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History is written by the victors. History is written by men.
“This is his class.”
“Bit overbearing, isn’t it?”
Rory shrugs. “Luke enjoys it. God knows why. I’ve always found history to be a necessary tedium but Luke gets quite philosophical about it all. I suppose you have to when your family tree is the one thing connecting centuries.” He pauses, leaning against one of the wooden desks. “Come here.”
There’s something about his gray gaze that’s never as sharp when it lands on me. I stand hesitantly before Rory, and he takes both my hands in his, drawing me flush against his chest.
“I saw you this afternoon in politics. You were prepared to leave with me. So keen to support me.” Rory leans forward. “Stay out of this,” he murmurs against my cheek, and the second I open my mouth to protest, he places a gentle finger on my lips. “I know you won’t but I wish you would.” He tucks a stray curl around my ear. “I don’t want you to know my darker side.”
The spike of danger in Rory’s slow, assured voice is enough to make me instantly wet.
“It’s funny,” I whisper, our eyes locked together. My chest rises and falls rapidly against Rory’s blazer. “When Finlay warned me to stay out of trouble, he at least told me to concentrate on my schoolwork.”
Rory breathes out a soft laugh. “I’m going to be your husband, little saint,” he declares coolly, and my stomach flips at the ease in his tone, at the supremely male conviction of this statement. “And you can have all the private tutelage you desire without being part of Lochkelvin’s system of scholastic imprisonment. Away from the deteriorating tuition here, I expect you to thrive.” He kisses my nape softly. “You’re mine, little saint, and when we’re finally bound together, I’ll ensure you receive only the best.”
I swallow. “You sound so sure of yourself.”
Rory tilts his head to the side. A finger trails gently down my cheek. “The question is, why aren’t you?” He examines me intently, to the point that all I want to do is turn away. “If I’d make a guess, I suspect your mother’s unexpected arrival has thrown this year off-kilter for you.”
I blink at him in surprise. “I don’t—”
“—wish to talk about her? I understand. There’s little merit in me talking about my father these days, either. The only thing I can do is try to keep Luke safe. It’s a round-the-clock job of rubbing my father’s face in it.”
“And Lochkelvin is right for Luke?” I ask doubtfully.
Rory releases a sigh. “We have a weird situation where people here like Luke. They know him personally. But outside these walls, he’s enemy number one. And we can’t ever lose sight of that, or begin to feel complacent. Lochkelvin is safer than almost anywhere else — but that doesn’t make it safeper se.” He tugs another curl around my ear. “It’s a fine balancing act, just like everything else in life,” he murmurs, and he presses his mouth to mine.
Fire blooms in the pit of my stomach and scalds my veins. Rory wraps his arms around my waist, deepening the kiss, and I groan with satisfaction. Pleasure spreads from the tips of my toes to the top of my head.
The door opens and, from the sound of the heavy boots, I sense that Headmistress Baxter has strode in. I emit a muffled noise but Rory makes no attempt to break away from me, and our kiss continues for long seconds as he maintains his possessive grip on my hip.
When we finally part, Rory’s eyes glitter like silver bullets. Baxter’s resolutely inspecting her watch.
“Do you think I have time to wait for the obscenities of schoolchildren to come to pass?” The question lingers in the air, rhetorical but almost a large enough bait to want to throw out a retort. In a brusque voice, she commands, “Sit.”
I glance up at Rory. With supine grace, he positions himself at one desk, his long limbs stretched languidly beneath its wooden surface. I drop stubbornly beside him.
“Awayfrom each other,” Baxter snaps.
With a sigh, I peel myself from Rory’s side. He reaches out for my hand as I leave, giving it a quick, covert squeeze before I’m escorted by Baxter to the most diametrically opposing corner of the classroom.
Baxter strolls to the front of the classroom. She looks more severe than I remember, even as she hunches over to jot a hard scribble onto two sheets of paper. “For your detention, you will be provided with lines I expect you to copy three hundred times.” My heart sinks. What a giant waste of time. “If you make a mistake, you’ll start from the beginning until you exhibit the perfection required from students at Lochkelvin.” She hands one of the sheets to Rory, who grimaces. “You have two hours, and I expect you to work in silence.”
Headmistress Baxter makes a beeline for me, all thick flapping cloak and confident clicking boots, and drops my punishment onto the desk.
The words ‘I must not bring the school into disrepute’ stare back at me in Baxter’s tight, looping handwriting. I manage to suppress the roll of my eyes.
It’s the most boring detention ever, and I’ve had my fair share of them. However, it’s the first I’ve ever shared with Rory, and he’s the one shining light in all this. Whenever my wrist cramps or my fingers grow numb from the world’s most tedious attempt at brainwashing, I take a moment to glimpse the back of his bowed dark blond head and admire his formidable beauty.
He’s mine and I can’t believe it.
My husband-to-be.
I find myself taking small breaks so often that Baxter begins to notice, frowning at me and then ruthlessly smacking a ruler against the front desk to shake me out of my happy daydreams.
At other times, however, Baxter seems distracted by her own work, and it’s during one of these moments when Rory cocks his head in my direction and tosses a rolled-up ball of paper on my desk. Curious, and desperate for something to distract from the mind-numbing monotony, I unfold it beneath the desk and almost burst out laughing.
