Page 24 of Cruel Dynasty

“Who says it’s not the other way around?” I asked.

“You want me all to yourself?” He spun the wheel, turning us down a dark, private lane.

I swallowed as the first lights came into view in the distance. Welbatten Hall. “Take me back to Hensley and I’ll show you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He thought I was joking, but he was only half right.

It couldn’t be coincidence that none of Kerrigan’s friends had come to call until now. I’d met a few at parties and events, where there was plenty of safety in numbers. I suspected that Tod Belmond had arranged to keep me away from them the rest of the time. It was a move that I appreciated, but avoiding Kerrigan’s old life couldn’t continue forever, especially not for an entire year. As it was, I was getting daily prompts from Giles to post photos on Kerrigan’s social media accounts to keep up appearances. And then there was the wedding date. I hadn’t gotten the opportunity to speak with Tod before we left for Yorkshire. Maybe I’d even avoided him. Did I really want to know if Kerrigan would be back sooner than expected? What if she came back next month or next week? Tomorrow?

Was I ready to walk away from this life so suddenly?

“We’re here,” Spencer announced as we pulled in front of a Georgian manor. It was impossible to make out much of its architecture, its brick facade blending in too well with the night. Mostly it just struck me as large, but I couldn’t help noting, with some satisfaction, not nearly as massive as Hensley House.

Spencer appeared at my side of the McLaren and helped me out, which was thoughtful given that my shoes didn’t mix well with the pea-gravel drive. I noticed a few other cars parked alongside ours. I pointed to a Land Rover.

“It looks like Holden beat us.”

“He’s probably trying to get into Beatrice’s knickers already,” Spencer said with a shake of his head.

“I thought they hated each other.”

Spencer snorted a laugh. “When has that ever stopped someone? Hate fucking is his particular brand of catnip.”

“I see.” Something about that made my stomach twist into knots given how often Holden came on to me. Did he hate me? Is that why he wanted to get me into bed?

And why should it bother me if so?

I pushed away the questions he’d raised, determined to focus on getting through the evening. When we reached the front door, a man wearing a black suit answered. I was about to greet him when he nodded and stepped to the side. I followed Spencer into the grand entry. The floor was tiled in black and white marble until it reached a sweeping staircase, leading to the upper floors. Nearby a polished mahogany table held a towering arrangement of tuberoses and lilies in a Chinese porcelain vase.

“Mr. Byrd and Miss Belmond, welcome. The other guests are in the lounge.” He waited by the door expectantly. Spencer turned and shrugged off his overcoat into the man’s waiting hands, which I noticed for the first time were gloved. Then Spencer turned and helped me with my jacket and passed it to the man, which I now presumed was the Highclere family’s butler.

He moved away with the jackets over his arm, then paused, and looked at me. “And, if I may be so bold, it is lovely to have you back at Welbatten, Miss Belmond.”

Oh, fuck me. Apparently, the fact that I’d been here before had either slipped Giles’ mind or been unknown to him. I gathered myself and smiled brightly. “I’m glad to be back.”

The butler paused, blinking his eyes for a moment, as if confused by something, and I readied myself to be called out on some small mistake. Instead, he tilted his head. “If you’ll follow me.”

Relief flooded through me as Spencer offered me his arm. I looped mine through his as we were shown to the lounge. It vanished as soon as we entered the room. Holden lounged on a brocade settee that looked like it had been around since the house was built. He looked at me over the rim of a whiskey glass and winked. Across from him Beatrice was chattering away at an overwhelmed man who I recognized from tabloid covers. For an instant, I felt like Kate, standing there and gawking like I might have if royalty had walked into the Hare & Hound. Then I remembered that Kerrigan Belmond used to hang out with princesses at boarding school and likely wouldn’t be impressed by his presence, even if he was fourth in line to the throne.

“You’re here!” Beatrice stood and rushed towards us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Edward’s shoulders slump in relief.

Beatrice had clearly decided tonight was a festive affair, because she’d opted for a gold sequin jumpsuit that dipped between her breasts. Her blonde hair was piled into a topknot as flawless as her red lipstick and winged eyeliner. Something told me that she was an interested in a hate fuck as Holden. She couldn’t be angling for Edward’s attention, since he was both a recent widow and gay. Then again, considering how she was chatting him up and how relieved he looked that she’d been distracted, I could be wrong.

Was this what socializing amongst the fabulously wealthy and famous was like? Everyone counting the minutes until they could leave? It definitely didn’t feel like the times I’d spent drinking wine late into the night with Eliza and her friends.

“Can I get you a drink?” she asked and I nodded gratefully.

“Wine,” I said, not caring what she served me so long as it had alcohol.

“Seriously?” She flashed me the whites of her eyes. “This is a celebration. It calls for champagne.” Before I could respond, she snapped her fingers over my shoulder.

I clamped my mouth closed so it wouldn’t fall open at the condescending gesture. A moment later, a server approached me with a tray of champagne flutes. I took one, considering if I should grab a second now and down the first one like a shot. But he turned to deliver them to the others. Spencer took one, as did Edward, although the latter looked slightly queasy holding it.

Beatrice held her champagne over her head, the sequins of her outfit sending dazzling sparkles dancing around the room. “To old friends and new adventures.”

I forced a grin and downed my champagne, my eyes skittering to find Edward wearing a tight-lipped smile of his own. I didn’t know him, but everyone in England—in the world really—knew all the details of his personal life. Beatrice might have money and looks, but she certainly lacked the empathy to realize that the last thing her friend, if he was that at all, was a celebratory reunion with champagne and sequins.

The butler came in and Beatrice groaned. “Excuse me a moment. It seems I’m needed.”