Page 5 of Outcast

Blake gestured at the taller blond, who gazed down at me with expressionless eyes so green, they made the lawn look dull. “This handsome brute is Henry Bourneville of the Bournevilles.”

My mind went blank. Was that supposed to mean something? I scrambled for an intelligible response, but all I could think of was Tess of the d'Urbervilles. I clamped my lips together to keep myself from blurting out something stupid.

His brows rose as though surprised I’d never heard of the name. With an amused quirk of his lips, he said, “How d’you do?”

My intestines formed several tight knots. Was he making fun of me or was there a specific reply to that nonsensical phrase? I kind of wished I’d sat through the Disney version of Alice in Wonderland or had at least skimmed through the book. It was the sort of thing the madcap characters would say to each other. “Ummm… I’m fine, thanks.”

The last guy, the one with the mahogany hair whose ends shone like burnished copper and with eyes as blue and fathomless as the ocean, scowled, making the blood drain from my face. My stomach knots formed a noose I could use to hang myself. Maybe I’d used the wrong reply. Breached some kind of unbreachable British etiquette. Charlotte’s huffed laugh was just background noise compared to the contempt screaming on his face.

“You’re an American,” he said in clipped tones. “Much like the woman who accompanied you into the main teaching block.”

“Yes,” I whispered, voice cracking.

“I haven’t finished the introductions!” Blake’s smooth voice sliced through the tension, making the knots in my stomach untighten. “This unfriendly bastard is Edward Mercia, heir to the Duchy of Mercia.”

“And the de-facto owner of Mercia Academy,” added Charlotte.

All the moisture evaporated from my mouth, leaving a tongue as stiff and as dry as pumice. Duchy meant duke, didn’t it? What on earth did a person do when they met minor royalty? Bow, curtsey, or act like they were a regular person? My mind jumped back to what Blake had said. If Edward was the heir, that meant he wasn’t yet the duke.

I cleared my throat. “I’m… pleased to meet you.”

The smile he gave me was as cold as a snowdrift. “The pleasure is all yours, of that I am assured.”

Charlotte stepped forward. “This is Emilia… Emilia…” She tapped her bottom lip. “Did you even have a last name?”

My hackles rose. The secretary had told her my full name, and she’d used it at least once. Through clenched teeth, I said, “Hobson.”

“Emilia Hobson comes to us from an exclusive prep school in Manhattan which she refuses to name.”

“Park Preparatory,” I snarled. “And you didn’t ask.”

She waved away my correction like it was an annoying gnat. “Never heard of it.”

Edward turned his cold gaze back to me. Even from the distance of six feet away, the glare lanced me through the gut like an icicle. “Emilia… whatever your name is.” His voice was deep and smooth and resonant. The type that could slip through a girl’s defenses and command her to do whatever he wanted. “We don’t like Americans here at Mercia Academy.”

My brows drew together. “Why not?”

“For reasons too numerous and too complex for a vacuous tart like you to understand. Save yourself a term of torment and turn away. We’ve never had an American last a term. Leave now, and you’ll at least preserve your sanity.”

I placed my hands on my hips. “And I suppose you’re talking as the so-called owner of the academy?”

“I’m giving you a final warning.” Edward stepped forward, close enough for his cedar and cypress scent to fill my nostrils. “Call back your Cadillac or whatever jalopy dragged you to our fine establishment and get out. If I have to tell you again, you won’t like my methods.”

Fury pumped hot blood into my veins, heating my skin. How dare this conceited asshole talk to me like he already owned the academy and decided who could stay and who could leave? If this was any indication of the kind of shit-talk I’d have to endure, I would turn around and go home. Why would I subject myself to such hateful, judgmental, and bigoted people?

I was about to tell him to pull the branch out of his ass when Marissa’s words returned to the forefront of my mind. Rudolph had challenged me to endure two years of a British boarding school to develop the mental toughness I needed for a career in journalism. If I was going to let an arrogant asshole run me out of the academy after a day, then I didn’t deserve the internship or the funding he would give me for an Ivy League college education.

Forcing my lips into a sweet smile, I tilted my head to the side. “Sorry, I forgot your name already, but thanks for the warning. I’ll take it with a grain of salt.”

Even with his face flushed and nostrils flared, Edward was breathtakingly handsome. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I gave the school crest on his blazer a contemptuous pat and continued down the path, saying over my shoulder, “I take back what I said. There was no pleasure in meeting you at all.”

Moments later, Charlotte caught up. “Ooooh! The boys are going to put you in your place, and I can’t wait to watch.”

“Really?” How else was I supposed to respond to a comment like that? Turn around, grab her shoulders and beg her to tell me what the boys had planned? It was probably nothing, given the grueling schedule of classes and sparse free periods.

Charlotte tired of gaping at my face for a reaction and continued her tour, explaining that Elder House was the original seat of the Duke of Mercia, who used his home to train elite soldiers for the hundred years war for King Henry V. I cast my mind back to history lessons. That would have been in the fifteenth century.