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 CRUEL HEARTS
KNIGHTS OF TEMPLAR ACADEMY BOOK TWO
SOFIA DANIEL
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31

From Sofia Daniel

 CHAPTER 1

S ometimes it felt like no matter how far a girl traveled, no

matter how much she changed, things always remained the
same.
What was it? Three months ago, the police dragged me off in the
back of a car on suspicion of attempted murder. Fast forward to now,
and I found myself in the same position.
Except I was in Scotland. And I hadn’t killed anyone—yet. Oh,
and I sat in the back of a police van. I might have considered that
an upgrade if the wretched bastard responsible for my predicament
wasn’t sitting next to me and trying to catch my attention.
The van sped down the highway, presumably to the Glasgow
police station, the headquarters of the drug squad. I seriously
doubted that the small-town police in Templar could handle a
cocaine bust. The van didn’t have windows, only a glimpse of the
windscreen I caught through the mesh of thick wire and over the
shoulders of the two police officers speeding away from the
academy.
“Lilah,” Maxwell whispered. At least I thought it was Maxwell.
Without the tattoos and piercings, he looked exactly like Kendrick.
I stared down at where the dressing gown someone had shoved
over my naked body exposed a bare knee. Apparently, alleged
cocaine barons didn’t deserve the dignity of a bra and knickers, even
if they were just seventeen.
“Lilah.”
 My jaws clenched. Weren’t the police supposed to transport
suspects separately? You know, so they didn’t collude on the long
journey to the station to get their stories straight?
“Hey.” The asshole scooted across the bench in his boxers.
My hands curled into fists and trembled like they were going to
erupt. If my wrists weren’t cuffed together, I would break his pretty
nose.
“I know you can hear me.”
My head snapped up. “What the fuck do you want?”
The worry lines on his face smoothed out. As if he’d been
concerned about my welfare. The wanker leaned into my side and
parted his lips to speak.
Before he got a chance, I snapped, “Who are you?”
He had the nerve to look hurt. Because deep-down, boys who
disguised themselves as their identical twins wanted their victims to
look into the heart and see them, not the person they’d
masqueraded as for goodness knows how many weeks.
After a moment of soothing his battered ego, he said, “Max.”
I swallowed back the lump in my throat and pushed away the
questions surfacing to the forefront of my mind. Like, when did he
make the switch-over? Had it been as early as the time ‘Kendrick’
had walked out of Elizabeth’s presentation in disgust? Who had
taken me to the chapel and chased after me when I’d raged about
Father Neapolitan’s sermon on prostitutes and the Prodigal Son?
This wasn’t the kind of lie I could forgive. It was a premeditated,
fundamental falsehood that he and Elizabeth had set up to get me
into this exact position. Cuffed, humiliated, and likely expelled from
Templar Academy.
I glowered into his gray eyes. “What do you want?”
“Are you alright?”
A laugh bubbled to the back of my throat, harsh and bitter and
full of bile. “I’m in the back of a police van on the way to prison.
How do you think I’m feeling?”
“Pissed off, I’d imagine.” Straightening, he leaned back against
the van’s metal wall. “Elizabeth crossed me, too.”
“Am I supposed to feel bad for you?”
 He scowled. The bastard actually thought he and I should
commiserate on the scourge that was Elizabeth Liddell. If Maxwell
hadn’t boasted about fucking me during the grand backstabbing, he
would be clinking champagne with Lizard Breath and her merry
knights.
I shook my head. Maxwell probably thought Elizabeth’s last-
minute betrayal could be a bonding moment.
“Lilah,” he said. “I’m—”
Something inside me snapped. If this was an apology, it was
several weeks too late. Up until we stepped out of the Uber, I might
have forgiven him for the lies, but now? After the sex under false
pretenses and the drug bust? No way.
I leaned into the bars separating our traveling cell from the front
seats of the van, where a police woman chatted with the driver in a
low voice.
“Could I change vehicles, please?” I asked.
Bitch could have at least taken off her helmet before she rolled
her eyes. Or given me a verbal answer. What the fuck was her
problem?
This journey was interminable, but at least what I could see of
the scenery was nice. Stars twinkled in the cloudless, black sky, and
the moon backlit the craggy mountaintops. Nice and romantic, unlike
my current situation.
“I can’t go to prison,” Maxwell moaned.
“But it’s good enough for me?” I snapped.
Maxwell didn’t answer. Probably because anything he said now
would be an admission that he had spent the past few weeks in
disguise, setting me up for this moment. Everything he said or did as
his brother had been designed to have the police drag me away
from the academy in disgrace.
The worst part was that it had been completely unnecessary.
Elizabeth or one of her sycophantic knights could have snuck into my
room, planted the cocaine, called the cops, and sat back to watch
the mayhem. But they’d designed this for maximum carnage. They
had wanted me to fall in love with ‘Kendrick’, only to find out that he
was my betrayer.
 Scratch that. The worst part of the plan was to dredge up past
history and share my location with those who had genuine
grievances against me. Like my stepfather and ex-boyfriend, both of
whom I’d gotten arrested for drugs.
I turned to Maxwell, who hunched in his boxers. A little part of
me delighted that he hadn’t been allowed the dignity of shoes or a
shirt or even pants, but that’s what a person got for strutting out in
their underwear to gloat about having shagged a girl before shafting
her.
“Was it you who contacted Billy Hancock?” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “I didn’t even know those thugs would be at the
fashion show.”
A weary breath heaved out of my lungs. Why was I even asking
him questions when he’d proven himself the most prolific liar since
Pinocchio and Keyser Söze?
“So, what was the plan?” I asked. “Dinner at the Glaswegian then
a drug bust?”
He stared into his clasped hands, not offering me a reply.
Realization hit me upside the head like a bushel of rotten fish.
“There was no reservation, was there?”
Maxwell remained silent. His lack of response was an admission
that every word, without exception, that had slithered from his lips
had been a lie.
I couldn’t even get upset. This was one of those situations where
a blanket of shock had wrapped around my heart, leaving me to
operate on survival instincts and fury.
Right now, I was in the biggest trouble of my life. Dwelling on
who shagged who under false pretenses was a waste of time.
Someone had planted a fuck-load of cocaine in my wardrobe and
convinced the police to raid my room. While I was naked and still in
it.
The fact that a bunch of villains from Richley had turned up at
the fashion show and the fact that my details were all over the
police database wasn’t helping my predicament. I leaned forward,
resting my forearms on my knees.
 They’d assign me a duty solicitor, but they were crap. The more
times I got arrested, the longer it took the solicitors to get up to
speed with my sordid history. And half the time they just bluffed
their way through the interviews or stayed silent.
I had no money to hire a criminal lawyer and no knowledge of
the good law firms in Scotland. A frustrated breath huffed out of my
nostrils. I was screwed. In more than one sense of the word.
A jolt of panic shot through my heart.
Mr. Burgh.
My throat thickened. Someone would have told him by now. Of
course, they would. He was the headmaster of the academy, and my
grandfather. Trepidation crawled across my skin like an army of
armored ants each holding sharp-as-needles trekking poles.
Mother had put him and his late wife through a bunch of
scandals—the teenage pregnancy, not revealing the identity of the
father, and stealing a precious heirloom from the Templar estate—
now I was doing the same.
I imagined Mr. Burgh thought history was repeating itself in
glorious technicolor. All I needed was for Maxwell to admit he’d
sabotaged the condom to get me pregnant, and this would be the
fate Mother faced eighteen years ago.
Shit.
“Lilah.”
I was too lost in my own thoughts to bristle. For the first time in
my life, I had a father figure, one I longed to impress. These past
few weeks of accompanying Mr. Burgh to the village and having him
proudly proclaim his long-lost granddaughter to everyone had been
a dream. As had the cozy dinners and fireside chats.
My stomach sank to my feet like a rusty anchor.
This arrest would break Mr. Burgh’s heart.
I had plenty of time to dwell on that fact on the long journey to
the police station.
 CHAPTER 2

