Page 31 of Cruel Hearts

“You haven’t answered my question,” said Gideon.

“Does it matter?”

He raised a shoulder. “That depends on if you’re planning on changing your mind about Elizabeth.”

I shook my head. “They’re untrustworthy shits, and I’ll find a way to make Elizabeth pay. But if I can fuck them over, I will.”

Gideon pursed his lips.

“What?” I said.

He drew back and arranged his scarf around his neck with the precision of a Parisian folding an Hermès foulard.

“Don’t bother. I already know what you’re thinking.”

“Oh?” Raising his brows, he fastened the buttons of his blazer.

“You think I want to fuck them, not fuck them over.”

He snorted. “Don’t tell me you don’t.”

“I’ve got eyes, and I’ve seen what they have to offer, but I wouldn’t touch them with Elizabeth’s hands.”

His eyes twinkled. “I’ll let myself out.” He strode past me in a cloud of bergamot and pulled the door open, letting in the cold. “Whatever you do with those three, be careful.”

“What makes you think I want Kendrick? He’s as big a dickhead as his twin.”

“Just think about what I’ve said.” Gideon descended the stone steps and hurried through the gravel courtyard. He cast me a final glance and waved before stepping out through the gates.

I waved back, my mind whirling. It didn’t matter if Orlando and Maxwell had the most gorgeous, muscular physiques I’d seen outside of a magazine. It also didn’t matter that Maxwell had given me the best sex of my life. If bringing Elizabeth to her knees meant stepping over my personal boundaries, I wouldn’t bother getting their help.

But once I’d dealt with Elizabeth, I would gladly stick a dagger in all three of their broad backs.

Chapter 12

I shut the door and stepped back into the entrance hall. It took a few moments to clear my head of Gideon’s parting words. Something about them still resonated, even though I had decided to break ties with them and deal with Elizabeth alone. Gideon probably knew as well as I did that they were clingy bastards and wouldn’t bugger off, but I could resist them… at least until I’d gotten my revenge.

The stone staircase beckoned, and I placed my hand on its iron rail. I still hadn’t finished uncovering Mother’s secrets. Descending two steps at a time, I twisted my features into a grimace.

Reading through Father Neapolitan’s letters was like a root canal. Excruciating but necessary. If that bastard had raped and stalked her, it was no wonder she’d run into the protective arms of Billy Hancock.

Trepidation settled over my shoulders like a cloak of barbed-wire. The dates in the letters indicated that Billy Hancock had gotten Mother pregnant.

Back in Mother’s pink room, I pulled out a stool and settled in front of the writing bureau. One of the drawers contained envelopes of photos from a skiing trip. Mostly the slopes, and group pictures of teenagers posing in a lodge. As I pulled out an image of Mother standing outside a little old church next to a dark-skinned priest, footsteps echoed through the hallway.

“Delilah?” said Mr. Burgh.

I stuffed the pictures back in their envelope and scrambled to my feet, feeling like I’d been caught stealing. Mr. Burgh stood in the doorway, his brows furrowed.

“What are you doing in Abigail’s room?”

“Is Billy Hancock my father?” the words tumbled out of my mouth.

The old man’s face went slack. “I beg your pardon?”

“And Father Neapolitan raped Mother. He wrote about it in a letter saying that what happened in the Christmas ball was consensual and warned her not to spread slander.”

All the color drained from Mr. Burgh’s face. “When did this...” He shook his head and walked across the room. “Show me.”