Page 55 of Payback

Blake scrambled up its front and sat on top. He leaned down and stretched out his arm. “Come on.”

I grabbed his hand, and Henry hoisted me up. Within seconds, I was up and over the brick wall and landing on the other side in a crouch. Henry’s bag fell at my feet, followed by Henry, and we raced down the street.

“Where did we park the car?” asked Blake.

“This way!” I pointed toward the main road.

As Blake drove back through the country roads, and my heart stopped feeling like it was about to explode, a realization slapped me in the back of my head. There were three of us this time. “We might have been able to overpower Mr. Carbuncle and force a confession out of him.”

“No way,” they both said at the same time.

“Why?” I picked a spruce needle out of my hair.

“If I caught a pair of scoundrels in my mother’s house with her missing, I would kill them,” said Henry. “He would have had rage on his side or used you as leverage.”

“I suppose so.” My gaze drifted into the distance. The setting sun cast an orange haze over the horizon, reflecting its golden light off the fields and trees. That had been so close.

“After seeing those photos, I don’t want him within ten miles of you.”

“What photos?” asked Blake.

“They’re in the bag,” I muttered. “Let’s not touch anything until we have a fire going at Edward’s.”

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

* * *

Blake took the long way back to Mercia Academy in case Mr. Carbuncle decided to get into his pickup truck and drive around the village and surrounding roads to find his mother. By the time we arrived, the campus was deserted, as it was dinner time. We reached Edward’s study, but he wasn’t there.

“He’s probably still charming old Mrs. Carbuncle.” Blake strode to the mantlepiece and placed dried logs in the fireplace. “What do you want to do with those pictures? Burn them or take a look?”

I stared at the bag. “After seeing the first few pictures, I’m not sure I want to see the rest.”

Henry sat on the Chesterfield sofa. “We need to know if they’re camera stills provided by someone at the Correspondent—”

“From Philippe.” Blake added tinder to the logs and lit a match.

Lowering myself on the leather seat next to Henry, I turned to the window and stared out into the courtyard. “Or if someone’s been sneaking around taking photos with their camera or smartphone.”

“How are we going to tell the difference?” asked Henry.

“The angles,” I said. “And those pictures printed in the Correspondent were a little grainy.”

“So were the pictures of us from the Valentine’s party.”

My shoulders sagged. I wish I hadn’t helped with that stupid, fucking party. If I hadn’t been so blinded by destroying the triumvirate in my second term, none of this would have happened. Not only had I ruined Henry and Blake’s standings with their families, but my acts of revenge also would never stop backfiring. And now I was the star of Mr. Carbuncle’s newest stash of porn.

“Don’t look so guilty,” said Henry. “I’m not dwelling on it, and neither should you.”

Blake pressed a kiss on my temple. “Mr. Bourneville would have found a reason to disinherit Henry regardless of whether those pictures had come out or not.”

The door opened, and Edward stepped in, still clad in his navy blazer and dark slacks. I would have admired his handsome, brooding looks and the way his mahogany hair framed his aristocratic features if those terrible pictures weren’t still fresh in my mind.

His gaze turned to the lit fireplace. “Isn’t it a bit warm for a fire?”

Henry held out the bag. “Carbuncle arrived to visit his mother, but we managed to snatch some damning evidence before we escaped.”