In fact, it may have surprised Margaret more than it did Tessa. Sure, Margaret had the desire to hurt Tessa, but the press of Tessa’s body into hers had awakened other primal impulses that Adam did nothing to alleviate.

  Surprise, pain and pleasure erupted on the detective’s face. A flash of desire, too. Red-hot desire.

  “Fuck,” Margaret said, her echo quieter and more urgent than Tessa’s exclamation. She became aware of Tessa’s hips pressing into hers, the wall behind Margaret offering no give.

  “Shut your mouth,” Tessa hissed.

  “No. Fuck you.”

  “I said, shut your mouth.” Tessa clamped her hand over Margaret’s lips.

  The door opened. Margaret’s gaze swerved toward the doorway—Adam.

  “Hey,” he was saying. “I forgot my…oh.” He stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening.

  Tessa gulped in a quick breath. She dropped her hand and backtracked.

  “We’re playing,” Margaret said. She straightened her shoulders and patted down her hair, keenly aware of the hum between her legs. She hadn’t been this turned on in months, perhaps ever.

  Adam had a hurt look in his eyes like he knew there was more to it than playing but wanted to believe her. “Okay,” he said. He grabbed his wallet and stuck it into his jacket pocket. “Bye,” he mumbled.

  After he left, Margaret spoke before Tessa could. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m very sorry. I have issues with impulse control and etiquette and…many things. Many, many things.” She held up her hands in what she hoped was an appeasing gesture. “I just wanted you to listen and to not shut me down immediately.”

  Tessa looked at her for a horrible, lengthy moment. Finally, the detective nodded. “Fine. Tell me again what happened.”

  **

  Darkness lived inside many police officers and detectives, same as it dwelled inside many a criminal. Sometimes, the detective and the criminal were the same person.

  Tessa’s own darkness was part of what drew her to police work. She had been a good child, the type of girl to help elderly neighbors cross the street and to shovel their sidewalks after snowfalls.

  Meanwhile, she watched the bad boys and girls with their swagger, the danger in their eyes, their easy, sexy grins. The way they talked, the way they moved.

  Part of her hated them. Part of her loved them and wanted to be them.

  Her mother had been horrified when Tessa joined the police force, and in Manhattan, no less. She’d had to call her mother after every shift and say she was still okay, still alive.

  Of all the killers Tessa had encountered, Amalia Van den Berg was the only one she was willing to turn a blind eye to—because of the political situation. Sensible, really. At the same time, Amalia sent chills up Tessa’s spine with her threats.

  Now her middle daughter stood in front of Tessa with her hair all kinds of askew, worry under her eyes and deepening lines on her face. Could it have been the daughter, not the mother, behind Henry’s death? Margaret’s semi-attacks on Tessa could indicate a propensity toward violence. Had Amalia been protecting Margaret that morning at breakfast?

  Deep in her core, Tessa knew the only person Amalia was protecting was herself. Besides, Margaret had been in no shape mentally and physically to execute such a plot back then.

  “Who else have you told?” Tessa asked Margaret after the princess went through her account a second time.

  “No one,” Margaret whispered.

  Thank goodness for small miracles. “The night you woke up remembering,” Tessa said. “What happened before you went to bed?”

  Margaret lowered her gaze. “I think I didn’t take my pills,” she said guiltily. “The sleep pills. They’re big and thick like they’re made for horses. I hate them.”

  **

  Tessa and Margaret talked for the next half-hour about Margaret’s feelings of confusion and guilt. She had many good memories of her father but a decent share of bad memories, mostly to do with how he and her mother treated Katharine. They made Margaret and Emma point out boys and young men they deemed attractive. They made the sisters keep a journal noting any misdeeds on Katharine’s part—a gaze lingering at a female staffer, for example. They were to note good deeds as well. Margaret hated having to write anything down and made up scores of good deeds, both big and trifling.

  Amalia had changed since then, Margaret claimed. In fact, Margaret seemed very much in love with her mother and sisters even if her mother did tend toward being too clingy and patronizing. “Mum means well,” Margaret said with a sigh.