T hank fuck that the Glasgow cop-shop had a walled-off

bay at the back for delivering prisoners. Because it was
a Friday night, prime time for police stations, and I would have been
mortified if they had dragged me naked, save for a precarious
dressing gown, through the hordes of drunks and revelers.
Maxwell was the first to exit, clad in a pair of white boxer briefs
that hugged his muscular ass. I might have felt sorry for the guy if
he hadn’t caused my downfall. He had to bend over double not to
bash his head on the low, metallic ceiling of the van.
“Out you get,” said the policewoman.
The front of my dressing gown gaped open as I bent forward to
exit. With my wrists cuffed together and unable to stretch out an
arm for balance, I took my sweet time descending the steps.
My bare feet froze against the cold tarmac. It was only a dozen
steps, but I cursed the shitty psychological tactics that caused them
not to offer me a pair of slippers. We followed Maxwell and the
policeman to a heavy, metal door with a huge camera and waited to
be buzzed in.
Maxwell got processed first by the duty sergeant, who took down
his details and gestured for the policeman to take him for
fingerprinting.
“Don’t bother taking my prints,” I muttered. “They’re already in
the system.”
“Were you charged?”
 “They were dropped.”
“Then the system would have deleted your details.”
My spine straightened. That was good to know.
We stepped into another room where a biometric machine that
reminded me of an over-engineered photocopier scanned my entire
hand. The policewoman had even told me to turn my head away
from the glare. Classy. In good old Richley, they’d taken fingerprints
the old-fashioned way. And they hadn’t offered me a wet wipe to
remove the ink.
“This way.” She guided me out of the scanner room.
I glanced at the sign that said CUSTODY SUITE, fully expecting
to be thrown in a cell to await the duty solicitor. Instead, the
policewoman helped to straighten my gown before walking me to a
windowless interview room.
This one was designed to incite maximum despair. A charcoal-
gray carpet, a thin layer of gray paint over breeze blocks, and
polystyrene ceiling tiles. A plastic table stood wedged against a wall
with three chairs.
I turned around and gaped at her through the protective helmet,
wondering if I’d seen those pristinely applied false eyelashes before.
“Don’t I get a solicitor?”
Without a word, she shoved me in the back, making me stumble
inside. Then she shut the door and turned the lock.
“What if there’s a fire?” I shouted at the door.
The policewoman said nothing. Not that I expected her to reply.
Since there was a storage heater under the table, I trudged
across the room and flung myself into the chair to warm my toes.
The gentle heat did nothing to thaw out the chill on my soles, but I
bounced on the balls of my feet to get the circulation going.
Just as my feet started to tingle, the door opened and a tall, thin
man stood in the doorway. He wore an Aran v-neck sweater over his
shirt and tie, an indication that the Glasgow police station wasn’t
heated enough for a minor in a dressing gown.
“Good evening, Miss Hancock,” he said in a London accent. “I’m
Detective Chief Inspector Cromar, and you’re in a wee bit of trouble.”
 Right now, I wanted to fold my arms across my chest and affect
a posture of casual nonchalance. Like I’d played this cat-and-mouse
game so many times with the police that it had become boring. But
handcuffs still held my wrists together. Fuck knew why. And it was
just me and this super-high-ranking detective, which wasn’t right.
The last time I’d been arrested on suspicion of attempted murder,
they’d only brought out a detective sergeant and a constable.
“Where’s my brief?” I snapped.
He frowned and stepped into the room. “What makes you think
you’re entitled to a duty solicitor?”
“You’ve arrested me, haven’t you? I know my rights.”
Keeping his eyes fixed on mine, DCI Cromar strode to the
opposite side of the table. He spun the chair around, straddled it,
and placed his forearms on the edge of the backrest. Like he was
some kind of superhero.
Unease settled in my stomach like a flock of crash-landing
butterflies, and I raised my forearms to my chest to hold the edges
of my gown together.
“We’re going to have a wee chat,” he said. “Off the record. And if
you give me the information I want, I can make this problem go
away.”
“What’s this about?” I asked.
“Why did you return to Scotland? To deal cocaine, or is there
another reason?”
Intimidation. An annoyed breath huffed out from my nostrils.
Nothing I said right now would be admissible in court, but they were
looking for intelligence.
Leaning forward, I met the man’s piggy, brown eyes. “What is
this? An attempt to make me snitch so you can make a bigger
arrest?”
“You tell me,” he replied.
“Here’s what I can tell you,” I spat. “A bunch of assholes from my
academy placed a packet of goodness-knows-what in my wardrobe
and called the police.”
His brows rose. “‘Goodness-knows-what’ is the technical term
for?”
 “I’ll be fucked if I know.” And I’d be fucked if I told him it was
cocaine. Even if one of the arresting officers had identified it as
such, making an admission was halfway to a confession.
He rocked forward on the chair’s back legs, practically leaning
across the table. “What was William Hancock doing in the Glasgow
City Chambers?”
I raised a shoulder.
“Nicola Sturgeon, Iain Livingstone, and Camden Liddell were in
attendance,” he said.
“I know the last name is the Archbishop of Scotland, but I don’t
know the others.”
DCI Cromar bared his teeth. “Camden Liddell is the Deputy Chief
Constable of Police Scotland.”
All the bravado drained out of me along with all the blood in my
face. Elizabeth was connected. With a relative so high up in the
police, it was no wonder she had been able to dig up dirt about me.
This cat-and-mouse-game now felt like the spring had already
triggered and trapped me under the bar.
Shifting uncomfortably on the plastic seat, I asked, “Have you
finished with me, Detective?”
A muscle ticked on the side of his jaw. “It’s Detective Chief
Inspector.”
I gave him my blandest stare. This conversation wasn’t about the
cocaine planted in my room. He wanted me to turn informant on a
bunch of people who already thirsted for my blood. If I gave
evidence against Billy Hancock in court, I may as well order my own
coffin.
DCI Cromar stared at me for several moments, and I stared
back. This informal chat was over, and I was ready to go to my cell.
He eased himself off the chair and strolled to the door, where a
different female police officer from the one in the van waited. From
the worry lines on the woman’s face, she had fretted about the
breakdown in police protocol.
 I chewed the inside of my lip. Maybe I could use that to my
advantage if the duty solicitor was any good.

