Page 37 of Provocation (Den of Deception #3)

I walk up the stairs to the wide doors slowly. Before I can ring the bell, a portly butler opens the door.

He lets me in, also without a word. It’s like none of them are allowed to speak to me. The large foyer is old-fashioned, and everything is encased in wood paneling. The floor is black and white checkered tiles, and I errantly wonder if they ever play giant chess in here.

The stuffy butler leads me to what Ms. Tramaine would have called a drawing room.

There are a couple of elegant cream couches with feet, books along the walls, and a Persian rug in the center of the room with a 1950’s style bar on wheels, which I ignore because I won’t be getting anything from that . There's no music and no laughter.

It actually reminds me of the Novelle house, which oddly makes me feel a little calmer because I know where I stand there.

I hear males talking in low voices close by and the butler asks me to please wait a moment.

He goes to the threshold of the next room and announces me.

‘Miss Marguerite Novelle.’

I want to tell him that it's Evans, but I don't.

My game face is well and truly on as I step forward. My mind is quiet.

Joseph Banderville stands, looking every inch the king of his tiny hill, as do his two sons. They’re both here.

Goodie.

I notice two other women as well. They're sitting on the couch close together. Their dresses resemble mine.

‘I see you got my little gift,’ Joe says as he comes forward, his eyes dipping down to my chest.

His smile doesn't reach his eyes. He takes my hand and kisses it. I resist the urge to pull it away, in case he bites me or gives me a disease.

‘It's lovely,’ I demure, the lie tasting like ash on my tongue.

I hate it! I want to scream. You don't know anything about me!

Or maybe he does. Maybe that's the point of this. Maybe, like John Novelle, his decisions regarding me are made in order to make me as uncomfortable as possible.

But I just smile sweetly. Politely.

When a young man dressed in a black uniform offers me a flute of Champagne, my eyes find Joe Banderville first, silently requesting his permission.

He nods, and I see approval in his eyes.

What an asshole.

I take the flute, holding it with my forefinger and my thumb.

I'm introduced to a thin, mature woman with graying hair and wearing a dress that makes her look much older than she must be.

Martha Banderville.

She's wearing thick black tights and clompy shoes, looking like she’s in her late seventies, though she can’t be much past fifty-five.

She gives me a somewhat cold smile and says something about not being able to wait until I'm part of the family.

I hope my sneer doesn't come across on my face.

The next person I meet is their sister, Elizabeth.

She must be around my age. She's quite small, petite, with long dark frizzy hair and eyes so dark they're almost black.

She's wearing a dress that's very much like mine, too old for her.

She stands and takes my hand, giving me a very warm smile and murmuring something about me calling her Lizzie and having always wanted a sister.

I smile at her, mimicking her appropriately.

‘Me, too,’ I say. ‘I can't wait for us to get to know each other better.’

I'm invited to sit, and I do so next to Lizzie, who seems like the safest option.

I'm afraid I'm going to have to make small talk, but luckily, the men of the house seem to love their own voices more than anything else, and I'm rarely called on to speak at all.

The other women listen attentively to their male counterparts, nodding appropriately, encouraging them with small smiles. They seem very used to this little dance, and I wonder if the two women have real conversations with each other when they’re alone.

I try to do the same as they do, even though I'm a hundred percent sure that a small part of me dies.

Tall candles flicker by the mantle, and I have an intrusive thought where, when they all go to dinner, I stay behind and knock one of them over, setting the drapes on fire and taking their entire dynasty down in one fell swoop.

Before I can be tempted further, the butler returns to call us all to dinner.

I'm sat between the sister and Joe, who is much too close to me for comfort. I can’t help my jump when his hand comes to rest on my thigh.

I try not to notice as he rubs in feather light circles over and over in the same place, that makes me want to push him away violently and scratch my skin vigorously.

The first course is a pate with melba toast and an apricot compote.

It's actually not bad. I eat slowly because my stomach is still twisting unpleasantly, listening to the men at the table drone on about nothing. Marcus’ eyes rarely leave me, but I ignore him completely.

I notice that all the men at the table have wine where the women have water, or in the sister’s case, what looks like apple juice.

The main course comes out; lamb shank, with potato gratin and a medley of steamed, buttered vegetables with gravy.

At least it's a step up from dinner at the Novelle house foodwise. The company isn’t all that much worse than John and Andy either and I’ve eaten with them a hundred times, so I find that I can do the same here without my stomach protesting too much.

