Page 102 of Taming Achilles

Chapter 48

Pippa

The grandfather clock ticked in the corner of the grandiose study. Tapestries hung on the walls, and portraits of stuffy men with funny little collars and wigs peppered the high hunter green walls. There were ancient globes strewn among the leather-bound books.

Among the faces that stared down at us from painted canvases was the visage of the thin-lipped, weak-chinned Niccolo Machiavelli. It was given a place of honour over the mantle of a fireplace. The man standing over the carved mahogany desk made Machiavelli an idol after discovering a tenuous, distant relation. So grew the legend in his mind of our destiny for greatness, to rise the ranks of the falling aristocracy.

The man who’s greying hair tipped over files and maps, typing away on a laptop, had a very surface understanding of the world. There was no nuance. No greys. Just black and white. Light and shadows. And in his mind, he owned the darkness.

His ambition would be the death of him. He didn’t know that his end lurked in the shadows.

With silent steps, I came up from behind, my Rugger snug in the palm of my hand, my finger already on the trigger.

“Father.” I watched as his down-turned head lifted as though it were attached to a marionette string.

His head turned slowly to the side until his hooked nose came into view. I stepped from the shadows and into the light of the fireplace.

“I’m sorry,” I said with a small chuckle, “You disowned me, so … I suppose I should just call you Victor.”

His eyes narrowed, causing wrinkling in his temples. “I remain Lord Fox.”

Did he always sound so old? There was this hoarseness, like he had smoked too many cigars. The man I had known was deep and booming. But all I saw now was a frail man. The hints of his former glory in the squareness of his jaw were diminished by the appearance of jowls that wavered beneath his chin.

“I always wondered why you would disown me, but then keep me in the Sideshow.” I leaned a hip against his desk. I was well within his reach, but I did not fear him. Not anymore. “Then I realised I had no value to you as a daughter, but I did as a spy.”

I smiled sadly at myself as I looked about the room. There was a heaviness in the warmth of the fire, and the tick-tock of the ostentatious grandfather clock that had been passed down from one Fox to the other, dating back in our diluted line, to Charles James Fox, MP.

“I used to play in here. Do you remember?” I asked, crossing my hands in front of me, my Rugger still in my hand. His eyes flicked down to the pistol before lifting back to my face. Did he see our resemblance? “I used to sit quietly in a corner, because it was the only way you would allow me to stay near you. And I very much wanted to be close.”

“You were a sentimental child,” he grumbled. I wondered if he was afraid. If he was, he’d never show it. A great spymaster kept his feelings close to the vest. “And you’ve grown up to be a sentimental woman. Just like your mother.”

“Hmm,” I sighed through closed lips.

Once upon a time, those words would have devastated me. But now, it doesn't seem to matter.

“You were going to sell me to Jason Rhodes, weren’t you?” Did my father know that his interrogation had begun? He must have. After all, I learned from him.

“Trying to get some value from you,” he sneered. “After all the schools, the education, the training, you have become quite the disappointment. A terrible investment that I needed to divest somehow.”

I smiled. That perplexed him. I saw it in the way his brows came together in confusion.

So much had happened in a month. So much had changed. And it had happened without me noticing. The emptiness his words had for me was vast. How tragic that a father’s words land hollow on his only daughter.

“Well, I’d say your sad attempt to whore your own daughter to your ally has failed.” Again, I smiled. Because in this interrogation room, as unconventional as it might be, I was the one with all the power. Not him. He had to know it. “George Campbell, do you remember him?”

My father sniffed, his lips folded into an ugly scowl.

“Yes, that George Campbell. He shot your friend in the head,” I said with a mocking wince. “Right before he proposed to me.”

I looked at my ring finger, where the Marquis diamond glinted at me with a brightness that mimicked Geo’s eyes.

“I said yes, as you can see.” He rolled his eyes at my words, so I continued. “It’s sad you won’t be able to walk me down the aisle.”

I stood up, flicking my thumb to take the Rugger’s selector off of safe.

“Any last words, Victor?” I asked. I stood up and walked behind him, pointing the gun at the base of his spine where his head rested on his pencil thin neck.

“You don’t have to do this, Pippa.” His fists clenched. “We can salvage our relationship. We can …”

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