Page 92 of Cross My Heart

Chapter24

Tessa

It’s all led to this.

Saint agrees to take me to the Blackthorn Society event, to finally find the answers about Wren. As I dress the next evening, it feels like my whole body is tangled up with nerves. But when I check my reflection in the mirror, I can see only determination written on my face. Because the anonymous notes, the secret society clues, everything Wren was able to tell me, it’s all led me here, to this moment. Tonight.

I’m finally getting answers.

I hear footsteps, and then Saint is in the doorway. He’s dressed up in a tux, looking impossibly dashing as he fumbles with his bowtie.

“How can you not tie one of these by now?” I smile, going to fasten it for him.

He grins. “Maybe I can, and this is just a ruse to have you touching me.”

Saint yanks me into his arms, running his hands over the curves of my body beneath my silk dress. “Have I told you yet how much I love this outfit?” he says, stroking over the fabric. “I haveveryfond memories of you in this dress…”

I flush. It’s the same classic black slip I wore to the Midnights party, the first night I realized there was more to Saint than I’d imagined. I can’t believe how much has passed between us since then. That night, he was still a stranger to me, an enticing man who somehow knew my most sinful desires. Now, there’s more between us than simply a sexual bond.

As I lean up to press my lips against his in a slow, sweet kiss, I feel a wave of trust and reassurance. “You won’t leave my side?” I check, still not sure what to expect. If these people were all at the same party last year, when Wren was taken…

Saint nods, looking just as determined as I feel. “I promise. I won’t let you out of my sight. The first part of the event is always members only,” he adds. “Then, later, security usually gets lax. Everyone’s having too much fun to pay attention, so sometimes people sneak in other guests.”

“Like an after-party?” I ask, thinking of Max Lancaster. He seems the kind of guy who would want the party to last all night.

He nods. “That probably how Wren got in.Ifshe was there at all,” he adds.

“She was,” I insist. “I showed you the photo. And the dates match.”

“But…” he pauses, looking concerned. “What if you don’t find anything? You don’t know for sure that any of it is connected,” he adds gently.

“It is. And will find out,” I insist. The alternative is unthinkable to me right now, not after all the time I’ve spend searching, and planning, and burning for revenge. “Whatever happened to Wren, this party is the key to everything.”

Saint squeezes my hand. “Then let’s go.”

The Blackthorn Societyparty is held in a different location each year, and this time, it turns out it’s being hosted at Ashford House.

Saint’s family home.

“Well, I was curious to see your family’s place,” I venture, trying to make a joke as we make the drive out to Sussex. “Now I’ll get the guided tour!”

We arrive in late afternoon, the sinking sun casting a warm glow over the hills and woodland. Saint gives our details to the security posted at the gates, and then we drive up the long, tree-lined driveway to the main house.

But, of course, ‘house’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. The estate is even larger and grander than the Lancaster Manor: a sprawling red-brick Tudor house with so many wings, and turrets, and glittering, iron-paned windows that I’m dizzy just looking up at it.

“Thisis where you grew up?” I ask Saint, wide-eyed. It’s like something from a period drama on TV, the kind of estate that even Mr. Darcy would be impressed by.

But Saint doesn’t look so thrilled to be back. “It’s a nightmare to keep heated,” is all he says, as he steers me to the wide, ceremonial front steps, with a line of security in black uniforms keeping watch at every level.

OK then.

“There are a lot of people here…” I add, frowning, as I clock the rows of expensive, gleaming vehicles already parked out front.

“Not so many,” Saint says, taking my hand. “It’s early yet.”

I follow him through the lavish main foyer, distracted for a moment by the grand staircase and double-height wood paneled walls lined with oil portraits and historic suits of armor. The house is incredible, and I hope we have a chance to explore it, but as we emerge out to the back terrace and survey the party gathered there, my heart sinks.

There arehundredsof people in attendance.

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