Page 14 of Outcast

She grinned. “Of course.”

“You seem very confident about your abilities.” I set out the pieces on the board. “We’ll see who emerges the victor.”

“Yelverton,” snapped a male voice.

I glanced up to find Edward striding toward us, flanked by Blake and Charlotte. His cold, blue eyes blazed, and memories of last night’s dream rose to the surface, causing the pulse between my legs to pound. Hot humiliation rose to my cheeks, and I bit down hard on my bottom lip. This wasn’t right. I should be disgusted by him, not excited. I couldn’t let them see my reaction—any of it. I jerked my head away and stared into the chessboard, breathing hard to stave off a full-body flush.

“Y-yes?” Rita replied.

“How do you address the future Duke of Mercia?”

She cleared her throat. “Yes, sir?”

Shame morphed into anger, and my nostrils flared. Until he inherited his stupid title and actually made something of himself apart from a mindless bully, he didn’t deserve anything except contempt.

“Give Simpson-West your satchel,” he said in cool tones.

Without any hesitation, Rita reached down and picked her bag off the ground.

I clenched my teeth. “What are you—?”

“Nobody’s talking to you, trollop.” His eyes flashed, and he bared straight, white teeth.

“Apart from you,” I snapped back. “By your own admission, you’re a nobody.”

Edward’s lips tightened into a thin line. “You’d better watch yourself, Yank.”

“Or what?” I asked. “You’ll bore me to death with lame pranks and mindless threats?”

The scent of burned leather filled the air. Rita clapped her hands over her mouth and smothered a cry. Tears filled her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks. I whirled around. Blake stood at the fireplace, dangling her satchel over the flames and scorching the leather.

I rushed out of my seat, across the room, and snatched the satchel out of his grip. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s all a bit of harmless fun, Hobson.” He waggled his brows. “You ought to try it. Might loosen you up.”

“I’m game any time you want me to push you in the fire. Because the next time you damage either of our property, I’ll damage you.” With a toss of my hair, I headed back to our table and passed Charlotte as though she didn’t exist.

Edward let out a weary sigh. “Must you be such a melodramatic trollop?”

“Must you be such an attention-seeking asshole?” I tried mimicking his bored, English accent, but I sounded more like the evil uncle from the Lion King.

His lip curled. “Don’t test me.”

I sat on the armchair. Rita squeaked something, but I was too busy trying not to notice Edward’s deep, blue eyes. If life was fair, they would be red and slitted. “I thought you’d already declared wa—” wetness seeped through my skirt and down my legs.

I leaped out of my seat and turned around, trying to examine the back of my lower half. “What the fuck did you do?”

He tilted his head to the side and smirked. “Don’t blame me. Blame Mother Nature.”

Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you have sanitary products in America, trollop? I swear, even the most primitive of women have the sense to stuff rags down their knickers.”

I pulled the back of my skirt round to my side and snarled at the patch of reddish-brown liquid. The bastards had made it look so realistic. At least with bright red coloring, I could make people believe I’d been pranked.

Blake stood by the fireplace, grinning with mirth. “Smile for the camera, dear. You’re on the Mercia-Net!”

I snatched up my satchel and stormed out of the common room. A crowd of people gathered in the hallway jeering, insulting and recording my humiliation.

“Bloody trollop,” shouted one boy.