Page 44 of A Lady's Wicked Revenge
“More circular reasoning. I had thought better of you, Diana,” Colin said smarmily. Then he folded his arms, his mouth split in the most horrendous, arrogant smirk Diana had ever seen. The sight filled her with unadulterated rage.
“I will allow that Sir James has been … behaving a bit oddly since being named your guardian. Unreasonably, even,” he said in a slow, careful voice, as though speaking to a wild beast or a petulant child. “But murder? I’m sorry, Diana, but I know the man far better than you. He is simply not capable of such a thing; I’m sure of it.”
Diana felt her cheeks grow hot with fury. “If you would just remove your stepfather’s boot long enough to think about what I’m saying, you would understand how dire this situation truly is.”
“Are you really so eager to turn me against Sir James that one half-heard conversation is all it takes for you to leap to the one ridiculous conclusion that proves you right about everything?” He sniffed, looked away from her. “I suppose I should not be surprised—considering yourself correct does seem to be your one true passion in this life.”
“Then prove me wrong,” Diana said in an abrupt moment of clear thinking. “Confirm that I am wrong, that your stepfather is innocent of this crime, and I will speak of the matter no more.”
He did not even hesitate before he answered out of the corner of his mouth, “I have already made my opinion on this clear. This fantasy is yours, Diana. I will have naught to do with it.”
That’s it. I can waste my time on this man no longer.
Every fibre of Diana’s being cried out at the thought of what she must now do—of all the lonely mornings and excruciating nights that would now be devoid of the spark of light she had found in Colin Mullens—but she could no more refute this conclusion than she could turn back the tide. She drew herself straight, folding her arms and praying she would have the strength to follow through with the damnable task.
“If you will not hear what I have to say—or worse, if you hear it and it moves nothing at all within you,” Diana choked out, trying to stifle the tears that loomed menacingly at the back of her eyes. “Then I think you had better leave.”
“Finally, you begin to speak sense.” Colin turned away from her with a haughty sniff and strode purposefully toward the door. Each step he took sent another crack splintering deeper into Diana’s heart, the pain quickly growing so great that she could not stop a whimper from escaping her lips.
“Don’t misunderstand me, sir,” she croaked, following the man toward the door with her hands knotted into fists at her sides. “Don’t think you can charm your way back into my … my room. There will be no more diverting wordplay, no more idle arguments or walks in the garden.”
Colin stopped in place just long enough to turn back and snarl in her direction. “As is only right.”
“I want nothing more to do with you,” she continued in a low, menacing voice. “Not so long as you care more about using that mouth of yours to lick the boot of your abominable stepfather than speaking up in the defence of someone who … who cares for you.” It felt that a nail was driven into her flesh with each syllable she voiced. Yet she could not bring herself to stop, desperate to lash out and inflict some of the pain she was feeling upon the source of her anguish.
There was a flash of something in those horrible, beautiful green eyes. A slip of the mask, once more, revealing unfathomable pain. But then it vanished, replaced by a look of cruel wrath that could only have been learned at the feet of James Leeson. And without another word, nor even a nod, Colin turned away and did as he was told.
Diana collapsed on the floor the moment she heard the door close. Her body was wracked with sobs as she felt more alone than she had ever been in her life.
Chapter 20
Unspoken Malefactions
The sun shone merrily on that early autumn morning. Yet for Colin Mullens, the day was black as pitch; all the light was utterly, heart-rendingly gone from his world. He carried about in his daily routine, and though he interacted with his mother and the staff, he felt utterly and terribly alone, with only his endlessly repeating thoughts to keep him company.
Ridiculous. Childish, even.
Breakfast was a quiet, extraordinarily dull affair, to the point where Colin wondered how he had ever been able to stand such boredom. Knowing how stubborn Diana could be, he did not expect her to join him that morning, but all the same, he found himself jumping at every errant sound, craning his neck to see if he could spy her approaching the dining room from down the corridor.
I had not believed her capable of such petulance.
Even as he carried on with the empty motions of keeping himself alive and his obligations reasonably fulfilled, Colin was hardly aware of what he was doing; the fog of thought that surrounded him was so damnably thick. Dimly, he saw that he had left for a solitary walk through the gardens after breakfast. This realisation filled him to overflowing with regret, each familiar sight among the yellowing trees transformed into an object of revulsion.
How many hours did I squander in this garden when I could have been doing something, anything else with my time? What a terrible waste.
He was unsure how much time he spent at his desk in his miniature office that day or what words he spent on Adam Radcliffe, who had stopped by for a brief visit and departed some time thereafter. All Colin knew was that each time he looked at the clock, it seemed to show the same time; each second of fretting elongated into a purgatory of shame.
I would never have suspected Diana might be capable of such manipulation, such wickedness. More fool, I.
Not recognising the letter he had apparently begun writing some time before, Colin screwed up the paper and threw it against the wall in a fit of impotent rage. If he had hoped this venting of his spleen would make him feel better, he was proven immediately wrong; neither was his mood improved by sweeping a stack of books off his desk onto the floor, or by hurling a cheap glass ornament against the wall to shatter into a deadly rain on the floor.
No, Colin mused as he listlessly cleaned up the debris from this tantrum; there was only one way he might address the source of his depression, he knew. Just as he knew with complete certainty that he would not take such action.
Investigate Sir James. As if such a nervous fantasy as the hateful venom Diana was spreading would even be worth entertaining.
“Ah, Colin. Come in, my boy, share a glass with me.”
Colin winced, seeing that his traitorous feet had moved to do what his mind had refused. “Yes, sir,” he answered dutifully, though he felt disgusted with himself for yielding to whatever contrary impulse had guided him here. He could see Sir James hastily close the safe door by his feet, then turn in his chair and welcome Colin with a fatherly smile.