  Yeah, Tessa wasn’t about to propose her theory of what may really have happened. For the most part, she stayed quiet, nodded and asked the occasional question.

  “Google her,” Margaret said at one point. “Alicia Hastings. She’s a therapist practicing in London.”

  So Tessa did, using the keywords, “Alicia Hastings, therapist, London.” Tessa alit upon a sleek, professional-looking woman, maybe in her fifties or sixties.

  “I’ve gone over her CV a few times,” Margaret said glumly. “She used to work with teenagers. Maybe I had therapy with her?”

  “Did you ask Katharine or your mother if they know her?”

  Margaret shook her head. “I’m afraid to because what if it tips them off that I’m involved?”

  “Hmm.”

  “I feel sorry for Alicia even though I hate her,” Margaret admitted.

  “How so?”

  “She didn’t want to do it. Like I explained, she kept crying and saying I was crazy and that she didn’t know anyone who could help.” Margaret squeezed her eyes shut. “I kept yelling at her and ridiculing her and telling her that it would be easy. How did she expect me to believe she didn’t know any shady characters when she worked as a bloody therapist? Come on.”

  “I believe you,” Tessa said carefully. She could see the skepticism on Margaret’s face but also an appreciation for Tessa trying. “Bear with me a minute, though. This would have been back when you were eighteen or nineteen and making a miraculous breakthrough. You were weak physically and mentally. How would you have gotten to her house alone and been able to order her around like you did?”

  Margaret shrugged. “I had it in me, I guess. Or she was my therapist, and I’ve blanked out our sessions.” She sighed. “There’s a lot I’ve blanked out.”

  **

  Margaret knew Tessa didn’t believe her when the detective covered Margaret’s hand with her own hand. It must’ve been reflexive, instinctive, a reaction to Margaret’s grief. A detective who truly believed she killed her father would not have done any such thing. Earlier, Tessa’s disbelief infuriated Margaret. Now Tessa’s touch and her hazel eyes, warm and sympathetic, nearly undid Margaret.

  “Don’t touch me,” Margaret snapped, flinging Tessa’s hand off. “Don’t be nice.”

  “You want punishment,” Tessa hazarded.

  “Yes. I’d go to prison if I could.” Margaret let out an anguished wail. “But I can’t. It would destroy the monarchy.”

  “What kind of punishment?”

  Margaret remembered the pain of Tessa’s fingers digging into her wrists and knew that physical pain could get worse, much worse. “I want to hurt,” Margaret whispered. “I want to really hurt like in that video.” She’d been looking for something on her phone the other night to help Adam understand better what he could do with her, a porn video, and accidentally came across someone being whipped.

  “What video?”

  Margaret showed Tessa, and the detective, wincing, watched for about thirty seconds before turning the phone over so she didn’t have to look anymore. In the video, a quivering naked woman bent below a leather-clad man. He proceeded to whip her repeatedly on her back and buttocks. She screamed in agony, and the whipping left marks. Blood.

  Tessa was pale as she gathered her thoughts, and Adam chose that moment to return.

  “Hey,” he said, closing the door behind him, his usually soft brown eyes hard on Margaret and Tessa. “Finished with your playing?”

  Chapter Five

  After one of the security officials reminded Margaret to take her nightly round of pills, the princess excused herself, leaving Tessa alone with Adam. His demeanor changed from hostile to pleading the instant Margaret left.

  “What did she say about me?” he asked, his voice earnest.

  Tessa strained to remember and drew a blank. Murder tended to crowd out other stuff. “Good things,” she said politely. “Don’t worry.”

  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, be honest.”

  “I…well…she really did say only good things.”

  Adam shook his head. “You’re lying. She told you about Alec.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Alec Castle,” Adam interrupted. “Emma and Katharine found him and paid him to, you know, service Margaret.”

  “Oh. Oh, wow.”

  “She’d lay there for hours, and he’d plow her again and again.”

