Killian raised two fingers. The bodyguards lowered their guns, though their muscles remained coiled.
He didn't speak immediately. He took a step toward her. The rain hammered against his suit, but he seemed impervious to it. His gaze lingered on the way the wet silk of her dress clung to her waist, to the curve of her hip.
It wasn't a look of lust. It was an assessment. He was checking for weapons.
On the ground, the bleeding man seized the opportunity. He lunged forward, grasping at Killian's polished shoe. "Mr. Gibson, please! It was a mistake!"
Delia let out a sharp, high-pitched scream. She threw her hands up to cover her eyes, pressing her palms against her face.
Through the gap between her ring and middle finger, she watched.
Killian looked down at the man clutching his shoe with an expression of mild distaste. He didn't kick him. He just looked at the blood staining his leather oxford.
"Deal with it," Killian said.
The bodyguards hauled the man up. They dragged him into the darkness of the hedges. The man's screams were cut short by a dull thud.
Delia kept her hands over her face, letting out ragged, theatrical breaths.
"Delia!"
The voice came from the corridor entrance. Ansel burst into the rain, holding an umbrella over his head. He stopped dead when he saw her standing in front of his brother.
"You followed me?" Ansel shrieked. "You crazy bitch! You followed me here?"
He stayed five meters away, his free hand flying up to cover his nose again.
Delia lowered her hands. The tears she had prepared didn't come. She was too annoyed. She wiped the rain from her cheeks and looked at Ansel.
"Follow you?" she asked. "Ansel, the world doesn't revolve around your paranoia."
"You're trying to appeal to Killian!" Ansel pointed a shaking finger at her. "It won't work! I won't marry you! Even if you beg him!"
Delia turned to look at Killian. He had returned to his chair, watching this domestic dispute with a sudden, terrifying interest.
"This is your brother?" she asked Killian. Her voice was polite, detached. "Maybe you should have him checked for a brain tumor. The delusions are getting severe."
The corner of Killian's mouth twitched. It was a microscopic movement, but Delia saw it.
"You..." Ansel sputtered. "What did you say?"
Delia took a step toward Ansel.
He scrambled backward, slipping on the wet stone. He gagged, a dry, heaving sound echoing in the garden.
"Get back!" he choked out.
Delia stopped. She tilted her head, putting on her best medical student face.
"Ansel," she said loudly, ensuring the bodyguards in the shadows could hear. "Is this a condition? You vomit every time you get close to a woman?"
"In the medical journals," she said, her voice dripping with faux sympathy, "psychological erectile dysfunction often manifests with nausea. Is that it? Is that why you're so afraid to touch me?"
Ansel's face turned a violent shade of purple. "I do not have... I can... Shut up!"
"It's okay," she said soothingly. "There are pills for that. Though, honestly, I don't think it's worth the prescription cost."
She turned back to Killian. She offered him a slight, respectful nod.
"I apologize for the intrusion, Mr. Gibson. Since the engagement is clearly off, I won't waste any more of your time."
She didn't wait for permission. She turned and walked between them. She passed Ansel without looking at him.
She felt Killian's eyes on her back until she rounded the corner.
"She's lying," Ansel hissed to his brother. "She's a lunatic."
Delia paused just out of sight, pressing her back against the cold stone wall to listen.
"Did you say she followed you?" Killian's voice was low.
"Yes! She must have!"
"Her shoes," Killian said. "There was no mud on the soles. She didn't come from the main entrance. She came from the side gate."
Silence.
"I don't understand," Ansel said.
"She's lying," Killian murmured. "But not about you."
She heard the flick of the lighter again.
"Find out everything about her," Killian said. "The little wild cat has claws."
