Page 21 of Revenge

The old lady stepped close and gave me two kisses on the cheek. As I drew back, she said in a French accent, “We embrace four times in Loire Atlantique.”

“Oh.” We exchanged two more kisses before she drew back, and her husband gave me four.

Afterward, the couple disappeared into a back room while we looked over the menu.

“What would you like to order?” Henry asked. “The taster menu is sublime.”

I raised a shoulder. “Sounds good.”

When Jean-Paul returned, Henry proceeded to order for me in fluent French. I propped my chin on the heel of my hand, wondering how many other languages he spoke apart from French and Spanish. Did he speak German as well? I tamped down the giddy feeling of awe rising from my chest. With enough money and enough time, a school could drum any subject in their students. What they couldn’t teach them was basic decency.

We stayed in the company of Jean-Paul and Françoise for hours, drinking red wine and eating samples of whatever the old couple brought out from the kitchens. If I hadn’t been with Henry, it would have been a wonderful date.

After Henry paid the check, we strolled around the village, enjoying the sight of the quaint, stone buildings and their thatched roofs. The sun had already set, and old-fashioned iron lamps cast the street in warm, orange light. We reached the corner by the red telephone box, and Henry grabbed my hand.

“I can’t express how much I regret my actions of last term.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “And I can’t tell you how lucky I am that you’re back.”

I let out a long, deep breath and stared at the bridge of his nose. If this was where I was supposed to forgive him and say flattering words about feeling lucky to have three of the most handsome boys in the school, I would stay silent.

“I’m so sorry, Emilia.” He threaded his fingers through my hair and gave me a look of such hunger, it made my heart pound in anticipation of a kiss. “Believe me when I tell you, I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness.”

“Why don’t you start by explaining who decided to frame me?”

“Pardon?” His brows drew together.

“All three of you were remorseful about getting me into so much trouble. But I still don’t completely understand why you would let me take the blame for something I didn’t do.”

He pressed his lips onto my forehead. “It was never meant to be like this.”

My heart skipped several beats. Was he finally going to open up to me? “Go on…”

“If I had known how badly things would end for you, I would never have let you take the blame for their actions.”

“The kidnappers?”

He placed his finger on my lips. “Let’s not dwell on such unpleasantness. We’re sorry, and I’m going to make things up to you. Surely that’s all that matters?”

“But—”

He leaned down, pressing soft lips against mine, and engulfing me in his citrus and mint scent. His arms snaked around my back, cradling me to his chest and to the warmth of his large body. The kiss was chaste and undemanding, as if he wasn’t sure of my reaction. I sighed into it and wrapped my arms around his neck. Regardless of what he had done, my body couldn’t help relaxing in his presence.

“I’ve wanted to do this for weeks,” he murmured against my mouth.

Threading my fingers through his silken hair, I brought his head down for another kiss and parted my lips. Henry’s tongue slid against mine, tasting of vanilla and red wine. His hand rubbed circles on the small of my back, reminding me of the last night we had spent together on that mattress.

This was madness. Kissing the guy who had betrayed me so mercilessly. I broke away, breathing hard. Henry leaned forward, pressing kisses on my neck, each one setting my skin aflame.

“H-Henry.” I gave him a gentle shove on the chest.

“Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I got carried away. Shall we go back?”

I let out a long, shuddering breath. Hardening my heart against him would be near impossible.

Chapter 8

We had Latin the next day, and I pulled out my notebook and worked on my Creative Writing assignment. The class was so advanced, I had no hope of catching up. Blake sat next to me and kept brushing the back of his hand against the side of my arm. I dipped my head, trying to concentrate on my homework, but I couldn’t help thinking about that amazing afternoon in Edward’s study where they had pleasured me to distraction. He had been right. Six hands were better than two.

“Where were you at breakfast?” Blake leaned close and murmured into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “I heard about your date with Henry.”