My head was spinning in a hundred different directions, and not only because of the drugged champagne, but I bent down so that I was at eye level with Charlotte. “You go to your room, and you stay in there. You don’t come out until morning, no matter what you hear. Do you understand me?”
“Promise me that you’ll leave,” she said, pulling on my arm and trying to drag me toward the staircase again. “Don’t go talk to him. Just leave. Please. Please, please, please, just leave.”
I shook my head. “I can’t do that, sweetheart. But don’t you worry about me. Sebastian might like to hurt people, but I know how to do it too. See?”
I held my knife up where she could see it again. Charlotte gasped. Her face paled, and a spark of understanding began to burn in her dark gaze.
“You’re the one who killed Papa, aren’t you?” she whispered in a harsh, accusing voice.
I thought that my heart couldn’t possibly break any more, but the hurt, miserable, devastated look in her eyes made what was left of my black, brittle, rotten core shatter into a thousand sharp, splintered shards, each one shredding me from the inside out.
“Yes,” I said simply. “I did.”
I didn’t tell her that I was sorry, even though I was. I didn’t tell her that it was what I did as an assassin. I didn’t tell her that it was simply my own way of surviving and trying to quiet the screams in my own soul. Of trying to protect her the way that I’d so miserably failed to protect Bria all those years ago. In the end, my reasons didn’t matter. All that did matter was that I’d killed her father and that she hated me for it.
But she couldn’t possibly hate me as much as I loathed myself at this moment for taking an innocent man away from the daughter he’d been trying to protect.
Charlotte slowly backed away from me, as if she thought I was going to lunge forward and stab her with my knife. Then she whirled around and darted down the hallway, running away from me as fast as she could, each soft footfall stabbing into my chest like a red-hot poker. I watched her go, my stomach churning, churning, churning with guilt and my heart aching for how much pain I’d caused her.
My head spun around, as that languid fog threatened to take hold of me again, and I staggered back, bumping into the wall and rattling a photo there. Ironically enough, it was a picture of Sebastian in one of his business suits, smiling at the camera, although now his grin seemed more cruel than kind, his expression more smug than happy.
Sebastian . . . Sebastian knew what was going on. He was the one I needed to find, the one I needed to get answers from.
My hand tightened around the hilt of my knife—one way or another.
I pushed away from the wall and wobbled down the hallway until I reached the library. It wasn’t that far, but I didn’t pass a single soul. No guards, no housekeepers, no stuffy butlers, no one. Noise drifted up from the floor below, though. Clinking dishes, the scrape of furniture, the snap and rustle of garbage bags. The staff must all have been in the ballroom, cleaning up from Sebastian’s soiree.
I passed another set of windows. Through the glass, I could see that most of the cars had vanished, meaning that the party was over and everyone had gone home, like Charlotte had said. That fact only made me more curious about who had stayed behind to meet with Sebastian.
Well, I was going to find out.
It took me longer than it should have, since I was staggering around like a drunken sailor on shore leave, but I eventually reached the library doors. For a moment, I thought about sneaking out one of the windows and trying to cling to the side of the building like I’d done at Dawson’s mansion, but that option was foolish at best. I could barely keep my feet under me. There was no way that I had the strength to hang on to the outside of the building for any length of time, much less pull myself across the stone and over to one of the library windows.
But I didn’t have to, because the doors were wide open, the murmur of voices drifting outside to me. I recognized the deep timbre of Sebastian’s tone, but the voice that responded seemed a bit lighter.
I eased up to the doors and glanced inside, but whoever was in there with Sebastian was deeper in the library. They must be on the right side, gathered around Cesar’s desk—Sebastian’s desk now.
And I was the one who’d made it his.
I eased through the open doors and tiptoed over to the fireplace. I made sure to stay in the shadows as I peered around the corner of the stone.
Sebastian stood next to the desk, one hip resting on the edge of the antique wood, his legs stretched out in front of him, looking as casual, relaxed, and handsome as ever—if the devil could ever be considered handsome. He held a snifter of brandy in his hand, slowly swirling the amber liquid around and around. He lifted the glass to his nose and drew in a deep, satisfied breath before taking a small sip.
Savoring his victory, in so many ways.
I forced my gaze to move past him to Porter, who was leaning against one of the bookcases in the back of the room, his arms crossed over his chest, standing by like the perfect bodyguard. The giant kept his gaze trained on the person sitting in a chair in front of the desk, his bulky body tense, as though he was on high alert and expecting trouble at any moment.
“Well, I must admit that you’ve pulled this whole thing off quite brilliantly,” a low, throaty voice murmured.
I recognized the voice, and that strange, sinking sense of déjà vu swept over me again.
Mab Monroe stood up and walked over to Sebastian.
22
Mab moved over so that she was standing next to Sebastian. But instead of being intimidated by her, as he’d seemed to be in Dawson’s library, he gave her a smug grin.
“Well, that’s saying a lot, coming from you,” he replied. “Cheers to our new partnership. May it be fruitful . . . in so many ways.”
Sebastian held his glass out, and Mab clinked her brandy snifter against his. Sebastian sidled even closer to her, his smile widening when she tipped her head up instead of taking a step back. I knew that move; I knew that look. He’d given them both to me more than once over the past few weeks. The casual, slightly cocky saunter, the smoldering smile, the deep, dark, liquid stare. I thought I was the only woman Sebastian had ever looked at that way.
I was beginning to realize just how very wrong I was—about a great many things.
Sebastian leaned in even closer, like he was actually going to lower his lips to Mab’s, but she held up her finger, and a single red-hot spark shot up into the air between them like a firecracker. It was enough to make Sebastian flinch and step back.