Page 16 of Cruel Hearts

The doorbell rang.

My stomach flipped like a pancake. Had Orlando or Kendrick followed me? I stood on shaky legs and walked out of the living room, practicing witty put-downs in case the boys had returned for round three.

A growl reverberated in the back of my throat. Those fuckers needed to know we were even. Getting them suspended for lewd behavior had been an accident—nothing compared to getting me arrested and nearly mauled by police sniffer dogs.

By the time I reached the front door, any trepidation I might have felt hardened into anger. Entitled pricks. Did they honestly think they could set me up without consequences? I turned the latch and flung the door open, ready to spit on their faces.

Gideon stood at the doorway, clad in a blue blazer with gold buttons, a cream sweater and dark jeans. As usual, he wore his straightened hair slicked back. “There you are.”

“What are you doing here?” I blurted.

“Rumors of your incarceration were greatly exaggerated, I see,” he said in a voice posher than the royal family. His gaze traveled over my shoulder into the depths of the house. “May I come in?”

Stepping aside, I made space to enter. “Aren’t you seeing Lachlan today?”

Gideon breezed past in a cloud of Sauvage, the mix of mandarin and sandalwood unmistakable. “Lac walked down to the police station this morning to offer support, but the receptionist said they’d released you last night. We agreed it would be best if I spent Sunday with you.”

Warmth filled my heart, melting away the ice. In this academy full of treacherous assholes, I had one steadfast pal watching my back. “Thanks for coming. Do you want a cup of tea?”

He smiled back. “Only if you’re making one for yourself.”

“This way,” I said.

We walked through the hallway, past the living room and down a set of stairs to a kitchen designed for an army of servants. With its double, cast-iron stove and copper pots hanging from wooden beams in the ceiling, the place reminded me of a period drama. It even came with an oak dining table where a dozen or more underlings could eat the master’s scraps.

Gideon took in his surroundings with wide-eyed appreciation. I wondered if the servants in his family home in Nigeria had a kitchen like this but didn’t ask. It was probably a rude question.

“Take a seat.” I gestured at the dining table. “Have you had lunch yet?”

“Roast chicken,” he lowered himself onto the oak bench and rested his chin on his hands. “But more importantly, did they treat you well in custody?”

“I’ve had worse.” I picked up a copper kettle and filled it with water. “What’s everyone saying?”

His nose wrinkled with distaste. “That sniffer dogs and armed police raided the school and found you naked with the Deloraine twins, sniffing cocaine through rolled-up fifty-pound notes. The latest report at lunchtime included the Archbishop of Scotland traveling down from Inverness to expel you all.”

My lips tightened, and I placed the kettle on the hot stove. “No prizes for guessing who’s spreading that crap. It was one twin, not both of them, and there was no cocaine. And I’ve been suspended for two weeks, not expelled.”

Gideon’s shoulders relaxed, and he exhaled a long breath. “After Elizabeth’s exposé of your family background, everyone thinks you’re supplying the older students with drugs.”

I opened an oak cupboard, pulled out a tin of Earl Grey tea, and used the edge of a teaspoon to wedge off its airtight lid. A cloud of citrus filled my nostrils, clearing away some of the bitterness of the rumor Elizabeth probably started. I grabbed a teapot and busied myself with preparing the tea.

“What do you think?” Casting my gaze over the array of teacups, I settled for a plain china mug.

“I can’t believe the extent of that girl’s animosity.” Gideon shook his head. “Do you know Elizabeth has family connections with the police?”

“The Deputy Chief Constable?” I poured Gideon’s tea and placed it on the oak table.

“Not just them.” Nodding his thanks, he wrapped a hand around the mug. “Her mother is on the board of the Scottish Police Authority, and the family has various cousins in the ranks.”

“I doubt that they’re pleased with her right now,” I added a splash of milk to my mug, sat opposite Gideon, and explained how Elizabeth had wrapped flour in cellophane and sprinkled cocaine over its hiding-place to attract the sniffer dogs.

He grimaced. “What on earth was the point of that?”

“Who knows the contents of her sick mind?” I took a sip of my Earl Grey.

“Doesn’t she even think about the consequences of wasting police time and resources?” Gideon asked.

My brows drew together. Gideon made an excellent point. As I told my best friend how Maxwell had removed his tattoo transfers and fake piercings to disguise himself as Kendrick, a thought continued to plague my mind. Why would Elizabeth lie to the police when none of her accusations would stick?