  “That’s a lovely and evocative description,” Tessa said wryly.

  He glared at her. “You think it’s funny.”

  “Adam, I—”

  “He did whatever she asked, whatever she wanted! For hours.” Another accusatory glare as if Tessa herself, not Emma and Katharine, enlisted Alec’s services. “He spoiled her, and here, look at the guy.” Adam thrust his phone in Tessa’s face, and she took in a sexy man with smoldering brown eyes. A dog licked his cheek, and he laughed. He was easily one of the most handsome men Tessa had laid eyes on.

  “See,” Adam said. “You get it.”

  “I do?”

  “How am I supposed to compete with him? Margaret tells me what she wants me to do, and I try, but I don’t know…” He shrugged. “I don’t need foreplay or whatever to get off, and it’s not like she offers to do BJs for me or whatever. She just lays there like she laid for him.”

  How awkward. “This is outside my purview,” Tessa ventured.

  “You’re her friend,” Adam said. “Can you put in a good word for me? Alec’s a fantasy. What he did to her, that’s not real life.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Adam relaxed visibly and even grinned. “Thanks, Tessa.” He shot her a contemplative look and said, “I’m scared to ask, but what exactly did I walk in on earlier?”

  Something else Tessa would rather not think about. The desire mingled with anger on Margaret’s face had been unmistakable, and Tessa’s body responded in its own way. Even in remembrance, her body perked up, her thoughts wandering to areas better left unexplored.

  Tessa licked her lips. “It was an odd moment,” she said, striving for a G-rated version. “She pushed me, and I reacted instantly because of my police training. I incapacitated her, and she didn’t like it.”

  “She can get mad easily,” Adam conceded. “She’s never pushed me, but she’s slammed books and stuff when I irritate her. Why did she push you?”

  Tessa hewed close to the truth: “She insisted something happened a specific way, but I remembered it differently.”

  Adam chuckled. “Oh, that. Yeah, that’ll set her off.”

  Margaret rejoined them, looking between Tessa and Adam.

  “Hey,” Adam said. “How did it go?” He explained to Tessa, “She doesn’t like taking her pills. Some of them are really big, and—”

  “I’m right here, Adam,” Margaret said snippily. “I’m capable of explaining this information myself if I felt that it would substantially enhance Tessa’s life.”

  He winced. “Sorry.”

  Tessa grabbed onto a question that she hoped would smooth things over. “What are the pills for?”

  “Everything,” Margaret said “Seizures. Memory issues. Tics.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “Oh, they are,” Margaret drawled. Her gaze turned keen. “So, what were you two talking about?”

  Tessa waited for Adam to answer. “Stuff,” he said vaguely. “My walk and Tessa’s job.” He turned to Tessa and said, “It was beginning to pour when I got back to the hotel. Good luck out there.”

  That was her cue to leave, Tessa supposed. Except how in the world could she leave after the bombshell Margaret dropped? What if Margaret did something stupid, harmful or criminal? All three? Yes, Margaret had been able to keep her lips zipped thus far, but what if she decided that unburdening felt good and she availed herself of Adam? Was he discreet?

  Tess had to stay, at least until she talked to Margaret again.

  “Margaret and I still have some catching up to do,” Tessa said lightly.

  “Oh,” Adam said. “Oh, sure, okay. Can I stick around, or is it ladies only? I play a mean game of rummy.”

  **

  Margaret could hardly keep her eyes open, but she struggled on, creating a string of diamonds to win the first round of rummy. Adam kept shooting her concerned glances. Her mother had probably given him a good talking-to before the trip—Make sure she rests enough and goes to sleep early, etc. Thankfully, Amalia hadn’t done so with Margaret. Since the forehead-kissing incident with the doll baby, Margaret’s mother had behaved better.

  Margaret didn’t say much during the game, nor did Tessa or Adam. Margaret knew she and Tessa needed more time together but wasn’t sure how to gracefully segue to that or if it would be possible tonight.

