Page 174 of Depraved Boys

“They’re doing a crappy job in protecting you.” He swept the hand on my shoulders around my back and pulled me into a hug. “Come to my room, and I’ll make you a soothing blend of Kashaayah tea.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

As we walked through the hallways, I stole glances at the most mysterious of the kings. My memories of the day we had spent together still hadn’t resurfaced, but according to Leopold, we had been getting along exceptionally well.

And more importantly, there was something about Prakash that tugged at my heart. A feeling that he cared more deeply about me than he could ever express. He opened the door to the nearest stairwell, releasing the scent of beeswax polish.

“I suppose you know a lot about tea,” I murmured for want of anything else to say.

“It’s been the family business since the days of Queen Victoria. We’ve had centuries to perfect the perfect cuppa.”

“Oh.”

While Prakash explained that all tea came from the same plant, Miss Claymore’s parting words to me in her office reverberated in my mind. She’d told me that Prakash had seduced Corrine, broken her heart, and driven her to her death.

Swallowing hard, I dipped my head, continued up the stairs, and listened with half an ear to Prakash talk about tea. Miss Claymore had told me Corrine had confided that she had become a nuisance to the wrong person. Had she been talking about Prakash?

“The blend I will share with you contains white tea,” he said. “We pick young buds before they open and dry them without processing.”

“Is it as healthy as green tea?” I asked as we reached the top of the stairs.

Prakash opened the door to the top floor hallway and talked about a scientific study his father had commissioned to measure the phenols and polyphenols in their white tea.

I nodded at the right places and forced myself to focus on the conversation. The time for sneaking about behind his back and learning about him through Corrine’s diary was over. Whoever had burned my things had cut off all options. I had to get the information from the source.

As soon as he opened the door to his room, I placed a hand on his arm. “What happened between you and Corrine Gibbons?”

Inhaling a sharp breath, he walked to the other side of his room, where a kettle and teapot rested on a cabinet. “I can’t talk about it sober.”

“About what?” I lowered myself onto his armchair.

He glanced to the side. “I failed you, just as I failed Corrine.”

“How?”

“I was possibly the last person who saw you on the night Miss Claymore tried to kill you.”

My mouth fell open, and a dozen questions rose to the back of my throat. The first of them was to demand why he had left me vulnerable to the whims of an obsessive murderer. I shook off the accusation and forced myself to listen.

His Adam’s apple rose and fell before he said, “If I hadn’t left you in the infirmary, Miss Claymore wouldn’t have caught up with you.”

“Then why—”

“After the auction, we went out for drinks, and I explained to you exactly what had happened between Corrine and me. How my actions had killed her spirit.”

My eyes bulged. What auction? Nothing he said made any sense. “How could you possibly kill—”

“I should never have started the game.” Prakash picked up the kettle and took it into the bathroom.

I bit down on my lip, trying to process a resurfacing memory. “But you fell in love with her.”

“You remember?” He stepped out of the bathroom, holding the kettle.

“Snippets.” I rubbed my temples and pictured velvet chairs and a butler with a tailcoat. “We sat in a fancy bar with table service, right?”

“That’s right,” he said with a lilt of hope in his voice.

My muscles relaxed. If he had attacked me as Miss Claymore had implied, he wouldn’t seem so pleased about the return of my memory. “But I don’t get how you killed her spirit.”