The new policewoman led me to the custody suite, a magnolia

hallway of heavy, teal doors. She unlocked mine with a set of keys
and pushed it open, revealing a room barely large enough to house
a cot and a seatless toilet. A woman sat on the cot, staring at the
hole in her sagging stockings. She wore a three-layered, denim skirt
and a matching bolero that did nothing to cover the red bra showing
under her blue camisole top.
I stepped inside, bristling at not being able to get my own cell.
As soon as the door clicked shut, the woman raised her head and
stared at me through mascara-smeared eyes. “I’m in for soliciting.”
She scratched her arms, apparently suffering the early stages of
withdrawal. “What are you in for?”
Some of the girls at the Richley Juvenile Detention Center had
talked about undercover police hanging out in cells to gather
‘intelligence’ on those arrested for crimes difficult to crack.
My gaze raked down the woman’s outfit. The circles under her
eyes looked like they’d been applied with an angled shadow brush,
and no amount of pale foundation could disguise her perfect skin.
She was too healthy and robust to rock the drug-addicted hooker
look. Friday-night clubber might have worked better but I wasn’t
about to give her pointers.
“A school prank gone wrong.” I leaned against the wall.
“What happened?”
I told her the truth.
She leaned forward, listening to me with a level of concentration
unprecedented for a woman who needed to sleep with men to get
her next fix of drugs. Not a single raised blood vessel marred the
whites of her eyes, and not a scrap of tobacco stained her teeth.
Miraculous.
“What are you in for again?” I said, trying to sound interested.
 “My stepfather put me on the game.” She shook her head. “Do
you live with yours?”
I pursed my lips. Nice way to change the subject and get her
talking about Billy Hancock. “No, I’m at a boarding school.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Oh, right. You said.”
She tried chatting about her rich clients and how the wealthy
deserved to be robbed, but I closed my eyes and tuned her out.
Maybe she had run out of things to ask.
The door opened. “Kitty Bordel?” said the policewoman. “Your
brief has arrived.”
She stood and teetered to the door on shiny, new stilettos. “Good
luck.”
“Yeah.” I gave her a nod. “Don’t let your stepfather prostitute
you. Mine’s an utter bastard.”
A mix of disappointment and frustration flickered across her
features. Maybe the next undercover cop they sent in would fare
better.
My gaze flicked to the clock. The police could only hold me for
thirty-six hours before having to let me go. I wasn’t sure if the timer
started at the moment of arrest or if it started after they’d signed
me in. Shit. I clenched my fists. Why hadn’t I researched this better?
I lay on the cot, staring at the ceiling. Elizabeth had probably
spent all that time away from the academy planning my downfall.
Who else but her would have contacted Sammy and Billy to ambush
me at the fashion show? Mother must have known about the
gangsters’ trip to Glasgow. Why hadn’t she warned me? I would
have dropped out of the fashion show if I’d known it was a trap.
The lights turned out, and I closed my eyes, trying to will myself
to sleep. It wasn’t like I had any other options.
That night, every dream featured dogs. Dogs pinning me to the
bed and ripping out my throat, dogs leaping up at my dangling body,
dogs chasing me out of my dream. I jolted awake in a cold sweat,
my heart clattering, my damp eyes staring into the dark. Thanks to
that bunch of bastards, I now had a slew of fresh, traumatic
memories to add to the old.
 Hours later, keys jangled outside and the door swung open. A
female officer poked her head inside. “Delilah Hancock?” She held a
tray containing a mug of tea and a stack of toast in both hands with
what looked like my school uniform wedged under an arm. “Your
solicitor and guardian have arrived.”
“Thanks.” Let’s hope this person was better than the mute
assigned to me in Richley.
I pulled on my uniform, leaving the tea and toast untouched. The
trepidation roiling in my stomach wouldn’t allow me to keep
anything down for long. Sucking in a deep breath, I placed my
hands on my belly and closed my eyes. If I could get away with
stabbing a man with my fingerprints all over the weapon and his
blood on my clothes, I would leave here exonerated of all
accusations. This time, I was completely innocent.
Ten minutes later, the policewoman walked me out of the custody
suite, through a set of heavy, metal doors and into the same suite of
interview rooms as the night before. She paused at one of the doors
and gestured at me to enter. “They’re waiting for you inside.”
“Thanks.”
I stood at the door, my heart dropping at the furious, sapphire-
blue eyes of Mr. Burgh.
 CHAPTER 3

