

I don’t answer. I can’t. I hadn’t planned on ever revealing this part of myself here, and while I’m not ashamed, I have no rehearsed lines and clear explanations to pull out of my brain. My brain is blank.

“And a paddle too.”

She pokes a bruise, and I gasp, nearly dropping the books.

“Give those to me before you fall.”

Disoriented and not a little panicked, I obey immediately, and this sends a small smirk curling at her mouth. “Well, well, well,” she says, taking the books. “Proserpina Markham is a little sub girl. Who would have guessed?”

“I don’t—” I look over at Becket, who’s turned back to the tea and is currently pouring Delphine a cup. They can’t hear us. “I can’t—”

“You don’t have to justify anything. Not to me,” she says. There’s a world of understanding in her deep umber gaze.

“You too?” I whisper.

“I’m the one who gives little submissive girls what they’re looking for. Stay there one moment.” She sets the books carefully on the closest table, and then angles her body so I can climb down the ladder without exposing my marks any further. Which is only half a relief because she still knows they’re there.

And—oh God—Auden.

Auden knows they’re there. That’s what he saw, that’s what sent him fleeing from the room like he was being chased. And as I step off the ladder and smooth my skirt down my legs, something obvious becomes clear to me: Auden knows what these marks are.

He knows what they mean.

If he’d thought I’d fallen or that I was being abused, he would have said something, asked after my welfare. But instead he’d gone rigid and silent and then left.

Was he aroused? Disgusted? Both?

He’s your employer, Poe, however much it doesn’t feel that way. You need to explain.

“Have some tea!” Delphine chirps from beside the fireplace.

“I, um . . . yes, I’ll have some tea in just a minute. Where’s the nearest bathroom?”

“You’ll have to go upstairs,” Rebecca says, her eyes on my face. I get the feeling she knows I’m lying, but I also get the feeling she’s not going to press me on it. Yet. “Up the back stairwell and take a right.”

“Thank you,” I say and go to find Auden.





Chapter 5





I expect to have to search the house for Auden. I assume I’ll have to tramp over the barely unfrozen grass across the gardens to find him.

But no. I walk down the narrow corridor connecting the east wing of the house to the main hall and there’s Sir James Frazer whining at the doorway—whining at Auden actually, who’s just outside the threshold talking with someone. The huge double doors are propped open by buckets of paint, and when I step all the way into the hall, I can see that he’s talking with one of the workers.

St. Sebastian.

Both of them are squared off to each other, and St. Sebastian’s arms are crossed while Auden’s hands stay by his sides. Only the occasional flex of his fingers betrays the depth of his agitation—his voice is low and calm, although whatever he’s saying has St. Sebastian’s mouth going tight, his plush lower lip flattening under his lip piercing.

This is none of your business.

It feels like it is, though. I need to talk to Auden, I already planned on finding St. Sebastian again. And I can’t repress my librarian-ish need for more information, just to know why. Why do they dislike each other so much? What’s happened in the years I’ve been gone to curdle their boyish affection into this hatred?

I step closer, but I don’t announce myself yet, and they don’t notice me, caught up as they are in their conversation.

“I never would have allowed you back into this house,” Auden’s saying. His hands twitch again. “You know that.”

“My uncle needed the extra help today.” The rain is only halfheartedly dribbling down now, barely enough to take notice of, but still enough that St. Sebastian has to keep shaking it free of his so-long-it’s-unholy eyelashes. “I wasn’t going to leave him hanging just because the job site belongs to an asshole.”

“Is it for the money? I’ll pay you whatever he’s paying you for you to go away.”

“It’s not about money,” St. Sebastian seethes. “I’m doing just fine, fuck you very much for asking, and I’m only here as a favor.”

“It’s always about the money with you,” Auden replies coldly. “One way or another.”