Page 45 of All Scot and Bothered
Genny’s lovely eyes darkened to a char black, her features pinching with distaste and loathing, finally etching her forty years into her skin. “Because men like himalwayshave secrets. Before he was a barrister or a justice, he was a Scotsman and a soldier. He has blood on his hands and shameful marks on his soul, I’d wager my life on it.” She leaned forward, her features hard with purpose. “We just have to get you closer to find out what they are.”
Did Ramsay have blood on his hands? Square and rough and mercilessly strong as they were, it didn’t stretch the imagination.
And yet they’d been incomprehensibly gentle as they’d stroked her jaw, cupped her face, grazed her lips.
Could it be that his piety was really penitence? Perhaps he’d done something so wrong once that he’d devoted his life to fixing it.
Or to cultivating a persona to hide sins he still committed under the cover of darkness.
Was she brave enough to find out the truth? Maybe, but not through dishonest means.
She opened her mouth to say so when a ripple of electric power vibrated through the air. Every hair on Cecelia’s body stood on end as a strange silence engulfed her. Then a curious rumble threw her off balance as a white light blinded her. A force as powerful as a kick from a horse’shindquarters knocked her into the other Rogues with a thunderous sound no less than apocalyptic.
They clung together, dropping to the ground as glass bulbs shattered from the sconces on the walls, emitting electric-blue sparks. The chandelier swung violently on its chain above them, and for a terrifying second Cecelia was certain it would fall, fragmenting over them all.
Just as suddenly as the quake began, it passed.
A gentle ringing settled into the darkness for the space of three breaths before noises permeated the muffled void.
Screams. Running footsteps. Cries and chaos.
Not a quake, Cecelia realized with alarm.
An explosion.
“Is everyone all right?” Francesca asked, even her unflappable demeanor pale and shaken as she gripped their hands almost painfully.
An acrid scent clung to the air, like char and smoke but more bitter.
Cecelia did a swift self-assessment, checking to make certain her limbs all worked. They, too, trembled but were otherwise unharmed.
“I think so.” Alexandra struggled to her feet, dusting some of the plaster from the ceiling off her skirt. “Cecil?”
“I’m not hurt.” She and Francesca helped each other up and turned to Genny, who’d taken shelter behind the chair. “Genny?” Her voice seemed over-loud in ears that refused to unplug.
Fingers curled over the chair’s back before Genny used it to pull herself to a standing position. Her eyes were as round as saucers. Plaster flecked her hair, causing her to look like an angel in a snowstorm. “What… just…?”
“I’ve been to enough dig sites to recognize the percussion of a bomb,” Alexandra said unsteadily, her amber gaze fixing on Cecelia, though she addressed them all. Itwas the terror and the tears in her eyes that affected Cecelia more than her words ever could. “Ready yourselves for what we might find when we go out there, ladies.”
Cecelia’s limbs were jolted with energy as she surged for the door. “Jean-Yves,” she cried desperately. “Phoebe!”
CHAPTEREIGHT
Cecelia didn’t give in to tears as she raced through swirls of sun-sparkled plaster dust. Distraught women poured into the hallway, creating an obstacle course of hysterical humanity.
She delegated their safe escape to Genny and sprinted down to the main floor, keeping a clawlike grip on her resolve as Francesca and Alexandra flanked her. Their boots made delicate crunching sounds when they hurried over fragments of the grand chandelier and cracks in the marble floors as the cries from belowstairs beckoned them.
They fought the tide of panicked, soiled students, some with minor injuries, racing up the stairs, and directed the crowd toward the front door, praying another detonation wasn’t imminent.
A numb sense of calm engulfed Cecelia when she took in the damage to the school, protecting her from the heartrending sounds of fear, grief, and pain. Smoke and dust choked her, but she could neither feel nor see heat from any lingering fires.
That didn’t mean they weren’t smoldering somewhere.
The farther they moved underground, the more it became apparent that the damage centered on the west side of the manse, above which a crater had been carved into the structure where the office of the residence had once been.
Cecelia ached to run back upstairs and pick her way through the rubble of what had been her aunt’s home. To scream and scream and scream until all her terror and agony conjured up the two most innocent people she knew. SheneededJean-Yves and Phoebe to be alive, but she simply couldn’t step over other injured bodies to find them.
Her conscience wouldn’t allow it.
