Page 10 of Cruel Hearts

“Why can’t I go near the academy?” I whispered.

“The only thing saving you from a summary expulsion is the fact that the police found no evidence of your wrongdoing.” Mr. Burgh pulled the key out of the ignition and opened the car door, letting in a gust of chilly air. “Any more altercations with Elizabeth Liddell, and you’ll help her create even more ammunition against yourself in her personal vendetta.”

I scrambled out through my side and jogged to keep up with his long strides. “So, you believe me?”

He paused at the stone entrance steps and gave me a soft nod. “I always did, but what I don’t understand is why.”

“Why what?”

“Why the girl is hell-bent on making you leave, especially since you’ve done nothing to earn her animosity.” His blue eyes bore into mine.

My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Included in that statement was an accusation that I was withholding some vital piece of information which would explain why Elizabeth hated me. A cool breeze swirled through the cobblestone courtyard, penetrating my woolen blazer and curling around my legs like a family cat.

I met Mr. Burgh’s gaze, trying to convey the truth in what I would say next. “Elizabeth doesn’t like anyone who doesn’t fawn over her. But apart from us liking the same boys, I can’t see why she’d go so far.”

“Mr. Nevis and the Deloraine twins,” Mr. Burgh growled. He descended to the top of the stairs and unlocked the door. “Why on earth did you jump in bed with Maxwell after you got him suspended for—”

“Maxwell disguised himself as Kendrick.”

The old man whirled around, his face falling. “What?”

“Let’s go inside,” I murmured.

Mr. Burgh pulled out a key from his suit pocket and unlocked the door, letting a gust of warm air engulf us like a hug. The scent of woodsmoke reminded me of all the Sunday evenings I had spent in this gorgeous mansion either sharing a meal or chatting with my grandfather. Grandfather. The word sent an intrusion of cockroaches skittering across the lining of my stomach. How would Mr. Burgh react to my account of last term’s debauchery?

He stood in the wood-paneled hallway, not making a move toward the kitchen or living room. The intensity of his glare made me and the cockroaches in my gut want to shrivel up and hide.

As I told Mr. Burgh the whole sorry story, starting with my suspicion that Kendrick had been the one to go home, leaving Maxwell at the academy to exact his revenge, Mr. Burgh’s entire posture sagged. “Oh, Delilah.” The old man croaked. “I’m so sorry.”

A lump formed in my throat, and I reached out and placed a hand on his arm. “It’s no one’s fault but theirs. When Maxwell takes off the contact lenses, fake tattoos and piercings, no one can tell them apart.”

Mr. Burgh led me up a stone staircase with an iron railing, and into a hallway of wooden floors the same color of the panels in the entrance hall. “Yours is the room next to mine.”

He opened the door to a room even more exquisite than the one assigned to me in the guest tower. An ivory and pale duck-egg blue interior reminded me of something out of Homes & Gardens magazine.

A four-poster bed with gauzy curtains stood on the far right of the room with a luxurious, quilted ottoman at its foot. At the other end, a sofa and two armchairs gathered around a low table. Light streamed in through floor-to-ceiling windows that opened into a wrought-iron balcony.

A breath caught in my throat. “This is for me?”

“I’m glad you like it,” he said in a tone that suggested Mother hadn’t enjoyed living here.

I would have asked, but pain flashed in his eyes. Perhaps her recent rejection of him still hurt. “Would you like me to go to church with you tomorrow morning?” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “You don’t have to if—”

His face broke into a heartbreakingly warm smile. “I’d be delighted.”

* * *

The next morning, I opened the door to find breakfast outside on a tray like it was a hotel. My heart sank at the thought of not eating with Mr. Burgh, but I couldn’t expect him to stop having breakfast with the students just because of me. I brought it into the room and ate at my desk. After a shower, I changed into the camel dress and matching jacket I had made in tailoring club.

A distant thud told me that Mr. Burgh had returned, and I rushed out of the room and down the stairs. He stood by the tartan chair in the entrance hall, clad in a navy-blue tweed suit with a red tie and a matching waistcoat.

His eyes twinkled. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like I’d spent the entire night floating on clouds.”

He chuckled and pulled a shawl draped over the back of the chair. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, he wrapped it around my shoulders. “This will keep you warm and toasty during the walk.”

Tilting my head, I smiled back. “Thanks.”