Page 45 of Cruel Dynasty

“Ten million pounds,” I answered promptly.

Holden whistled, his eyebrows jumping with surprise. “I can’t say I blame you for that. But that’s not an answer.”

“I’m pretty sure that I did it because of the ten million pounds,” I said dryly.

“You’re doing it for that, but why? What will ten million pounds do?”

“Spoken like a rich man,” I grumbled. “Do I need a reason other than security? I mean, who in their right mind would turn down that much money?”

“You have a point.”

“And,” I continued, “I can do whatever I want—be whoever I want. All for the low, low price of one year of my life.”

“One year. Ten million pounds,” he said as if turning over the idea in his brain.

“And a chance to be free,” I added softly.

He nodded as if that much he understood.

Holden pulled into a car park and turned off the engine. I looked around, finally spotting a sign that simply said ‘museum.’ There were no other clues to where we might be, save for a small stream of people, many wearing cameras around their necks, walking toward a nearby stone building.

“Well?” he prompted.

I turned an embarrassed smile on him and shrugged. “Where are we?”

“Seriously?” he asked. “You couldn’t come all the way to Yorkshire and not see where the Brontës lived.”

I bit back a smile, and he glared at me.

“Out with it, dirty girl.”

“You are secretly a nerd,” I told him.

“No, I am proudly a very hot nerd,” he corrected me. He flashed me a smile that threatened to melt my knickers as he got out of the car.

I was halfway out when he appeared at the passenger door. “You’re making me look bad.”

“Don’t start pretending to be a gentleman now,” I advised him.

“I’m always a gentleman. I pride myself on ladies coming first,” he said with a wink that left no room for misinterpretation.

“Shameless,” I muttered, brushing past him and continuing on toward the building.

Holden caught up with me in two large strides and offered me his arm. I opened my mouth to protest, but he shot me a warning look. His rules. I sighed and wedged my arm through his. We continued on, Holden pointing out small items of interest as we made our way inside.

“So you’ve been here before?” It was hardly a gamble on my part, given Holden’s evident wealth of knowledge.

“I come here every time I’m in Yorkshire. I must have been here twenty-five times, at least.” He glanced over at me, his eyes sheepish. I found myself staring not at the brutal, sensual man who seemed intent on destroying everything including himself, but someone charming, boyish even. His sharp , wicked edges softened with each step we took inside the house.

I’d never been particularly interested in classic novels, but I found myself hanging onto every word he spoke as he shared anecdotes and memories from his previous visits. Something about his passion inflamed my own.

“You really love them,” I said thoughtfully as he showed me to the back of the house.

“They wanted so much more than their short, tragic lives gave them,” he said as we stepped outside to a breathtaking view of the moors. The wind blew fiercely around us, sweeping his hair across his forehead. It caught mine, tossing it all around my face. Holden reached out and brushed it from my eyes, his fingers drifting down to my cheek. Our eyes locked. “A bunch of parson’s daughters and they gave us some of the greatest books of all time. They were fearless.”

“I wish I were fearless,” I murmured, gazing up at him.

He brushed his thumb over my lower lip. “So do I.”