Chapter Thirteen #2
“Whatever you say, Your Royal Highness.” Ben’s footsteps echo through the room, but just as I’m about to duck behind a sweeping velvet curtain that’s probably as dusty as Constance’s opinions on social etiquette, I realize he’s heading the other way.
There must be another exit, and thankfully Ben chose the one that doesn’t lead directly to me.
What little luck I have runs out, however, when Maisie clears her throat. “Are you going to show yourself, or should I expect all my conversations to now be fodder for eavesdropping?”
Gritting my teeth, I step into the room and close the door behind me. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. I heard you screaming.”
“I wasn’t screaming,” she says. “Maybe you’ve never had family to horse around with, but I—”
She stops herself before she can finish that thought, and I do my best to let her blistering comment roll off me, even though it hit home.
“I wasn’t screaming,” she repeats herself stiffly. “I’m fine. But thank you for your concern.”
“Sure,” I say, the word clipped, and I nod toward the other door I can now see. “Has he let anything slip? Anything useful?”
Maisie narrows her eyes. “If he had, I would’ve been open and honest with you, unlike some members of this family.”
I wince. “I’m sorry—I really am. If I could have looped you in—”
“And who, exactly, was stopping you? MI5? Because the last time I checked, the crown ranks somewhere above Agent Singh. I can keep secrets—”
“This secret could’ve gotten me and Kit killed,” I say. “This has nothing to do with your pride, Maisie. We didn’t tell anyone because we couldn’t risk them letting something slip. Not just you, all right? Not even my mom knew. And you were spending so much time with Ben—”
“I’ve been spending time with Ben because you told me to,” she hisses. “You told me to keep him close and convince him that he’s back in my good graces, and that’s exactly what I’ve done. Now you’re punishing me for playing my part?”
“I—of course not. I wanted to tell you. If there was any way I thought you could’ve helped—”
“You never gave me a chance, did you? You’ve no idea what I could’ve accomplished.”
“I—” I bite my lip. “You’re right. I’m sorry, and I’m asking for your help now. We didn’t find anything on Ben in Oxford, which means unless Guy Fawkes is willing to talk, we have no way of proving Ben’s involvement. Which means—”
“I know what it means. I’m not an idiot,” she says hotly, but her gaze is unfocused now, and there’s a faint line between her eyebrows. “And you expect me to do what, exactly? Confront him about it? Invade his privacy like you do?”
I frown. “I don’t know. Maybe not that, but—anything that might give us a lead.”
“And what if there is none? You’ve been convinced he’s guilty for so long that you’re not even willing to consider the likelihood that he isn’t.
You tracked down the Abr and its leader, yet you still didn’t find anything to tie Ben to the attacks.
Isn’t it time to explore the possibility that you’re simply biased, and that he isn’t the person you think he is? ”
I stare at her, stunned. “Did you lose a brain hemisphere somewhere in the Highlands? Of course he’s part of this. There’s a good chance it was all his idea in the first place. Rosie—”
“Do not talk to me about that traitorous snake,” she snarls. “Do you have any idea what it’s like, being surrounded by people you love who constantly lie to your face? All I want is one person I can trust, Evan. One single bloody person who won’t try to use me or betray me for their own gain.”
“And you think Ben is that person?”
Her silence is all the answer I need.
I shake my head, speechless. Maisie was with me and Kit when we confronted Rosie.
She heard the whole story—she knows Ben runs the Regal Record and has been behind every bit of slander from the start.
She knows that Ben was blackmailing Rosie.
That the entire reason he’s been doing this is because Maisie, who likes boys about as much as most people like root canals, will probably never have an eligible heir of her own.
She knows. She knows. So why is she doing this?
“If you really need help,” says Maisie at last, “you could ask your new friends at MI5. I’m sure they’d be thrilled for another chance to kiss your arse.”
“They’ve already tried,” I mutter. “Please, Maisie. You know him better than anyone—”
“Kit knows him, too,” she says. “Oh, wait. You also bungled that up, didn’t you?”
“Don’t,” I manage, though it comes out as more of a wheeze.
“Oh? Is it not true? Because from what I’ve heard, you somehow took the one good thing you both had and threw it away with such finesse that even I’m impressed. The way you broke his heart—”
“You have no right—”
“I have every right. Kit is like a brother to me, and I’ve loved him long before you were in the picture. From the sounds of it, I’ll love him long after you’re gone, too. He told me what happened in Oxford, you know—how you recklessly risked your life and nearly destroyed him in the process.”
“I didn’t—” I begin, but the protest dies on my lips. Because I did. “That’s not—”
“That’s not what happened?” she says, eyebrow raised.
“You’ve no idea what he’s been through, losing Liam, and yet you insist on making him relive that trauma again and again.
Not only that, but you actively put his life in danger.
You asked him to possibly die for you, Evan.
How am I supposed to forgive that? How is anyone supposed to forgive that? ”
“I didn’t ask him to—I didn’t want any of that!” I burst. “I tried to keep him safe—”
“But how could he have possibly been safe when he was with you?”
I hear it now—the real hatred in her voice—and it slices through me like a white-hot knife. Maisie squares her shoulders, and with one final sneer, she storms across the room and through the other exit, leaving me wrecked in her wake.