“I’ll bring more toast, sir.” Harvey bowed his way out and shut the door behind him. Too noisily, in Christopher’s opinion.
Rats. What the hell? The world was going crazy.
Squeals resounded in the house, then heavy footsteps approached, the noise grating on his nerves. The door of the dining room was flung open, jolting Christopher.
“What now?” he barked.
Hair dishevelled and cravat askew, Benedict stormed inside. His lips were swollen, and his collar showed red spots that looked suspiciously like the rouge women applied on their lips. “Good Lord. I need coffee.” He snatched the pot and helped himself.
Christopher groaned. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought you left.”
“I didn’t. Obviously. Or at least, I did, but I came back last night. Sneaked inside, actually.” He slumped on a chair and gulped down a long sip. “I stayed with Julia.”
“Benedict!” The disaster was complete. Amelia had fled, Julia had been compromised while under his care, and the rats in London had become wild. What would happen next? Would locusts invade Great Britain?
“But that’s not the reason I’m here.” Benedict shot him a glare from the rim of his cup.
“Did he tell you?” Dorian strode inside, his boots pounding on the floor.
Sod them all. Everyone was doing their best to be noisy that bloody, cursed morning.
Cowasj followed, his lips set into a firm line.
Fan-bloody-tastic. Couldn’t a man sip his coffee with only his dark thoughts as company? Christopher grunted, and he didn’t care if he was being rude. Sod. Them. All.
“I didn’t have the time to tell him anything. I was about to!” Benedict said.
“We must leave at once.” Cowasj propped his knuckles on the table, dark eyes flashing.
Unbidden, sheer anger flared up inside Christopher. He was sick and tired of . . . people. All of them. He wanted to be alone with his pain and his ache for his lost love. That was the only way he could cope with the agony. He was like a phoenix. He needed to burn completely, to be born again from the ashes.
He shot to his feet and thumped a fist on the table. “Enough!” His voice thundered in the room, and the cups rattled on their saucers. “I don’t have the time or the inclination to suffer your mindless chatter. Leave me alone. Now!”
Silence dropped like a theatre curtain. Benedict froze with his cup half lifted, disapproval etching his features.
“You must listen!” Cowasj pounded a fist on the table in turn. The commanding tone shut Christopher up.
Dorian scowled. “Amelia isn’t Amelia. She’s Pearl. Pearl Blackmoore-Smith. That’s what we were trying to tell you.”
“I can confirm it.” Benedict nodded. “You never met Amelia Ollerton.”
The world didn’t make any sense. The story of the rats invading Mrs Armstrong’s house was more believable than the one about Amelia being Pearl.
For the second time in less than an hour, he wondered if he was the last sane person in the whole world. And the anger didn’t fade.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he gritted out.
“As you know,” Benedict said, seemingly unperturbed by Christopher’s mood, “I spent the night here, but since I was officially not here, I hid in Julia’s room. Well, anyway, when the ruckus about Mrs Armstrong’s apartment started, I sneaked out of Julia’s room to go to the bathroom and—”
“Benedict!” Christopher yelled at the same time that Dorian said, “Speak quickly!”
“Fine!” Benedict glowered. “I took a peek at Mrs Armstrong’s room, mostly because I was searching for something I could use against her in case she ruined me.”
“Ben!” Dorian’s tone was shocked.
Benedict waved. “I know, despicable, but I was curious. Anyway, I found a pile of messages she exchanged with someone in London. It turned out she suspected Amelia wasn’t who she said she was. The real Amelia has been in London all along, and the woman who we know as Amelia is, in truth, Pearl.”
“I’m sure Pearl left because Mrs Armstrong told her to go,” Dorian said. “Likely, Mrs Armstrong blackmailed her.”