I eat slowly, savoring every bite in spite of the negatives. Might as well get something out of this.

The dessert, when it comes, is a small meringue nest filled with fruit. The texture isn't very nice. Too soggy, but I eat most of it, keeping my back straight and my expression pleasant.

‘So, Marguerite. How is school?’ Joe asks.

‘It’s great,’ I say.

‘English literature, right?’

I nod. I don’t look at Marcus. He knows the truth, but we made a deal, after all, and he hasn’t yet come to collect, so I hope he’ll keep his mouth shut.

‘Do you go to Birchmore Academy?’ Lizzie asks me.

‘No, LiLi, she’s at Richmond U, remember?’ Joseph says patronizingly to her with his brows raised. ‘Isn’t that right, Marguerite?’

‘College?’ Lizzie asks breathily. ‘Wow. I wanted to go, but father and Joe said it wouldn’t be good for me.’

‘Not a good fit,’ Mrs. Banderville agrees, speaking for the first time at the table.

‘Not a good fit?’ I echo.

She shakes her head but doesn’t elaborate.

‘I’m sure you’ve heard about our family rules when it comes to our ladies’ safety,’ Joseph says with a condescending smile my way. ‘I was surprised that your father allowed you to go.’

‘Come now, Father,’ Joe laughs. ‘I’m sure Marguerite’s fine doing her little arts degree. She has her stepbrother right there to keep an eye on her and a little Shakespeare never hurt anyone.’

Ugh. Wrong!

‘Quite,’ I say softly, not trusting myself to say much more than that.

‘And, of course, all that will be finished once we get married in the Spring.’ He waves a flippant hand. ‘You definitely won’t have time, not even for literature classes.’

My eyes turn to him sitting next to me. ‘Quit college before I get my degree?’ I ask.

‘Of course,’ he says with a laugh. ‘You’re, what, a sophomore? My wife won’t be going to school . There will be plenty to keep you busy as my wife. You’ll have your duties to me, and the family.’’

He doesn’t know I’m a senior either.

And duties?

My eye twitches, but I nod. ‘Right.’

I’m so glad I’m not actually marrying this asshole.

‘Little arts degree.’ Fuck him!

Next to me, Elizabeth has fallen silent, staring down at her plate as it’s cleared away by a member of their staff.

Joseph, at the head of the table, stands and his wife follows suit, signaling the end of the meal.

The men go into what I assume is a smoking room, or something since in this house it’s the year 1700, and I go with Lizzie and her mother back to the drawing room.

Mrs. Banderville takes my hands and gives them such a hard squeeze that I wonder if it’s a cry for help, but when she lets go and takes a step back, she’s giving me another placid smile.

‘You don't know how glad I am to have you with us, my dear,’ she murmurs. ‘Your mother was a great woman.’

I give her a nod. ‘She was, Mrs. Banderville.’

‘Please, call me Martha.’

And then the older woman goes and sits in a chair by the window and stares out into the garden. She doesn't speak again.

Lizzie, however, glances at the doors and then sits down with her legs underneath her on the couch, an impish look on her face.

‘I can’t believe you go to Richmond U!’ she says quietly.

You don’t know the half of it.

‘Tell me all about?—’

A creak sounds from the hallway and, without looking, Lizzie is suddenly sitting with her back straight and both legs out in front of her, her ankles crossed in the picture of a well-brought up debutante.

Joe comes into the room, his eyes falling to his sister first before alighting on me.

‘Marguerite, come with me. I’d love to show you our library.’

Alone. Shit. And it’s clearly not a request.

‘Of course.’

I stand up slowly. Lizzie’s eyes follow me, and her mouth opens as if she’s going to say something, but she glances at her brother and closes it again.

I make my way around the couch, taking a steadying breath as I leave the room and follow Joe down a wide hallway.

He takes me into the library. It’s large with high walls and a massive window overlooking some impressive gardens.

I wince as I suddenly hear a clicking in a slow rhythm.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

My eyes find the metronome on the edge of his desk. It’s black and silver, the needle flicking back and forth.

I take a steadying breath, drawing my hands into fists at my sides hard.

They’re already cold and clammy. The pain of my nails digging into my palms grounds me and I try not to listen.

But the sound of it affects me on a cellular level.

It’s even worse now than it was in John’s office all those weeks ago just after my mom’s funeral.

Joe goes to the desk and half sits on it. ‘Come here.’

My heart pounds hard in my chest. Is he going to produce that cane out of nowhere again and hit me with it? Do something worse?