  Finally, Margaret alit upon an idea. “Gracious, look at the time,” she said. “It’s late. You should stay the night, Tessa, especially since it’s raining hard. There’s an open room.”

  Tessa had probably never stayed in a hotel like this before. Margaret Googled The Mark before leaving on the trip and saw that its penthouse suite was 10,000 square feet and boasted a 2,500-square-foot terrace overlooking Central Park. This suite was much more modest, and Margaret’s private funds were paying for it. Still, it had a terrace overlooking the park, a wet bar and 24-carat gold fixtures.

  Tessa smiled. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

  With that settled, Margaret allowed herself to yawn. “I need to go to sleep.” She’d talk with Tessa in the morning.

  **

  Sleep came with difficulty. In fact, it didn’t come at all. Margaret lay in bed, fat tears wetting her cheeks and her pillow. Margaret’s doctor Dennis Milville said that part of her condition, her “mental impairment,” was a tendency to see the world in black and white. She lost nuance, but these conflicting feelings about herself, they were full of nuance, weren’t they? She loved and hated herself. She couldn’t believe that she killed her father, yet she incontrovertibly, irrefutably had.

  Margaret cried and cried, and beside her, Adam slept peacefully.

  Momentarily, she got out of bed. She padded into the kitchen for water, and the time glowed from the stove: 3:15 a.m. She drank the glass of water in two large swallows, but the pain of too-quick and too-large sips failed to make a dent in Margaret’s distress.

  Should she get back in bed with Adam, who apparently dreamt of kittens and his favorite video games?

  No.

  Margaret knocked tentatively at Tessa’s bedroom door. “Tessa?” she called quietly.

  Tessa answered a moment later, wearing red shiny pajamas that came with the room. Her hair was down, mussed, and she looked lovely.

  Margaret smiled. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “You didn’t. I’ve been struggling to sleep.” Tessa stepped aside and gestured Margaret in.

  The sole light in the room came from the bedside lamp, giving Margaret flashbacks to the night she told Emma that their father had died.

  “Is the bed okay?” Margaret asked.

  “It’s very nice, and the sheets feel amazing.” Margaret could hear the grin in Tessa’s voice. “It’s like being on a cloud.”

  “I’m sorry you can’t sleep.”

  Tessa sighed. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure who could in these circumstances.”

  “I really thought you suspected.”

  “No. Not at all.”

  Margaret had totally misread Tessa that morning at breakfast. Margaret expected her to leap from the table at any moment, point to Margaret and cry, “Father killer!”

  She had come to New York seeking immediate punishment so she could move on with her life, but here Tessa was, pondering and processing. Trying to believe. It would be a while before Margaret received the punishment she deserved.

  “I’m sorry again for pushing you.”

  “It’s no problem. Good to know I have my reflexes.”

  “Where do we go from here, Tessa?”

  Tessa sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “But I think you do know something,” Margaret ventured. “I didn’t call you and fly halfway across the world for no reason. There was something in your eyes that morning at breakfast, something in your behavior. You knew my father’s death was not an accident.”

  “Let’s try again to sleep, okay, Margaret?”

  Margaret shook her head. “Not until you tell me what you know.”

  “I don’t know anything. Promise.”

  Frustration welled inside Margaret. Tessa knew something! She had been so reluctant to talk with Margaret and see her. “Then what do you suspect?”

  “Nothing,” she said. The liar!

  Margaret wanted to push Tessa again, but she restrained herself and went to a painting on the wall. It sort of resembled the lips painting Katharine did of their aunt Josephine.

  Her thoughts wandered to her taking the pills and returning to the bedroom to see Tessa and Adam talking.

  “You told him!” Margaret cried. “You told Adam that I killed Dad.”

  Tessa’s mouth opened to form an “o.” “No.”

  “You bloody told him!”

  “I did not!”

  Margaret remembered the last time she saw her father alive, him sipping the wine at dinner, winking and teasing her to have a sip while Amalia grouched that Margaret couldn’t have alcohol because of her meds. Amalia got up from the table first, and Henry snuck Margaret a sip from his wine.