Page 77 of Wicked Elites

“Thanks.” I glanced up at his regal features, marveled at the strong brow, high cheekbones, and full, kissable lips. The morning sun shone on his raven-black hair, which contrasted with golden undertones in his skin that shone like burnished copper.

The conversation I’d had with Sebastian and Leopold in the cabin rushed to the forefront of my mind. They were willing to share me with Prakash, who had gone to such lengths to help me. Twice.

My throat dried. “I-I’ll.. I’ll have words with my uncle. I don’t know why my aunt signed the document.”

We reached his car. A yellow parking ticket encased in plastic wrap sat beneath the passenger-side windscreen wiper.

My stomach dropped. “Sorry!” I rushed forward and pulled the ticket out. “I’ll pay the fine online.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He handed me the manilla file and plucked the ticket from my fingers. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”

“Me, too.”

His lips curled into a radiant smile that made a palpitation reverberate through my chest. “Then I know just the place.”

He drove past the restaurants and hotels that lined the streets of Carlisle town center, and around the back of the Lanes shopping mall toward the castle.

My brows rose. All the good bars were in the opposite direction. “Where are we going?”

“A private members’ club.” He crossed the River Eden, passed the cricket club, and pulled into a street of beautiful Georgian mansions encased behind walled gardens.

I gulped. This was the wealthy part of town.

After parking in the gravel courtyard of a stone-fronted building, he walked around the car and opened the door. I stepped out, legs trembling at the beautiful, regency architecture. The stone front, entrance pillars, and tall, paneled windows reminded me of a stately home I’d seen on a period TV show.

Prakash placed a hand on the small of my back, which made my heart jump into my throat. He’d never demonstrated such gentlemanly behavior in Advanced Calculus.

“If you’re worried about being under eighteen, don’t,” he murmured. “All drinking establishments in England are authorized to serve alcohol to adults from the age of sixteen.”

I knew that, but the only times I’d ever been to pubs were with Mom and Dad or after the occasional theater trip with Uncle Trevor. I’d just pictured Prakash and myself going to a wine bar in town and not somewhere so… elegant.

The gravel crunched underfoot as we crossed the courtyard, and we stopped under the stone entrance porch, where Prakash rang the brass doorbell. I chewed on my bottom lip. This place was so exclusive, it didn’t even have a placard with the name of the club.

A butler wearing a black tailcoat over his uniform answered the door. “Welcome back, Mr. Kashaayah. Am I to be expecting Mr. Garraway and Leopold Brunswick?”

Prakash inclined his head. “It’s just a guest and me today.”

The butler led us through an echoing, marble hallway with a portrait of Prince William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland, over the mantelpiece and into a darkened room with mahogany wall panels.

Straightening my shoulders, I tried not to gape at the row of elaborate chandeliers and matching wall lights. Hopefully, my neutral expression made me look like I frequented clubs like this all the time.

We sat at plush, velvet seats arranged around mahogany tables, and a barman approached for our order. I asked for a gin and tonic, Mom’s favorite drink, and Prakash ordered a single-malt whiskey.

My stomach fluttered at the notion of sitting alone in a social setting with the third king. Apart from today, I couldn’t think of any other time I had gotten to speak with him at length without Miss Weil or other kings present.

“Thank you for today,” I murmured.

He gave me a half-smile and paused for the waiter to serve the drinks. “Why do two seventeen-year-olds own property? Did you inherit it?”

I nodded. “My parents died.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Was it recent?”

“Three weeks before I joined the academy.”

He winced. “And then you were thrown into a den of lions.”

“It wasn’t that ba—” A laugh bubbled up at my automatic defense reaction, and I took a sip of my drink. The bar tender’s mix was a bit weaker than Mom’s but more lemony. “It was worse than I imagined.”