The door opened and the poor young butler was immediately brushed aside when Trent swept his way in through the doorway with a piece of paper in his hand.

"Dior!" he shouted, his steps digging into the expensive carpet that lined the hallway. "Get your master to the drawing room now!" he shouted at the butler who was looking as furious as he.

"His lordship is currently indisposed, my lord!"

"Then he is in the study," he growled, turning on his heels. "If you do not show me where the room is now, I will start breaking every bloody door that comes my way, butler!"

"My lord, this is extremely scandalous—"

Trent whirled around and advanced toward the butler who retreated with each step, face red with fury. "Take me to your master now," he ordered through his teeth.

The butler's jaw tightened, but Trent understood the man's resolve when he simply squared his shoulders and stood his ground, saying nothing.

"Very well," he ground out, turning on his heels. He climbed up the stairs, shouting, "Dior!"

As he reached the second landing, he stopped, looking left to right. The butler was following behind him after shouting for a footman.

Before the butler's reinforcement arrived, Trent trudged down the right corridor, shouting for Dior. After opening three doors—slamming two against the wall—the door at the end opened and Dior appeared, frowning at him with his hands in his pockets.

"What the bloody hell, Chalbarth!" Robert Dior shouted.

Trent could have leaped toward the man because his legs took him in front of Dior within seconds. "What is this?" he asked, pushing the paper against the man's chest.

As Dior bent down to read, Trent entered the man's study to find the liquor cabinet where he poured himself an excellent brandy. While he took his first gulp, the butler and the footman had appeared and Dior dismissed them with a wave of his hand while he frowned down on the paper.

Once he finished reading the letter, he turned and quietly entered the study, his face too striking Trent wanted to put a dent in it. His hands balled as the inviting thought occurred to him, but he stopped himself, allowing the man enough time to pour himself a drink.

Trent found a chaise and settled in it, jaw tight, eyes following Dior as the man walked to the nearest window. "I hope you took precaution."

"I did," Trent bit out, glaring at the man. "How long have you been planning this with Darcy?"

"It was not Darcy's idea," said Dior, approaching him. He returned the letter to Trent and then took his place behind his large wooden desk. Face impassive, devoid of hints of what he may think of. "Blackwood suggested it."

"That you become my fiancée's flower?" he calmly demanded, but his voice reverberated around the room, making it known to Dior how he felt.

Dior's black eyes fixed on him, unmoving and strong. "You are too emotional, Chalbarth."

Trent scoffed. He downed the rest of the brandy and leaned over to slam the empty glass on the table before the chaise. Then he stood and dragged a chair in front of Dior's table. The room was quiet, and for a moment the only sound was the distant chirping of the birds through the open window. Last year, Trent spent a summer afternoon such as this with Caroline, building the cabin.

"I have every bloody right to be emotional, Dior," he said, too calmly for his credit. "I applied to be her secret flower."

"Darcy agrees with Belcourt," said Dior. "Whoever is responsible for Caroline's attack may be part of your circle or that of Remington."

"My fiancée's attacker is my own Belle."

"Yes, precisely. She is within your circle."

"I have my eyes on her."

"Since when?"

His jaw tightened because he knew where Dior was leading the argument. If he told the truth that he had eyes on Jade long before Caroline's attack, the man could easily prove that he was not capable of protecting his fiancée. Jade still slipped through his watchful men.

Because she made him believe she was spending time in Belcourt that day. And she went to Belcourt that day. And his men left thinking she would stay as she typically did.

Having finished their argument without engaging in a verbal one, Dior leaned against his chair, eyes never leaving Trent. "You are to keep your distance from her."

"How in the bloody hell will I do that when she is friends with my Belle?"

"It is not my job to know how you should manage it, but be careful whenever you are around her. Everyone is watching you."

"Do you think I do not know that?"

"Darcy informed me that Belcourt suspects you."

"Why? Because I applied to be my fiancée's secret flower?"

"Yes."

"And how in the hell did you become a gentleman of Belcourt?"

"My parents are friends with the Duke of Islefield."

"Of course, they are," he scoffed. "And I assume that you have also got the keys into the Stanway estate?"

"No, but we will get it on the morrow." Dior studied him. "Are you concerned that I will treat Caroline as how flowers treat their Belles?"

"No, of course not. She would never allow you to touch her."

A tiny smile curled the man's lips. "Perhaps."

His face darkened. "You will not touch her."

Dior sighed. "Fret not, Chalbarth, I have no interests on such trivial things."

"And you will escort her to every ball she has to go through as a Belle. You keep an eye on her whenever my Belle is around—and especially when my Belle is not around."

Dior narrowed his eyes. "I did not realize I will take orders from you, Chalbarth."

Trent felt his blood boil. Then he stood. "I came here to tell you that Caroline will not like this at all."

Dior nodded. "I expect that."

"How is that friend of yours? The French bastard."