M r. Burgh stood. My stomach fluttered, and I squirmed

under his glower. It was an electric-blue mix of
disappointment and fury. The kind of look a teacher
would make after seeing their favorite student get themselves into
trouble.
Except this was worse.
From a certain angle, all the facts pointed toward my guilt—the
cocaine-dealing stepfather, my own cannabis-growing past, and the
lewd acts I’d committed with Maxwell Orlando. Not to mention
Mother’s scandalous past. The old man probably thought he’d
brought in a trojan horse by rescuing me from my enemies in
Richley.
The walk across the interview room felt like a death-march as
each heavy footstep brought me closer to his wrath. And closer to
the assessing eyes of Detective Chief Inspector Cromar. He wore the
same Aran sweater from the day before, and I suppressed the urge
to curl my lip.
Next to Mr. Burgh sat a prim-looking woman in her thirties who
looked a cut above the usual duty solicitor. She wore a tailored,
tweed-suit with pearl earrings and her hair swept up in a tight,
Professor McGonagall-style bun. The book version, not the one
played by Maggie Smith.
“For the purposes of the interview, Delilah Hancock has walked in
with Detective Constable McPhie,” said DCI Cromar.
 Holding back the desire to blow a raspberry into the recording, I
sat next to Mr. Burgh and stared at my hands. The heat of his anger
burned the side of my face like a pair of lasers.
All my words, all my excuses, all my explanations died in my
throat. What was I going to say to my grandfather and headmaster?
That it wasn’t me? A soft snort huffed out of my nostrils. Trite words
uttered by nearly everyone who ever got arrested.
“You find this funny?” Mr. Burgh’s voice was as hard as steel.
My heart sank. That would teach me to wallow in self-pity. “No,
sir.”
“This is no laughing matter.” He sounded like he was building up
to a rant.
“If I may?” asked DCI Cromar.
I raised my head. Detective Constable McPhie slid into the seat
opposite. The man was about five or six years older than me with
lank, blond hair, pink cheeks, and hazel eyes brimming with a
teachers-pet level of enthusiasm.
After the detective chief inspector repeated the standard caution
that anything I said could be used against me in court, he asked,
“How long have you been supplying cocaine to the students of
Templar Academy?”
Mr. Burgh inhaled through his teeth, and the solicitor placed a
hand on his wrist. My shoulders bunched up around my ears. This
was the kind of asshole question meant to have me gibbering
panicked denials and desperate to make a deal to snitch on anyone
to get my freedom.
I leaned forward and stared into the detective’s smug face. He’d
made a mistake by hauling me into an interview the night before for
that bizarre little chat. It had revealed that he was more interested
in Billy Hancock than in me, and he’d also told me how Elizabeth had
achieved the feat of getting me arrested. Another mistake the police
had made was to leave me overnight to piece everything together.
“Cocaine?” I tilted my head to the side. “Where on earth would
you get such an idea?”
“The police raided your bedroom at Templar Academy and found
a block of—”
 “Are my fingerprints on this block?”
DCI Cromar froze.
The stirrings of triumph soothed the fluttering of my stomach,
and I straightened. “Well, detective? Would you like to reply to my
question? Did you find my fingerprints anywhere on the item that
was planted in my room?”
Detective Constable McPhie piped up. “A forensics-savvy criminal
would know to use gloves when—”
“Answer my client’s question,” the solicitor snapped.
“No.” DCI Cromar glanced down at his pile of documents. “Miss
Hancock’s fingerprints were not on the block.”
I rested my forearms on the table and leaned forward. “What
other evidence do you have that the block belongs to me and wasn’t
planted by someone else?”
The two detectives exchanged helpless glances.
I turned to Mr. Burgh, hoping he could see that my arrest had
been a set-up, but the man remained stony-faced.
The solicitor cleared her throat. “If you have no evidence against
my client, I suggest you release her immediately and expunge her
fingerprints from your records.”
Nobody spoke for several moments. Folding my arms, I sat back
in my seat and waited for these bungling cops to admit defeat.
Elizabeth had clearly wasted their time. The words danced on the tip
of my tongue, but I held them back.
The police wouldn’t have sent out such a huge team on an
anonymous tip-off—I had learned that years ago when I had tried to
tell them about Billy Hancock’s cocaine haul. They just wouldn’t
mobilize so many officers and dogs on the say-so of someone who
wouldn’t leave their name and explain their connection with the
criminal.
Elizabeth had used her familial connections—this Camden Liddell
person—to arrange that raid. I knew this. She knew this. And most
importantly of all, the police knew this, too.
“Tests indicate traces of cocaine on the outside of the block,” said
DCI Cromar.
Mr. Burgh frowned. “What was inside?”
 “Cooking flour,” replied the detective constable.
“Oh dear,” said the solicitor with a sigh. “You’ve wasted all these
resources and arrested an innocent young girl because of a school
prank.”
I bit down on the inside of my cheek to suppress a smirk. Things
were going well, but I wasn’t about to celebrate until I was safely
out of the police station.
DCI Cromar leaned forward. “There’s another possibility that Miss
Hancock intended to sell flour to students under the pretenses it was
cocaine.”
“That’s far-fetched, even for you,” said the solicitor in a tone that
implied that she knew the detective chief inspector but found him
unimpressive.
With a scowl, DCI Cromar said, “For the purposes of the
recording, Detective Constable McPhie is showing Miss Hancock
exhibit AS-two, a roll of fifty-pound notes.”
The younger detective pushed forward an evidence bag
containing all my money. My lips tightened along with my insides.
That didn’t prove I’d done anything wrong.
“How do you explain this cash, Miss Hancock?” DCI Cromar
flashed me a smile. “Proceeds from dealing cocaine?”
I clenched my teeth. “Money I’ve squirreled away in case of an
emergency. I took it from my house in Richley in September.”
He opened a manilla folder. “From the house of Samuel Kettering,
arrested for the cultivation of cannabis plants with the intent to
supply.”
Rage surged through my veins. The bastard was about to say
that this was Sammy’s drug money. Which it was. I’d had no part-
time job and no other source of income except for Sammy, and now
DCI Cromar would confiscate my money on the basis that it was the
proceeds of crime. My hands curled into fists, and I longed to launch
myself across the table and rake my nails over his smug face.
“You know we can’t return it unless you can prove the source of
that money,” he said with a smirk.
“All my pay slips are in London,” I snapped.
 DC McPhie pulled my money away, and DCI Cromar added, “We’ll
release your cash when you’re ready to give us the information.”
Harsh, angry breaths heaved in and out of my lungs. I tried to
slow my breathing, tried to act nonchalant, but it was impossible.
The bastard had delivered a devastating threat. Spill my guts about
Billy Hancock’s appearance in Glasgow or lose my only source of
money.
My mouth opened and closed. If I told him the truth—that my
stepfather had come to Scotland for revenge—he’d be in violation of
his parole and get locked up for the rest of his sentence. And in a
year’s time, I’d earn a bullet through the skull before he fed me to
his dogs.
The edges of my vision turned red. This was Elizabeth’s fault.
That wretched, deranged, petty-minded bitch. One day, if I ever got
the chance, I would take everything she owned and see how she
liked being impoverished.
“Since you have nothing on my client,” said the solicitor. “I insist
you release her and remove her fingerprints from your database.”
“Fine,” said DCI Cromar with a sigh. “But we’ll be keeping our
eye on you, Miss Hancock. You’ll be back here at the first sign of
trouble.”
Mr. Burgh stood. “My granddaughter has clearly been the victim
of a vicious prank. If you want to lash out at anyone, turn to the
idiot who planted fake drugs in her room.” He placed a large hand
on my shoulder. “Come along, Delilah.”
I couldn’t even smirk. Couldn’t even give the detectives a
triumphant sneer. Because despite walking out without being
charged, Elizabeth had won… for now.
And the fury burning in Mr. Burgh’s eyes told me I wasn’t
completely out of trouble.
The three of us walked in silence through the dreary hallways,
our footsteps thudding on the brown carpet tiles. DCI Cromar and
DC McPhie lingered behind us like unwanted farts. We reached the
door leading to the reception area of the police station, and the
solicitor pressed the release button.
 I was about to step into the public area when Mr. Burgh froze, a
breath catching in the back of his throat. The old man looked like he
had seen the ghost of Christmas past.
 CHAPTER 4

