Page 17 of Immortal Rose

How appropriate.

“What a delightful creature you are,” he said flatly. “And how remarkable that your east Linden accent has seemingly slipped away, leaving one altogether more polished. A gift from your mother, perhaps?”

At that, a touch of warning crept through my mind. I kept my chin lifted, laying on a thick east city accent. “My mam was born and raised in Riverside. Ye only need to listen to toffs prattle on about themselves but a few moments to mimic their fancy speech.”

“Not bad,” he said, brows raised as if in appraisal. “You’ve got the cadence right, though your reluctance to swallow your r’s gives you away.”

Somehow, through a hitherto unknown restraint, I managed to not give him that darling gesture known as an east city greeting. “And you’re an expert, are you?”

“Something like that.”

He shifted, bringing his feet back to the ground. Now that he had my full attention, he didn’t merely exist in the office; his large body seemed to own it entirely, pulling every aspect of my attention to him.

As his fingers tap-tap-tapped down onto the desk, a thrill of danger danced along the back of my neck.

“It may surprise you to discover, Miss Lockwood,” he began, “that prior to our memorable first encounter, I’d spent three days searching for you.”

I stared at him, fighting the urge to swipe at the limp curls stuck to my cheeks. “Wanted yourself a perfume, did you?”

“In fact, yes.” He leaned forward with that same wolfish intensity as before, as if scenting blood in the air.

And it was then, seeing the triumph burn in his gaze, that instinct stirred and my whole body seized with the desperate need to run.

“How long,” he began, “have you known William Rosebourne was your grandfather?”

For perhaps the first time in my life, panic won out over pride, and I whirled away from the desk. It didn’t matter that it made me seem weak, not then. His focus was intolerable, and all I cared about was stepping closer to the fire, letting the flames drive out the chill settling in me.

Ten years I’d carried that truth deep in my heart, so deep that I’d foolishly believed no one would ever find it, let alone speak it back into existence.

This . . . this man, whoever he was, he didn’t have the right to shatter that peace. A helpless anger nipped at me as I tried, and failed, to scent out his intentions again. In another situation, that veil of inscrutability might have come as a relief to my nose. Now, it only put me at his mercy.

Darling . . . darling . . . I’m so sorry . . . Mama’s voice was a frail whimper in my ears.

I stared into the flames, thoughts racing, my hands gripping either elbow as I hugged my arms to my center. The floorboards squeaked as the man rose from behind the desk. I hadn’t appreciated how tall he was until he was all but looming over me, blotting out the light from the hearth.

“I’ve a theory about you,” he said. “One I’d greatly like to test, if I may?”

I glared at him. “Do I have a choice?”

“No,” he said, turning one of the leather chairs beside the fire around to face the door. “But you’ll be rewarded for your efforts. Have a seat, Lockwood.”

Something about the way the firelight caught his eyes, making them flash with gold, unnerved me enough to obey. His earlier words came back then, whispering cruel possibilities: the one intending to free you from this hell.

I lowered myself onto the firm tuft of the seat, marveling at the feel of something other than hard stone beneath me. And if I left a smear of filth behind on it and the smell haunted Pembrooke for days? All the better.

As I folded my hands in my lap, I realized the man hadn’t moved. His hard gaze was fixed on—

I smoothed my skirt back down, hiding the angry welt ringing my ankle. I met his inscrutable expression with one of defiance, swallowing the swell of humiliation threatening to rise. If he had said anything about it, I would have done him bodily harm.

Well, worse bodily harm.

Instead, he strode toward the door, opening it. “Mr. Branson, would you be so good as to join us?”

The guard’s stocky form filled the doorway, his black eyes meeting mine with unnerving efficiency.

“She givin’ you trouble, sir?” Branson asked. “A wily bitch, that one is. Just say the word and I’ll have her back in ’er cell.”

“How helpful,” the stranger said dryly, turning on his heel to face me. “Miss Lockwood, what can you tell me about this man?”