Page 3 of Outcast

“Tourist?” Marissa screeched. She straightened herself to her full height of five feet five inches. “I’m the PA of Rudolph Trommel.”

He stared down his nose at her and drawled, “Then I pity the man for not getting more decorous help.”

“Wha—”

I rushed forward, stumbled over my feet, and grabbed the banister for balance. “Could you give us directions to the headmaster’s office, please?”

“Mr. Chaloner can be found at the end of the first-floor hallway.” He fixed me with a withering look. “And do keep your maid under control. This is an institution for education, not a baseball match.”

The trio descended the stairs, and I pulled Marissa to one side. As they passed, I inhaled their mingled scents of sandalwood, citrus, and cedar, which filled me with a giddiness so heady, I had to brace myself against the wall of the stairwell. The black-haired one gave me a smile and a wink that promised a later, more intimate encounter.

I drew in a sharp breath through my nostrils, and the pulse between my legs pounded its approval. How could a tiny gesture like that have such a profound effect? I’d only just met these guys, and their intoxicating presence had mesmerized me into not getting offended that one of them had implied Marissa was my servant.

Marissa fumed in silence all the way to the headmaster’s office. Guilt twanged at my heartstrings for not defending her. It wasn’t like me to be so distracted by a guy’s good looks, but there had been three of them, and my good sense had turned to mush.

The headmaster was a man in his early forties with pinched features topped by hair that had started to thin. Instead of black, academic robes, he wore a pinstriped suit and a dotted red tie—the kind of attire more suited to Wall Street.

“Welcome to Mercia Academy, Miss Hobson.” Mr. Chaloner raised his bent arm to glance at his chunky gold watch, which also revealed matching, diamond-encrusted cufflinks. “Consider yourself fortunate to have been awarded a place at such short notice, as we’re oversubscribed.”

Marissa folded her arms across her chest. “Mr. Trommel made a sizable donation to the school for Emilia to jump the waiting list.”

My brows drew together. The more they revealed, the more I thought my time here wasn’t a last-minute decision. Rudolph had probably arranged my place here the moment Mom had accepted his proposal of marriage. He must have been desperate to get rid of me if he paid the school a bribe.

The headmaster’s smiling facade dropped. “As a charitable institution that accepts donations, Mercia Academy is grateful to its many patrons and benefactors around the world.” He turned to me. “Regardless of the generosity of your stepfather, Miss Hobson, while at Mercia, you will be subject to the same disciplinary procedures as all the other students.”

My eyes bulged. How much exactly did Rudolph pay to keep me at the other side of the world? “Yes, sir.”

He nodded. “In case you’re thinking of using it to leverage preferential treatment, the donation is non-refundable even if you’re expelled or decide to resign your place. Is that understood?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Mr. Chaloner curled his lip. “And I expect you to conduct yourself with the decorum befitting a student of a prestigious and ancient British institution steeped in tradition and history.”

My teeth clenched. What kind of behavior did he expect from me?

“Is. That. Understood?” he asked.

A lead weight of dread pulled down my spirits. With warnings like that, what the hell could I expect from Mercer Academy? “Yes, sir.”

Chapter 2

The headmaster explained that I would be rooming in Elder House, one of the two buildings dedicated to sixth-form students studying to take their Advanced Level exams. I nodded. He added that I would be in the lower-sixth, which was the equivalent of a high school senior in the States.

Without even making a phone call, he informed me that our housemaster, the man who would be in charge of my educational progress and welfare, was busy. I bristled as he escorted us out of the door and handed us over to his secretary. It was as if Marissa calling him out on acting like I was lucky to have been accepted had crushed his fragile ego.

Normally, I would have stewed at the affront, but I couldn’t help thinking about the trio we’d met at the stairs. They had to be sixteen. Or seventeen, like me, which would make them sixth-formers. But would they be in Elder House, too? The black-haired runway-type looked friendly, but I wasn’t sure about the blond. Jocks like him usually had girls scrambling after them and could sit back and take their pick.

I shook my head. Why was I even thinking about them? All three of them probably had every girl in Mercia Academy desperate to get into their pants. The last boy with the brown hair and sharp, blue eyes seemed to hate me already. If the contempt he displayed to Marissa was an indication of how he would treat me, I would stay away and keep a low profile.

The headmaster’s secretary tapped my name into her computer and printed out the longest schedule I’d ever seen. Six days of classes, and ‘prep’ in the evenings before and after dinner. When did they expect a person to relax?

She returned to her computer. “Elder House… Elder. There’s a prefect at the end of the hallway. Her name’s Charlotte Underwood. Stay here, and I’ll bring her over.”

Marissa muttered, “At least someone has manners around here!”

I gave her a pat on the shoulder and what I hoped was a sympathetic smile. This was supposed to be such a classy institution, but so far, most people we had met had made an effort to make Marissa seem like she was disturbing their peace. All she’d wanted were directions.

She turned to me, brows furrowed. Somewhere between here and the limo, she’d lost her false eyelash. “I have to go now, but if you have any problems with these people, you call me. Alright? I’ll be in London for the week and just a phone call away.”