"We are no longer chummy."

"Good, because if I ever see him again, if he ever comes close to Caroline, you will have a Frenchman's head for dinner."

⠒♣◆♣⠒

Caroline smiled as she sashayed into the drawing room with Fatima entering the room first to escort her and present her to her flower.

"Thank you, Fatima, I believe I can handle this myself," she said, eyes on Robert Dior.

She did not particularly dislike Robert. His father was an acquaintance of hers, both in and out of the Royal Circus. He was also oddly friends with Ellise. Well, as what the woman would claim. But Robert was also friends with the bastard who ruined Caroline's life.

"Good evening, my lord," she said, walking close to him. His eyes were unreadable as he watched her approach; he did not even flinch when she stood too close to him to whisper, "I do not know why you are doing this, but I am not liking this at all."

"Chalbarth warned me, but I how you feel about this is none of my concern," he quickly replied before he stepped away and returned to the settee. "I was ordered by Belcourt to present myself to you," he said, voice loud enough for any prying ears. "I hope that we can be friends first, my lady, before we decide how we proceed with our relationship."

Caroline glared at him while she gracefully replied, "Of course, my lord. But you must forgive me if I address you by your first name. We Belles address our gentlemen however we wish."

"I shall take no offense," he said in a dry, deadpan voice.

"Would you like a drink?"

"No."

"We have fresh biscuits."

"No, thank you."

"Then would you like a walk to the park?"

"No, it is too sunny outside."

"A brandy?"

"No."

Caroline gritted her teeth. "Then would you like to leave?"

"Yes."

They both eagerly jumped to their feet, and she escorted him to the door. "I was invited to a ball and I intend to attend," she told him. "I expect that you will escort me?"

He did not want to, but it was also clear that it was part of his mission to keep her safe. "Yes," he replied, voice strained.

Caroline smiled. "See you then, my lord."

She opened the door and found that Fatima was already waiting outside. Soon, Fatima joined her in the drawing room with a fretful look. "You dislike him?"

"We do not like each other," she admitted. "But I will give him a chance."

"Yes, you should. He seems rather nice."

"I highly doubt that, Fatima, but we shall see." She checked the time. "I have tea with Ruby and Jade. You do not have to accompany me."

"But I must, my lady."

"Fatima, I need a moment to be with myself. The short time I will spend alone as I walk to Ruby's villa will be an enormous help."

"Are you not feeling well, my lady?"

"No, I feel fine." She massaged her temple. "I am just... shall we say, overwhelmed."

"I understand," Fatima said, nodding.

"You and Carrie can come and fetch me at five this afternoon."

"Yes, of course."

"You know of the Belrose Café?"

"Yes."

"I will wait for you there."

Fatima nodded, eyeing her with concern. If the woman was suspicious, Caroline could not tell.

⠒♣◆♣⠒

Caroline did not expect that the walk was tiresome instead of helpful, but it gave her time to think nonetheless.

Robert Dior would not pose a problem, but she did not like the fact that Belcourt allowed him to be her flower.

It was suspicious to be this close to two Royals while in Belcourt—Trent and Robert.

Was this deliberate?

Had Jade dug deeper into her life and Trent's? Was Trent in danger of being found out? Was Robert being trapped? And what of her? Was she being played?

She needed answers fast, but how could she have that when Trent was nowhere in sight?

Her thoughts eventually drifted away when she reached the busy town center. She made her way to the Belrose Café, composing herself. She would have to spend another afternoon with Ruby and Jade, and this time she must be ready to turn the tables.

They were true actresses, one of the best she had ever witnessed apart from herself, but they would have weaknesses. Like everyone else, they must have something she could use as leverage.

And she was also starting to enjoy the new habit which only happened whenever she was around Jade: imagining how she would kill the wench.

She stopped outside the Belrose Café and looked through the large glass window. Sure enough, the two Belles were already inside. Jade was facing away, while Ruby sat to Jade's right, leaning close with an angry look on her face. She was talking to Jade, eyes narrowed and brows knitted while she dug one finger on the table.

Caroline did not move, deciding she would rather watch the two ladies freely show their true colors for a few more minutes before barging in on them.

"My lady," a deep voice said behind her and she went cold. "Please follow me." When she remained rooted to her spot, washed with dread, the voice added, "It is me, Orlin. No, do not look back. Please, just follow me."

Caroline swallowed, threw Jade and Ruby one last look before she turned and searched for Trent's butler among the crowd of people enjoying the summer sun.

When she finally saw him, she hurried and followed, looking around her. Jade or Ruby's maids may be were around. As she doubted this careless move, a hand grabbed her arm and Trent's voice whispered in her ear, "Come this way."

As they passed through a sea of people, he led her into a narrow alleyway that looked like it was leading to the part of the city her father had warned her never to wander into.