T he solicitor walked ahead into the spacious, white

waiting room and turned around. “It was a pleasure
meeting you both, Miss Hancock and Mr. Burgh.” She handed me a
business card of heavy stock paper. “If you have any more problems,
don’t hesitate to call Fraser and Finlay.”
“Thanks.” My gaze darted from the stunned old man to the
people sitting around the rows of plastic chairs.
Kendrick and Orlando stood in the waiting room, both looking at
me as though I was the answer to a puzzle.
A tight fist squeezed at my chest, and every memory of the day
before flooded back. The escape through Glasgow on the back of a
motorcycle, that epic kiss, and…
A lump formed in my throat.
That hadn’t even been Kendrick. The real Kendrick despised me
and had allowed his brother to take up his identity to carry out the
sickest, most convoluted revenge plan that didn’t even make sense.
Curling my lip, I turned my attention to the woman sitting about
five seats away from the boys.
Mother perched at the edge of her plastic seat, clad in a
burgundy, sheepskin coat. She had dyed her hair black, which
brought out her pale complexion and the shadows under her eyes.
Her hard glare fixed on Mr. Burgh as though she might be able to
cleave him in half with her glower.
 Fury seared through my heart, and I stormed across the room,
my pulse pounding in my ears. I’d seen Mother hundreds of times in
Richley High Street and had become accustomed to her pretending I
was the dirt underneath her shoe. But I’d hoped she would have
found blood thicker than cocaine. Or gin. Or whatever Billy Hancock
supplied her with these days.
Stopping at Mother’s side, I hissed, “You knew they were coming
for me and you couldn’t have sent me a warning?”
Her lips thinned, and a grimace crossed her delicate features.
“Billy’s contact said you’d be in Glasgow. How was I supposed to
know they’d be telling the truth?”
Mr. Burgh towered over us both. “What on earth is going on?”
Ignoring the twats leaning in to eavesdrop, I recounted the
events of yesterday’s fashion show and how Elizabeth had smirked
at me just before we had reached the row where my worst enemies
had sat. “I’m sure Deloraine and Nevis can shed more light on this,
as they were part of the plan.”
Orlando raised both hands. “I didn’t know anything about a drug
bust.”
Kendrick stared down at his lap. Apparently, he wasn’t as adept
at lying as his best friend and twin. But he had no qualms about
allowing his asshole brother to use his identity to screw with
someone’s mind.
“I’ll deal with you two, later.” Mr. Burgh turned furious eyes to
Mother. “You could have at least told me to keep Delilah away from
Glasgow.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I know that now.”
“This is very disappointing, Abigail,” he said.
Mother’s head snapped up to Mr. Burgh’s. “You don’t get to talk
to me like I’m one of your students. I’ve done my best for this girl. I
told you to hide her and what do you do? Let her gallivant to
Glasgow on a school night!”
“It’s not his fault,” I said. “My textiles teacher took us all to an
end-of-term fashion event.”
“You should have warned us that your husband would come to
Scotland looking for Delilah,” added Mr. Burgh.
 “I’m warning you now.” Mother folded her arms across her chest
and straightened as though those words had set things right. “Billy
asked me to wait here and find out where you’re staying. What
should I tell him?”
“Does he know about the academy?” asked Mr. Burgh.
Mother shook her head. “Not a thing.”
“Tell him I take evening classes at the Edinburgh School of
Fashion,” I said.
They had been in front of us in the fashion show, and I didn’t
remember anyone announcing Templar Academy. Maybe it would
work and the thugs from Richley would move onto another town.
Nobody spoke for a while. I turned around and found Mr. Burgh
staring down at Mother for the longest time. It was as though he
wanted to drink her in before she disappeared and never spoke to
him again. I couldn’t blame the poor guy. This was probably the first
time he had seen her since she had run away and gotten herself
arrested in London.
She stared up at him with impatience in her eyes but didn’t
speak. Maybe she was doing the same to him. I’d never had a
father, and I couldn’t imagine any kind of a long-lost reunion.
Throughout this stand-off, I cast my gaze at Kendrick and
Orlando, who gaped openly at my family drama. I clenched my
teeth. Hadn’t either of them thought what kind of impact their
actions would have on Mr. Burgh?
Orlando caught me watching him and frowned. I scowled at the
asshole, wishing I could burn him with the power of my hatred. If
the police found Maxwell’s fingerprints all over the fake cocaine, I
hoped they would charge him on some trumped-up charge.
“I’m sorry you weren’t able to attend your mother’s funeral,” Mr.
Burgh finally said.
Mother glanced away. “Morag Burgh wouldn’t have wanted me
sullying her send-off.”
“She regretted her reaction—”
“That’s ancient history,” Mother snapped. “You two need to leave
before one of Billy’s men comes and finds you.”
Mr. Burgh’s brows furrowed. “Abigail, will you be alright?”
 “It’s too late to worry about my welfare.” She walked to the other
side of the reception area and kept her back turned. “Just take care
of her for me.”
A dull ache formed from the back of my throat, down my gullet
and spread across my chest. She hadn’t once looked at me or even
mentioned my name. But I was getting better. A year ago, that snub
would have hurt like a knife in the chest.
Tugging on the sleeve of Mr. Burgh’s jacket, I said, “We’d better
go.”
He watched Mother walk out of the door into the street and climb
into an awaiting Bentley, a kaleidoscope of emotions flickering across
his features. Sadness, regret, and finally heartbreak. I might have
told him that it got better with time, but I wasn’t sure he would
believe me.
“Mr. Burgh,” I murmured.
His jaw tightened. “We had better go.” He turned to Kendrick and
Orlando. “The detective inspector in charge of the raid told me they
would keep Mr. Deloraine the full thirty-six hours for questioning.
You should return to pick him up tomorrow night.”
As we walked across the waiting room toward the exit, I turned
around and met Orlando’s hazel eyes and then Kendrick’s gray ones
and mouthed, “You’re dead.”

“You can sit up, now,” said Mr. Burgh as we reached the highway.
“There’s no one following us.”
I raised my head from the back seat and glanced behind us for
suspicious-looking black cars. Swathes of winter landscape bordered
us on both sides of the road, and the only black car close by
contained a bunch of children.
“Alright.”
“What on earth really happened?” he asked. “Someone knocked
on my door in the early hours to tell me you’d been dragged naked
out of your room by the police with Maxwell Deloraine.”
 I smoothed down my hair, noting that for once, it wasn’t brittle.
“They exaggerated. And Elizabeth set me up.”
“Again?” he said with disbelief in his voice. “What does that girl
have against you?”
“She’s mentally unstable and shouldn’t have been allowed to
return after attacking Miss Martin in tailoring club.”
Mr. Burgh blew out a long, weary breath. “Are you sure Elizabeth
planted that package in your room?”
“Not a hundred percent,” I replied. “She might have gotten
Maxwell, Orlando, or Kendrick to do the dirty work for her. But she
definitely used her contacts in the police to organize the raid. Did
you know she’s related to the Deputy Chief Constable of Police
Scotland?”
“Camden is her uncle.” His knuckles tightened on the steering
wheel.
I shook my head. “She has friends in high places.”
“Camden Lidell, Lady Lidell, and the Archbishop of Scotland are
governors of the school. After an incident like this, I’ll be obliged to
call an emergency meeting to discuss your future. I will try to fight
in your corner, but it will be difficult to establish impartiality
considering our familial relationship.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I muttered. “This is what she
wanted all along. To get me expelled.”
Mr. Burgh’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t understand why she
would take her animosity for you that far. But let’s hope the rest of
her family will deal with you in an impartial and professional
manner.”
Dread lined my stomach and pulled it down into my lap. There
wasn’t a chance in hell of that happening.
 CHAPTER 5

