Page 53 of A Lady Most Wayward
Dear God. Are they flirting or fighting? It’s impossible to tell.
But something in Killian’s earlier statement tickled at Olivia’s memories. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the cacophony around her and chase the thought hovering on the edges of her mind. A black leather book. Embossed with her brother’s initials. He kept it in his pocket and, as a boy, was always scribbling in it. Once, she found it left out in the parlour. In a fit of rebellion, she dared to open it. The carefully printed words scrawled over page after page chilled her blood and caused bile to rise in her throat.
It was a list of her brother’s achievements. Some crimes she knew, and some were far worse than she ever would have guessed. Mementoes were pressed between the pages. Hair that matched the exact colour of the maid’s. A ribbon Olivia tied around her cat’s neck as a jaunty collar. A swatch of clothing stained with something rusty and brown. A human tooth. She had hastily shut the book and dropped it back on the table before her brother returned to the room. When he did return, he’d snatched it up, his cold gaze raking over Olivia as she pretended to ignore him and play with her doll. But she could never escape his notice.
He’d put the notebook in his pocket, walked over to her, and tried to rip the doll from her hands. When she’d fought him, he pinched her so hard on her arm, she had carried the bruise for a week. She had let go of the doll, and he pulled the head off. She never forgot his words, because he proved them true over and over again.
‘There is nothing you have I can’t take away.’
And then he had thrown the decapitated doll into the flames. She’d pressed her lips together, knowing to show him her pain would only embolden him. He’d turned and walked out of the parlour, whistling a nursery song as he went.
‘His journal!’ Olivia pulled herself from the chilling memory and jumped to her feet.
The entire group stopped talking at once and turned to face her.
Philippa cocked her head. The movement highlighted the dip of her clavicle, and Olivia imagined pressing a kiss in that sweet little hollow. ‘What?’
Olivia forced herself to look at the other faces in the room, landing on Ivy’s pale countenance. The lithe woman, who was as slender as she was strong, wore a dress of icy blue and shone like a beacon. She was Olivia’s closest ally. If she could convince Ivy, the others would follow. ‘Cedric had a journal as a child. He would write down all of the terrible things he did. Sometimes, he would press keepsakes between the pages like some terror-filled memory book.’
Commissioner Worthington put down his glass and stepped closer to Olivia. ‘How do you know this?’
Olivia shrugged under the intense stare of the serious Commissioner, feeling like a child caught stealing sweets. His dark hair and piercing eyes made sweat break out on her upper lip. She had no idea how Ivy fell in love with the man after suffering through one of his interrogations. ‘H-he left it out once. When we were children.’
‘And you opened it?’ Commissioner Worthington’s face was hard lines and sharp planes. Olivia knew from past experience he was impervious to her charms, so she didn’t attempt to use any of her usual tactics.
‘I didn’t know what it was, so yes. I opened it.’ Throwing back her shoulders, she crossed her arms over her chest. She refused to feel guilty for looking at someone’s private journal decades ago. Especially when that person was a cruel, unhinged, horror of a man. And her brother.
‘What Edward is trying to say is that your curiosity is a very good thing.’ Ivy took Olivia’s cold hands in her warm ones and squeezed gently. Philippa slowly crossed the parlour, giving Edward an unreadable look as she paused next to where Ivy sat. Whatever message passed between them, Edward stepped away from the settee, giving the women space.
The duchess’ index finger rubbed endlessly against her thumb. Amethysts dripped from her ears and were wrapped around her neck like a collar, but that delicate collarbone was bare and vulnerable.
Ivy smiled gently at Olivia, somehow sensing how much Olivia needed reassurance.
Because she knows what it’s like to be related to a sadistic monster.
‘Do you remember what you saw inside?’
Olivia focused on Ivy’s question. ‘It read like a journal. Each entry described something he’d done. What he would do differently the next time. What he liked. How he felt when it was happening.’
‘What about the mementoes? You said there were things pressed into the pages,’ Ivy prompted.
Olivia swallowed, feeling the weight of Philippa’s gaze even if she refused to glance up and make eye contact.
Yes, Philippa. I’m still angry with you. For being an idiot.
‘Some of the things were harmless. A scrap of clothing. A ribbon. But some were more gruesome. A tooth. Hair. Things like that.’
‘Trophies.’ Reading looked up from his ledger. His whisper of a moustache quivered as he looked at the Commissioner. ‘We’ve seen it before. In rare cases.’
‘But those were all cases of the mentally insane,’ Edward responded.
‘We’re talking about the Lord High Chancellor. Second only to the bloody Queen of England. He couldn’t possibly hide such madness.’ Drake prowled in a tight line, turning to pace back to his wife.
‘Or maybe his wealth, power, and position help him create darker shadows where he keeps his insanity cloaked.’ Penny lifted her chin. Liam reached over to take her hand in his and squeeze.
‘You’re right, my love. A beggar on the streets might be labelled a lunatic while a duke is simply called eccentric.’
‘Is it possible he would still keep a memory book?’ Philippa directed her question at Olivia, but Olivia refused to return her frank stare. Instead, she focused on the fireplace and shrugged.
