Tate looked like a broken man, just as anyone would if they'd found out their father killed their mother. Had Tate ever suspected she hadn't run off with another man? Surely not—nobody would have kept quiet about something so serious, even a teenager. How old was he when it happened? Seventeen? Eighteen?

Beside me, he gripped the wheel, his gaze fixed on the tarmac as he sped along the winding lanes of Middleton Foxford.

"Where are we going?"

No answer.

"Tate, where are we going?"

He glanced over at me, and his eyes had an odd glint. Grief did funny things to people, I knew that, but he didn't look as if he was all there.

"The house. We're going to the house."

"The house? Do you mean your cottage?"

Again, silence. I started to get a bad feeling about the whole plan.

"On second thoughts, it might be best if we met up another day. Maddie and Mickey are waiting to go back to London."

"You said we could talk."

"Yes, but I didn't realise how late it's got. Can you drop me back at the café? Please?"

"We're going to talk."

His mouth set in a thin line, and he gripped the wheel harder. We were travelling at almost seventy along narrow lanes. Did he have a death wish? A branch whacked the wing mirror, and I jumped, but Tate didn't seem to notice.

"Please stop. I'll get out here and make my own way back. It's no problem."

But he didn't even slow. I considered making a grab for the wheel, but at the speed we were going, that would end in disaster. Whatever Tate had planned, I had no choice but to go along for the ride.

Ten minutes later, the car skidded sideways in a hail of gravel as we arrived at Prestwold Manor. Almost before we stopped, Tate leapt out. He pulled my door open, and not in his usual gentlemanly manner.

"Get out."

"I think I'd rather stay here."

I clung on to the sides of the seat, but he grabbed my arm and hauled me out. Blood blossomed on the knee of my jeans as I tripped over the doorsill and landed heavily on the ground.

Tate's fingers bit into my wrist as he pulled me to my feet and across the drive, and I stumbled again. Thoughts jumbled together in my head as if I'd drunk one too many glasses of wine. Why was he being like this?

The stone facade of the old manor loomed in front of us. "Why are we here? This isn't your home."

"No, it's my father's. And it would have been mine one day if you'd managed to do what you were told."

"What are you talking about?"

"Such a simple request. All you had to do was get out of Eleanor's house." He gave his head a little shake. "I even offered you somewhere else to stay. Why did you find it so difficult?"

Realisation hit me like a blow to the stomach, and I regretted eating all those cupcakes earlier. "You knew? You knew your father was trying to scare me away from Lilac Cottage?"

"Knew? It was my idea. The problem was that I only had an incompetent fool to help me. He managed to screw things up, just like he screwed up disposing of my mother's body all those years ago."

Tate had been in on it? What sort of man could live with that secret?

He unlocked the door, shoved me inside, and slammed it behind us, looking more unhinged by the second. When I didn't move fast enough, he pushed me, and I tripped over the edge of a rug. Pain shot through my wrist as I caught it on the edge of a table, but he didn't care, just twisted it behind my back and propelled me forwards.

"Come on, Olivia. Pick your feet up."

I could barely walk at all, I was shaking so much. How could I have been so stupid? I'd considered dating this man, for crying out loud. Was my judgement really that bad?

We arrived in a lounge, a huge, high-ceilinged room filled with stuffy-looking furniture, and he flung me onto a leather couch. As I rolled against the back, he yanked my wrists in front of me. Rope dug into my skin as he knotted it tight.

"Sit up."

I didn't get the chance to comply before he dragged me into the position he wanted and went to tie my feet as well. I tried to kick him, but he trapped my legs with his and slapped me.

"Save the fight for later, my darling. It'll make what I have planned for us more fun."

My vision went fuzzy as it hit me what he meant. Once, I'd found Tate attractive, but now? He repulsed me. The thought of him forcing himself on me made lunch rise up my throat. How could I get out of this? My phone was in my pocket, but I couldn't reach it, not with Tate watching me like freaking Larry. Tate began muttering while he paced, but he still didn't take his eyes off me.

He'd gone insane. That was the only explanation.

"How could you live with your father, knowing that he killed your mother? Why didn't you go to the police?"

"Olivia." He crouched in front of me, hands on his knees. "Poor, stupid little Olivia. So naïve. My father didn't kill my mother. I did."

That was it. Spots floated before my eyes as I heaved up Daisy's offerings onto Tate's shoes. Pastel icing and rainbow sprinkles covered the handmade Italian leather, and there was even a bit of glitter in there. The measure of satisfaction I felt was tempered by the punch to the gut he gave me.

"Oof!"

"Shut up!"

He'd lost it. He'd totally lost it. He strode up and down the hideous rug, talking to himself again as the last of his sanity leached out from between his ears. I needed to stall him, and I needed to find a way to contact Nye.

"W-w-why? Why did you k-k-kill her?"

He paused in front of me, staring down. "My mother had this ridiculous idea in her head that I should learn to live as a pauper. She wanted my father to cut off my allowance until I turned thirty so I'd have to get a proper job."

What, like a normal person?

"Thirty years old! Can you believe that?"

"No, Tate. It's absurd."

He didn't pick up on my sarcasm as he continued his tirade.

"Why would I want to do that? Rent a house and save up for a shitty car? We had money coming out of our ears, and Father had promised me the cottage. My godfather was only too happy to give me a position in his firm where I could take as much time off to play golf as I wanted. The bitch tried to ruin that." He stepped closer, eyes wide and unfocused. "Someone needed to put her in her place."

His hot breath washed over my face as he stroked my cheek with his fingertips. I jerked away, but he yanked me back again.

"That's no way to be polite, Olivia. I'll need to teach you some manners as well."

He pinched my cheeks between the thumb and fingers of one hand, making it difficult to nod, but I managed it.

"I-I-I'm sorry."

Tate sighed. "This is a difficult time for all of us. I wish things could have been different, really I do."

When he headed for the drinks cabinet on the far side of the room, I leaned to one side, trying to wiggle my phone out of my pocket, but it snagged on the lining. Try as I might, I couldn't get it free. Tate poured himself a generous measure of Scotch, and it sloshed over the sides of the glass as he resumed pacing.

A tear trickled down my cheek, followed by another and another. Right now, I should have been on my way to a restaurant with Nye. What would he think when I didn't arrive home? Would he think I'd stood him up? That I didn't love him? Because I did, and I'd never got the chance to say it. This should have been the best day of my life, and instead, it had turned into the worst.

Tate stalked back to me, red-faced. The glass only had a few dregs and an ice cube left in it.

"Why, Olivia? Why? Why did you have to be like that? We could have been so happy together. Once I show you what you've been missing, you'll understand that."

He grabbed my legs and pulled me flat on the sofa. I writhed like a demented caterpillar and tried to throw myself onto the floor, but he caught me and flipped my legs back onto the seat.

"Get off me!" I screamed.

"Shut up, Olivia, or I'll have to gag you. And I have plans for your pretty mouth."

So did I. I was going to bite the fucking thing off if it got that far.

"I hate you."

He pressed a hand over my mouth, and in the moment of silence, I heard the sweetest sound in the world—a knock at the front door.