I t was afternoon before we reached the academy’s

gatehouses. Instead of the usual swell of pride that
accompanied passing into the grounds, my chest
shriveled with a mix of despair and impending doom.
The sun filtered through a lattice of bare branches from the trees
that bordered the driveway. I tore my gaze from the unusual sight
and tried to gauge Mr. Burgh’s mood. From where I sat in the back
seat, the man remained stony-faced.
“What’s going to happen to me?” I cringed at what I’d become:
hunted, running scared, and totally dependent on a man I barely
knew. Things hadn’t changed since I’d moved in with Sammy to
escape a shitty foster home.
“If you’re expelled, we’ll have to find you somewhere to continue
your studies within driving distance of the academy.”
“Do you think the governors not attached to Elizabeth will want
me out?”
Mr. Burgh drove past the entrance of the academy, the wheels of
his jeep rumbling against the tarmac. “The academy’s Board of
Governors consists of twelve people. Apart from Elizabeth’s three
blood relatives, four are members of the Church of Scotland, and the
remaining four are parents who can’t always attend the emergency
meetings.”
“Right.” I was in deep shit and about to lose my place at the
academy. All because an unbalanced twit decided to mess with my
life. I dug the tips of my fingers into my thighs. If things went to
shit, I’d stuff as much of it as I could down Elizabeth’s throat.
The clock tower chimed three, and I placed a hand over my
mouth to stifle a yawn. The last time I’d slept this badly had been at
the juvenile detention center, and I doubted I’d be able to sleep well
tonight with the sword of uncertainty dangling over the back of my
neck.
I glanced up at the headmaster’s quarters, which stood straight
ahead in all its French mansion-style glory. Frost caught the winter
sunlight, making the building twinkle like it was made of magic.
Slumping in my seat, I stared out of the side window as Mr.
Burgh drove through tall, wrought-iron gates. In the fairytales, the
heroine never got arrested and thrown into a dungeon. A bitter
laugh huffed out of my throat. The girl in Rumpelstiltskin did, just
before the king demanded that she spin straw into gold. If I didn’t
spin up a good excuse for the academy’s Board of Governors, it
would be me who lost everything.
Mr. Burgh stopped the engine and twisted around to fix me with
a hard-eyed stare that made me stiffen. “Until you hear from the
Board of Governors, you are not to re-enter the academy under any
circumstances.”
“But my things are—”
“A staff member has already moved your books and clothing into
my quarters. They can retrieve anything else you need.” Mr. Burgh
stopped the car engine.
“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.”
Mr. Burgh opened the door, letting in a gust of freezing air. He
placed a hand on the small of my back and guided me out of the
mansion. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
I descended the stone steps and frowned. “What do you mean?”
“They brought sniffer dogs to your room, presumably not
beagles.”
A shudder ran down my spine, and I stared into the driveway
beyond the iron gates that surrounded the courtyard. “German
shepherds. That was a nasty shock.”
He gave me a comforting pat on the back. “Do you need to talk
about it?”
“I’ll be alright as long as I don’t have to confront a dog any time
soon.”
Mr. Burgh guided me through the courtyard. “It might not be
much, but I won’t let Elizabeth go unpunished.”
I stared up into his face. “What are you going to do?”
“That’s for the Board of Governors to discuss. We have rules
against bullying, disorderly conduct, and disturbing the academy’s
peace.”
“How about respecting the privacy of others?” I muttered as we
crossed the gates.
Mr. Burgh hummed his agreement but didn’t respond. I
wondered if he wanted to avoid a discussion about how Elizabeth
hadn’t been punished for dredging up facts about my past. I walked
alongside him down the driveway that led away from the academy
building and turned left down a single-lane track that ran parallel to
the gardens.
“Is this part of the academy?” he asked.
“This is the Laird’s estate.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a Scottish term used to describe a land-owner. The academy
is only a small part of Lord Liddell’s estate.”
“Is the chapel part of the academy?”
Mr. Burgh shook his head.
We walked in silence alongside a tall hedgerow of mixed plants.
On the other side was a meadow and then fenced paddocks. A
figure in the distance clad in black rode a pale, white horse over
increasingly tall jumps. I glanced at Mr. Burgh to see if he had
noticed the rider, but he stared straight ahead.
Dogs barked in the distance, but the sound didn’t set my teeth
on edge to my surprise. A monstrous hound crushing a girl’s lungs
tended to put a few things in perspective. The dogs locked up in
those kennels couldn’t hurt me. I wrapped the shawl tighter around
my shoulders, hoping that neither of the twins had told Elizabeth of
my phobia. If they had, I could look forward to a fuck-load of
ferocious dogs running through the academy.
Several minutes later, we rounded a corner and approached the
chapel from the back. A black, Lincoln Continental from the 1960’s
was parked close to its door, alongside a silver Bentley. Mr. Burgh
frowned at the vehicles but didn’t comment.
“Isn’t that the car from the Matrix?” I asked.
He smiled and opened the back door. “Those films were before
your time.”
“My friend from home was obsessed with the trilogy.” I stepped
through into a warm, white hallway with pristine pine floors, not
bothering to tell him that this Matrix fan was Sammy.
At the end of the hallway was a heavy wooden door that led to
the main part of the chapel. Excited chatter filled the air. This was
probably everyone’s first sighting of me since I’d been dragged half-
naked out of the academy by police and sniffer dogs. I tamped down
the flutter of nausea in the pit of my belly and raised my chin.
 “Are you alright?” asked Mr. Burgh.
I offered him what I hoped was a confident smile. “They’re
acting like they’ve never seen me before.”
He grinned. “Let’s take a pew.”
Mrs. Campbell sat in the front next to the two Mr. McGarrs, with
space on her left for Mr. Burgh and me. Elizabeth and her mother sat
on the other side. My muscles clenched, and I snatched my gaze
away from the malevolent pair. Didn’t Lady Liddell have her own
church, or were she and her wretched daughter joined at the teat?
I sat on the bench between Mr. Burgh and Mrs. Campbell,
clenching and unclenching my fists. And dredging up memories of
Religious Education class to remember if the bible had any stories
about girls getting caught naked with a stash of blow. It didn’t
matter that the police had discovered it was fake. People like Father
Neapolitan tended to be selective with the facts.
“Miss Hancock,” whispered Mrs. Campbell. “I hope you have a
bloody good explanation for recent events.”
Before I could reply, the organist played Morning Has Broken,
and everybody stood. Father Neapolitan flounced in through the
door, his mouth turned down as though he was trying not to react to
a bad smell. The man’s shoulders hunched, and his hands curled into
fists.
Apprehension wrung my stomach with the slow, jagged
movements of a hand crank. I stared into the pages of Mr. Burgh’s
hymn book, trying to focus on the words as I sang. Father
Neapolitan was probably building himself up to a righteous fury.
After the song ended, the priest addressed the room in his usual,
nasal voice. “Good morning, congregation. His Grace, the
Archbishop, will deliver this morning’s service.”
Excited chatter spread through the chapel. Avoiding the sight of
Elizabeth preening in her father’s reflected glory, I leaned into Mr.
Burgh. “What’s he doing here?”
“His Grace agreed to an informal discussion of your situation.” Mr.
Burgh squeezed my hand. “He also likes to deliver the sermons
whenever he’s in Templar.”
 The archbishop strolled in through the back door, clad in an
elegant black suit that looked like it had been tailored to fit.
Everything else—his silver hair, his silver-white clerical collar, the
huge silver cross dangling from his neck—was coordinated to pop.
My stomach muscles tightened, and I held my breath. Mere days
ago, police had raided his beautiful academy. It was clear from
Elizabeth’s admiring sigh that she hadn’t been punished for her role
in the entire mess, so it looked like the blame would fall on me.
The archbishop smiled, revealing a mouthful of whitened teeth.
“It’s an honor to be here so close to the end of term when many of
you are looking forward to the Christmas break.” He paused and
glanced around the chapel with a beatific smile. “I expect you’re all
wondering what kinds of presents you’ll receive this year. CDs,
DVDs, and the like.”
Muffled giggles echoed through the hall. I slid further in my seat,
dreading what he might say next. This guy was out of touch.
Everyone was digital these days.
“But do you know the greatest gift of all?” He pressed his hands
together and paused for effect.
Love? I turned to Mr. Burgh, who met my gaze with a warm smile
and twinkling, blue eyes.
“Forgiveness.” The archbishop’s voice echoed with the resonance
of the word.
Silence stretched out for several moments. Not even the first
years spoke. I leaned back and snuck a peek across the other side at
Father Neapolitan, whose nose wrinkled. Next to him, Lady Liddell’s
smile froze. I turned back to the front. Why wasn’t I surprised that
neither of them found the topic to their tastes?
The sermon continued with examples of Jesus forgiving others,
and I sat straighter in my seat. He actually seemed like a decent
person—the complete opposite of Elizabeth, who probably got her
rotten personality from her sour-faced mother.
After a few more hymns and prayers, the archbishop wished us
all a happy Christmas break, and Elizabeth stood with a velvet pouch
for the collection. Her coat swung open, revealing the tuxedo dress I
had made for the fashion show.
 Any goodwill I might have felt from the sermon fizzled in the heat
of the rage surging through my veins.
“Delilah,” Mr. Burgh whispered into my ear. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s wearing my dress,” I snarled.
He placed a palm on my shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t play into
her hands by rising to the bait.”
My gaze flickered to the archbishop, who stood at the altar with
Father Neapolitan. From the older man’s stiff posture, even he
couldn’t stand the twit who dressed like he was auditioning for Neo
from the Matrix. “If I stick around for a moment longer, I’m going to
stuff that dress down her gullet.”
Mr. Burgh sighed. “Come on, let’s grab a cup of tea before you
meet the Board of Governors.”
 CHAPTER 6

