Chapter 142: A Photo Of My Mother

Cecilia

Lord Rhys stood by the fireplace with a crystal tumbler in one hand, his mask now removed to reveal a face that was handsome in that particular way aristocratic features could be.

"Ah, there you are," Lord Rhys said, his voice warm and welcoming in a way that made my skin crawl because it was so clearly calculated, so obviously performed. "Please, come in. Can I offer you something to drink? We have an excellent scotch, or perhaps champagne if you prefer?"

"Scotch is fine," I said, moving deeper into the room with a measured grace. Sophia beside me walked with gentle steps.

Lord Rhys poured two glasses with the kind of precision that suggested he took his alcohol seriously, then crossed to hand them to us personally rather than having a servant do it.

When his fingers brushed mine as I took the glass, I had to force myself not to flinch, not to show any reaction to the contact.

"I must admit," he said, returning to his position by the fireplace, "I'm curious about you. The Von Reichenbach sisters, yes? I don't believe we've had the pleasure of your company at one of our events before."

My blood turned to ice, but I kept my expression neutral, kept my voice cool and slightly bored as I responded. "We prefer to keep a low profile. Our family has learned over the years that discretion is... valuable."

"Indeed it is," Lord Rhys agreed, his eyes never leaving my face, studying me with an intensity that made me feel like he was cataloging every detail, every micro-expression, looking for the crack in my facade. "Though I'm surprised your father allowed you to attend without him. Heinrich Von Reichenbach is usually quite protective of his daughters."

Shit. He knew the father's name, knew enough about the family to reference specific details. Which meant he might know enough to catch us in a lie if we weren't careful.

"Our father trusts us to handle ourselves," I said, swirling the Scotch whisky in my hand gracefully without taking a sip. "Besides, we're hardly children anymore. We don't need constant supervision."

"No, I suppose not," Lord Rhys said, but something in his tone suggested he wasn't entirely convinced. "And what brings you to England? Business or pleasure?"

"A bit of both," I replied, falling back on the vague answer that could mean anything or nothing. "We're considering some investments in the area, and we thought we'd combine business with... entertainment."

"Entertainment." Lord Rhys's smile widened slightly, taking on a quality that was almost predatory. "Is that what you call it? Most people who attend our events are more honest about their motivations—they come for the thrill, for the power, for the opportunity to indulge in pleasures that are forbidden elsewhere."

He took a step closer, and I had to force myself not to back away. "But you—you bid two million pounds on a man who's caused my family considerable trouble, and you did it with the kind of calm that suggests either you have money to burn, or you have a very specific reason for wanting him."

"Perhaps both," I said, channeling every ounce of Emmaline's cold confidence even though inside I was screaming. "As I said earlier—we appreciate things that fight back. Where's the fun in something that's already broken?"

Lord Rhys studied me for a long moment, and I could see him weighing my words, trying to decide if he believed them or if he was being played. Then his attention shifted to Sophia, who'd been standing silent beside me throughout this entire exchange, and I saw his expression change into something I couldn't quite identify.

"And what about you?" he asked, addressing her directly for the first time. "You've been very quiet, Miss Marie. Do you share your sister's... appetites?"

Sophia's hand tightened in mine, and I felt her take a breath before responding in Marie's slightly warmer voice. "I defer to my sister's judgment in these matters. She has more experience with such... acquisitions."

It was a perfect answer—noncommittal but plausible, maintaining the dynamic we'd established where I was the dominant personality and she was the supportive complement.

He fell silent for a moment, and I felt my whole body tense with anticipation of whatever was coming next. "I wonder if you might indulge my curiosity about one small matter."

Here it comes, I thought, my heart rate spiking, my palms going slick with sweat inside my gloves. He's going to ask something we can't answer, something that will prove we're not who we claim to be, and then—

"Your bodyguard," Lord Rhys continued, gesturing vaguely toward where Harold had taken Daniel. "He has the bearing of military training. Special forces, if I'm not mistaken. Quite an unusual choice for aristocratic protection."

I forced myself to laugh, the sound coming out cold and slightly condescending in a way that was pure Emmaline. "My father believes in hiring the best. Mr. Moore served with distinction before entering private security. His... particular skill set has proven useful on more than one occasion."

It wasn't technically a lie—Harold did have that military bearing, and everything I'd said could be true even if I had no idea what his actual background was. But it was close enough to the truth that it sounded plausible, and I saw Lord Rhys's expression shift into something that might have been acceptance.

"Very practical," he said. "Your father sounds like a wise man."

He set down his glass with a decisive clink that somehow felt like a dismissal. "Well then, I won't keep you any longer. Do enjoy your purchase—and if you find yourselves in England again, please don't hesitate to attend another of our events. We always appreciate... discerning clientele."

The words were polite, but underneath them I heard the threat—I'm watching you. I'll be looking into you. And if I find out you're not who you claim to be, there will be consequences.

"Thank you for your hospitality," I said, inclining my head in a gesture that was just barely respectful enough to avoid offense. "The evening has been... illuminating."

Sophia and I turned to leave, moving toward the door with measured steps that betrayed none of the panic racing through my system, none of the desperate need to run that was screaming in every nerve ending.

We'd almost made it—my hand was actually on the door handle, freedom just seconds away—when Lord Rhys's voice cut through the silence one more time.

"Oh, and Miss Emmaline?" I stopped, my whole body going rigid, but I forced myself to turn back and meet his gaze. "Yes?"

His smile widened into something that was all teeth and no warmth. "Do you know the woman in the photo?"

He held up an old photo featuring a woman.

I felt the blood drain from my face behind the mask, felt my carefully constructed facade crack and threaten to shatter completely.

That's a photo of my mother.