And suddenly, Trent was in front of her, his hand behind him holding hers as they squeezed through the narrow passage with merely a few inches to spare from the filthy brick walls covered with soot and grime. She looked over her shoulder.

The little opening seemed invisible to those who passed by.

And then she yelped when Trent made a sudden turn into a much darker place.

"Trent, this place is terrible!" she hissed, covering her nose. She did not know how to describe it for she had never sniffed such horrifying smell before. Trent stood in front of her, face serious. But he was standing too close, and she had to say something. "If this is the fragrance of hell, then this is how your Belle should smell like."

The serious look on his face cracked as a snort escaped him. "Shut up, Carol, do not make me laugh."

"You are standing too close." Her hand still covering her nose and mouth, muffling her voice. "Step back a little," she said, lightly pushing him.

"Bloody hell, Carol!" he growled, resisting the force of her hand, trying to save his own coat from the grime-covered brick wall behind him. Clucking his tongue with annoyance, he pulled her hand away from her face and all of a sudden, Caroline felt naked.

"Robert Dior is my flower," she informed him.

"I know."

"Did you apply to be my flower?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then why did you fail?"

"There is no test, Carol. Belcourt matches the Belles with the flowers."

"Then Belcourt does not think we are a match?"

His eyes narrowed at her. "Do you truly believe the crap about Belcourt making suitable matches?"

"Well, they matched you with a deranged criminal, perhaps not. But then they say opposites are drawn to each other, so you may be a match after all!" she snapped.

He frowned. "Where is this anger toward me coming from?"

She gritted her teeth. Tearing her gaze away from his, she said, "Just say what you want to say. They are waiting for me in the café."

"I have nothing to say."

Her eyes snapped back to him. "Then why bother dragging me into this filthy alleyway—"

"I just want to know if you are doing well."

"I am doing well." She made a move to leave, but his hand caught her arm.

"Carol, you are mad."

"I am, yes."

"Why?"

"Because you failed to become my flower! But do not mind my anger. You are not at fault, and I do not understand why I am mad at you."

He placed his hands on his hips. "I know you know why. Tell me."

"Your Belle has been telling me details I should not even be aware of. It must be because I hate her so much."

"What details."

"Of your sexual escapades."

His eye twitched and his jaw tightened.

She growled under her breath. "Why do I hate that you do not even deny them?"

"Carol, you know that my feelings for her are—"

"I know, do not tell me." She looked at both ends of the corridor and wrinkled her nose. "I am starting to feel dizzy from the stench."

"Are you jealous?"

His questioned stupefied her.

Am I?

"No, I am not certain," she truthfully said, looking up to meet his eyes. A wrong move, because... well, she wanted to kiss him.

What the bloody hell was wrong with her?

He narrowed his eyes. "I think you are jealous. I just cannot point out why."

"Well, neither do I." She cleared her throat. "Is there more you wish to say?"

"Are you angry because I do things with her I do not do with you?"

"I did not ask if you have more things to ask. I want information you may share about other things—" she stopped because he was waiting for her answer and he would not stop staring at with one brow arched if she did not answer. "Yes, maybe. But I am not saying I want us to do the things you do with her. I just hate the thought of you taking pleasure from her."

"Then are you saying you are forbidding me to bed her?"

She did not answer.

"You only have to say the word, Carol."

"You will have to bed her. That is all she talks about. She may start to wonder if you suddenly stop and—"

"Very well," he interrupted coldly. She frowned up at him but he was no longer looking at her.

"Trent, all I mean to say is that—"

"I should whore myself to her," he completed for her.

"No! That is not—"

"I understand what you mean, Carol."

He was angry now, and she sighed with frustration. "We should not discuss your sexual relationship with your Belle from now on. It is a sensitive topic for us both."

"Let us include that on our list of arguments once you are out of Belcourt."

"I agree."

He nodded, brows still fused together, obviously still angry.

"I have a mission tonight."

"Where?"

"Stanway estate. Dior's parents gained the keys into the private study. Rider was compromised for the mission and they ordered me to step in."

"Will it be dangerous?"

"It might. We do not know. We had had the key for a few days now. Stanway or his household staff may have discovered it missing by now."

"Then do not go. A man such as the Duke of Islefield will surely have already found out about the stolen key." When he did not reply she sighed. "Of course, you are going, you bloody idiot."

A scoff and he pulled her head toward him, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Go," he said, "and be careful."

She glared at him. "You be careful. I am not the one breaking into other people's estates." She made a move to leave but stopped. Looking at him one more time, she added, "Next time, I will come to you. No more filthy alleyways."

He smirked.

"Be careful," she sternly repeated. "I am utterly serious."

He nodded. "Go."

Rolling her eyes, Caroline walked away.

"I still hate your bloody hair!"

She smiled and quickened her pace, thinking how fun this was. Trent having his own mission while she was living a great thrilling adventure with his murderous lover.