M r. Burgh placed an arm around my shoulders and

guided me out through the back entrance of the
chapel, avoiding Elizabeth, Father Neapolitan, and
everyone else who would probably gape or gloat about my
humiliating arrest. The strains of the organist filled the back hallway
and mingled with the echo of our footsteps. The door creaked open.
My heart leapfrogged out of my chest, and I turned around.
Mrs. Campbell walked toward us, fastening her coat. “I may as
well leave now and get the meeting room ready.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Burgh. “Delilah and I will have a cup of tea
before the disciplinary starts.”
The word was like a jab to the gut. Elizabeth framed me, wasted
police time and resources, caused a ruckus in the academy, and
stole my dress. What happened to ‘thou shalt not steal’ and ‘thou
shalt not bear false witness’?
I turned to the fire exit and clenched my teeth. Even though I
had done nothing wrong, the assholes had covered every angle of
the set-up. Since the police couldn’t charge me for the possession of
flour, the Board of Governors could expel me for lewd conduct.
After heaving open the wooden door and letting in a blast of icy
air that set my teeth on edge, I stepped out into the cold, bright
morning. The sun shone down from an azure sky that would have
looked summery if it wasn’t for the tiny snowflakes swirling in the
breeze. They settled on Father Neapolitan’s 1960’s Lincoln
Continental and the huge, black Bentley parked at its side.
Two sets of footsteps rushed toward us, and I turned to find
Orlando emerging from the side of the chapel with one of the twins.
They both wore dark suits with white shirts and ties, each coated in
the perfect veneer of Christian respectability.
I sucked in an icy breath through my teeth, and my feet froze on
the frosted ground. Mr. Burgh approached from behind with a
murmured question, but I couldn’t hear him through the fury roaring
through my skull and the pulse pounding like war drums.
Those bastards.
Those bloody, fucking twats.
Right now, I wished I was in the matrix. I would turn all Trinity
on the wankers and slice them into megapixels.
“Lilah.” Orlando raised both palms as though trying to stop traffic.
The engine of my anger revved up from fury to incandescent to
about-to-explode. I fixed my gaze on Orlando, the only one of that
terrible trio whose face didn’t make me want to self-combust. How
dare they look me in the eye after knifing me in the back?
“Boys,” said Mr. Burgh, his voice as cold as the wind. “You’re
already in enough trouble as it is, if you don’t stay away from Lilah,
I’ll have you sent home for a week.”
“We just want to explain,” said Orlando.
“Bugger off,” I snarled.
Mrs. Campbell placed a gloved hand on my arm. “Don’t engage
with them.”
I clamped my mouth together. This was probably an attempt to
make the archbishop witness a brawl. The old man would probably
decide I was bringing down the tone of his academy and expel me
on the spot.
“Think carefully about who you decide to follow, boys,” said Mrs.
Campbell. “From what I gather, your attempt to frame Delilah
backfired the moment one of you angered your ringleader.”
“I expected better from the Deloraine and Nevis families,” said
Mr. Burgh.
 Orlando exchanged a glance with the Deloraine twin. I didn’t
know if this was Kendrick or Maxwell, and I didn’t care. Until
recently, it had been easy to tell them apart. Maxwell was the one
with the tattoos, the piercings, and the swagger. Kendrick was the
unadorned twin who played it straight. Apparently not, if he allowed
his twin to use his identity to fuck me over.
Mr. Burgh placed a hand on the small of my back, guiding me
past the boys, and anguish rippled through my heart. What had I
become?
Over the summer, I was the happiest girl in Richley. I’d gotten
the grades I needed to get into the Fashion and Textiles course and
could look forward to going to the London College of Fashion in two
years. Then Sammy ruined everything by shagging my best friend
and trying to brazen it out with his fists.
“Come along, Delilah.” Mr. Burgh gave me a gentle pat on the
back.
With my grandfather at my side, I strode past Orlando and the
twin with my nose in the air, not giving either of them a scrap of my
attention. When I struck back, I would use their greatest fears
against them. Just as they had done to me.
My long, outward breath formed a cloud of condensation. I
continued through the parking lot, enjoying the shrill of Mrs.
Campbell’s public dissection of their shitty morals and lack of
character. According to her, they had gotten more than one girl in
trouble for lewd conduct.
Turning to Mr. Burgh, I whispered, “Why haven’t they been
expelled yet?”
“This afternoon at the emergency Board of Governors’ meeting,
I’ll push for the Deloraine twins, but there’s little I can do about Mr.
Nevis. In the meantime, don’t do anything rash.”
“Right.” This time, I would bide my time before striking back. No
getting stabby then calling 999 with my fingerprints all over the
weapon. This time, I’d attack from the shadows, sit back, and watch
them flail.
At the end of the walkway, I glanced over my shoulder at the two
boys standing side-by-side. We were too far away to see their
expressions, but whatever Mrs. Campbell was saying to them made
them both hunch their shoulders.
Inwardly cursing Crawford for snatching my coat off my back on
Friday night, I adjusted the thick, woolen shawl over my shoulders
to protect myself from the cold.
“Are you alright?” asked Mr. Burgh.
“Thanks for saving me from myself,” I muttered.
He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and brought me into
his side. “Unfortunately, I’ll be on the other side of the table at your
disciplinary. Will you be able to stay calm in the face of Elizabeth’s
relatives?”

