Page 17 of Payback

“Sacrifice?” he whispered back.

“Edward said the kidnapping incident cost Henry something.”

His brows drew together. “That time you followed him into the bushes on our school trip. One of Bingham’s assistants knocked you out, and they argued about what to do with you.”

My gaze flickered to Henry, who was still deep in conversation with Françoise. “Go on.”

“Mr. Frost and the others gave Henry a choice,” Blake continued. “If he left you behind in that clearing to wake up naturally, the deal was off, and Edward wouldn’t get the help he needed for his father.”

I nodded. It made sense since I would raise the alarm and get them all caught.

“But if Henry brought you along, it would ruin the friendship you’d built up. Even though I made the first move, Henry was the first to start liking you.”

“Oh.” I dipped my head.

Blake leaned across the table and whispered, “If you’ve already forgiven Henry, give him a sign. While I love guarding your naked body at nights, it’s not the same without him in the room, don’t you think?”

I nodded. “I’ve been meaning to speak with him.”

“Do it sooner, rather than later.” He leaned back and winked.

We ate the cassoulet in silence, occasionally making appreciative comments about the rich, meaty, and intensely flavorful dish. Afterward, we were all too full for tart tatin, Françoise’s pudding of the day, so she brought a bottle of Sauternes, a dessert wine from Bordeaux.

Blake raised his glass in a toast. “To love and to wine and to laughter. To forgiveness, to cassoulet, to a happy ever after.”

Françoise threw her head back and laughed while we clinked our glasses. My eyes were locked with Henry’s for several rapid heartbeats longer than I’d held the others’ gazes, and my throat dried. The naked hunger on his face and the unspoken want in his eyes made the pulse between my legs pound.

“Back to serious matters.” Edward’s commanding tone cut through the tension. “We have ten days to deal a blow to Rudolph, and so far, he seems to be ahead.”

“Will your mother be able to afford next year’s tuition fees without help?” asked Blake.

“Possibly,” I replied. “Although I don’t know whose money she uses to buy all those fashions.”

“She seems like an intelligent woman,” said Blake. “I’m not mentioning any names, but I know of a former model whose husband doesn’t give her access to cash but allows her to spend unlimited amounts on fripperies. She has a little side-business where she uses his cards to make expensive purchases and sells the items to other women for fifty percent of their worth in cash.”

My brows rose. Mom would yell at me if I suggested she run a scam like that, and I wouldn’t dare bring up such a subject. In case Blake had been referring to his mother’s arrangements with the prince, I said, “Rudolph probably has an assistant account for every item she’s purchased.”

Blake raised a shoulder. “Quite possibly.”

“I say we corner him somewhere and beat him senseless,” said Henry.

A laugh bubbled up in my throat. “That can be our plan B.”

Blake leaned forward, brown eyes gleaming with mischief. “The sex scandal is probably the best way to get to him. Let him see what it’s like to be drugged and groped at a party.”

Edward held his napkin to his mouth. “Who will volunteer to be the groper?”

“You can do it,” said Blake.

Edward raised his brows. “Why not Henry?”

“My tastes are extremely limited.” Henry turned to Blake. “You do it.”

I clapped my hand over my mouth and laughed. Heaven would be the four of us sitting around the table enjoying Jean-Paul’s cooking and Françoise’s wine, with the boys bantering over silly subjects like penis sizes and who would grope Rudolph Trommel.

We walked back to the academy through the village of quaint shops. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows on the sidewalk. Edward and Blake walked ahead at double speed, chatting amiably about some musician I’d never heard about, leaving Henry to walk by my side on the pretext of protecting me from Mr. Carbuncle, who could be lurking anywhere.

Henry’s hand brushed mine, each touch sending tiny shivers down my spine. We had gone to Maison Saint-Nazaire together once before. Slept in the same bed. Been intimate on several occasions, but there was a newness about strolling alongside him. The kind of butterfly-wings-tickling-the-stomach-lining feeling that I couldn’t explain. My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out the sounds of our footsteps, and I glanced up into his beautiful face. A mop of blond curls obscured his brow, but I imagined he was as nervous as I.