About forty-five minutes later, I sat alone at one end of a boardroom

table, an empty seat at my side. The archbishop and Lady Liddell sat
at the other end of the boardroom table, making me feel like I was a
prisoner of the Glorious Nation of Elizabeth.
On the left of Lady Liddell sat a younger version of the
archbishop—Camden Liddell, I presumed from the toned physique
and regimental posture. An old woman perched at his side, staring
down at a notebook. Mr. Burgh and Mrs. Campbell sat opposite
them, and three empty seats created what felt like an impassable
gulf.
My throat dried, and I wiped my damp hands on the woolen
fabric covering my thighs. If I had to make the comparison between
a police interrogation and the Board of Governors, I’d have to say
this was worse. At least when the police were doing things by the
book, they allowed a girl a duty solicitor.
Right now, I would have even welcomed a mannequin with a
clipboard. Anything to balance the numbers and make this
disciplinary feel like less of an ambush.
The archbishop peered at me through his half-moon glasses. I
pushed away thoughts of Dumbledore and focussed on the present.
Despite the upbeat sermon, his kindly exterior had to hide a rotten
core. How else could he have created a malevolent creature like
Elizabeth?
“Delilah Hancock, do you understand why you’re here?” he
asked.
One thing my stepfather drilled into my thick skull was never to
admit anything under a police interrogation without the advice of a
bent solicitor. So, I replied, “Not completely.”
Lady Liddell leaned forward, her perfect teeth bared. “Lewd
conduct, disturbing the peace of the academy, and the distribution of
drugs.”
Mrs. Campbell bristled. “Madam Chairwoman. It’s my
understanding that the police exonerated Miss Hancock of the drugs
charge.” She turned to Camden Liddell. “Is that not correct, Deputy
Chief Constable?”
Camden Liddell grunted his agreement.
Mr. Burgh leaned back in his seat. “The real culprit of disturbing
the academy’s peace is whoever called the police out of malice.”
Lady Liddell’s self-righteous expression flickered so rapidly I
nearly missed it, but a quick glance at the archbishop told me he
hadn’t been part of this conspiracy. I leaned forward and narrowed
my eyes. How far would this upper-class bint stoop to cater to
Elizabeth’s whims?
“Will you also claim innocence of lewd conduct?” Lady Liddell
smirked.
My hands twitched to slap the Botox off her face. Fuck this
toffee-nosed bitch and her snooty daughter. “If I’d known it was
against school rules to be naked in my own bedroom, I would have
gotten dressed in the bathroom with the door locked.”
She turned to the crooked policeman. “You arrested a half-naked
boy in her room.”
Before he could reply, I said, “The police arrested him in the
hallway on Elizabeth’s command.”
“But he was in your room,” she said.
“He probably wandered in to investigate the noise.” I folded my
arms across my chest. “I would have reminded the officers to secure
their supposed crime scene, but I had a giant police dog on my
chest.”
Lady Liddell pursed her lips. “Before his arrest, Mr. Deloraine
confirmed that you were…” She turned to her husband. “Please
pardon the expression, Your Grace.”
I tamped down the urge to roll my eyes. She acted as though
they’d never talked dirty in bed. Underneath all the makeup and
fillers and fancy clothes, the woman looked like a hard-nosed skank.
As though it pained her to utter the words, Lady Liddell said, “Mr.
Deloraine claimed that Miss Hancock was, and I quote, ‘an
unbelievable fuck.’”
Mr. Burgh stiffened, and my insides tightened into knots. Avoiding
the disappointment in his gaze, I turned to the archbishop, who
raised his brows, seeming impressed.
Seriously, if I wasn’t facing expulsion, hurting my grandfather,
and a one-way ticket back to the wrath of Billy Hancock, I would
have laughed my ass off.
The archbishop leaned forward, his blue eyes twinkling. “Is this
the same Mr. Deloraine we suspended for questionable conduct with
Mr. Nevis?”
A week ago, I might have spoken up and explained that I’d
tricked Maxwell into getting hard and naked with Orlando. Now, I
was happy to throw that fucker under a double-decker bus.
In my best archbishop’s pet voice, I said, “Yes, sir.”
His expression brightened. “I expect Mr. and Mrs. Nevis will be
delighted their son has departed from the ways of Oscar Wilde.”
I clamped my lips together, not wanting to ruin things by telling
the old fart that one good, hetero fuck wasn’t the cure-all for
homosexuality.
Camden Liddell shook his head. “Miss Hancock is a terrible
influence on our students. The sooner we send her back to Richley,
the sooner we can restore order in the academy.”
The old woman at his side nodded.
“No.” The archbishop steepled his fingers.
“What?” Lady Liddell spat. “Nudity and fornication aren’t lewd?”
 “I believe Miss Hancock might benefit from the environment of
Templar Academy.” The old man gave me a kindly smile.
Camden Liddell leaned forward and frowned. “If we fail to punish
rule-breaking—”
“Miss Hancock will be suspended for the rest of the autumn term
and excluded from all festivities,” said the archbishop with a
dismissive wave of his hand. “And she will serve three detentions
with Father Neapolitan.”
My jaw dropped. Billy Hancock and his hungry hounds or Father
Neapolitan and his judgmental ways. It was a difficult choice.
“I think that’s acceptable,” said Mrs. Campbell.
“Agreed.” Mr. Burgh folded his arms.
All counterarguments died on the back of my throat. As much as
I wanted to avoid that creepy priest, speaking up now might
evaporate the archbishop’s goodwill and jettison me back into the
life I’d escaped.
“Off you go, Miss Hancock,” said Mrs. Campbell. “We have one
more miscreant to see before lunch.”
“Thank you,” I said to the right half of the room. As far as
punishments went, this wasn’t too terrible.
After giving the Board of Governors a sweet smile, I walked out
of the room and straight into a broad chest. My gaze slid up the
chiseled body, and I met a familiar face marred by bruises and
swelling.
A fist of anxiety hit me in the gut, and I staggered back several
paces.
What in the holy highlands had happened to Maxwell in police
custody?
 CHAPTER 7

I snatched my gaze away from Maxwell’s bruised face, my

heart clenching painfully with unwanted sympathy. At this
time on Sunday, the hallways were deserted. Most of the
students were at lunch, with the older ones eating at one of the
many restaurants in Templar village.
“Lilah,” Maxwell said, his voice soft.
Whatever had happened to him in police custody was none of my
business. It wasn’t me who had arranged the raid and it wasn’t me
who had screeched accusations about him to the police and gotten
him arrested.
Side-stepping him didn’t work. The wretched bastard got in my
way, imprisoning me with his large body. I wanted to shove him hard
in the chest, but previous experience told me that wouldn’t work,
and I’d be damned if I gave him the satisfaction of feeling my anger.
Some guys interpreted anything other than indifference as
infatuation.
I wouldn’t be that girl. Wouldn’t be the wailing mess that bared
my feelings only to sob on his chest when he wrapped his arms
around me and apologized. I wanted him sorry but not on his terms.
“Look at me,” he said.
A lump formed in the back of my throat, and I shoved aside the
memory of that mind-blowing sex. It never happened. It didn’t
count. That person who had run with me through the hallways and
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