Page 52 of Cruel Games

“Mind your own business, will you?”

“I was just trying to make conversation.”

“Alright then,” I asked as we walked up the gravel path by the oak trees. “Have you ever thought of me while you wanked?”

He suppressed a smile. “Never.”

“Are you lying?”

“Probably.”

I grinned at that. “Who freed Orlando and Maxwell?”

His smile faded. “They managed to upturn the bed, trying to reach the keys for the handcuffs. I can’t believe they would entice anyone into such a lurid trap.”

“You’re not blaming me for stealing the cameras?”

He held the door open. “I would have done the same in your situation.”

“You wouldn’t have gone into a nightclub, let alone gotten into the back of a limo with two guys.”

“I was trying to put myself in the shoes of a girl who enjoyed alcohol and nightlife,” he said. “If I were such a person and approached by two stunningly handsome and exciting young men, I imagine their charm would sway me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You just called yourself exciting and stunningly handsome.”

“No, I did—” His eyes widened, and he broke into a chuckle. “I suppose I did, but I know the effect Maxwell has on girls.”

My brows furrowed. Was Kendrick desperately insecure, deluded, or fishing for compliments? Or was it just a case of not being able to see the similarities between himself and his twin?

“Whatever,” I said.

We entered the dining room, and the smell of roast beef filled my nostrils and made my mouth water. It had been ages since I’d had a good old-fashioned roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, and I couldn’t wait to see how the chefs at Templar Academy prepared it.

Kendrick and I sat at our usual table. “Did Mr. Burgh explained your familial connection?”

“He filled in some of the gaps.”

“Did you get all the answers you needed?”

A waitress approached with a tureen of French onion soup. We paused to let her ladle out our portions.

When she left, I turned to Kendrick and said, “He doesn’t know who got my mother pregnant.”

“How old is she?”

“Thirty-three.”

“My parents are thirty-seven,” he replied. “They both studied here, but the age gap would have been too wide for them to be acquainted. I have an aunt who is thirty-five. Would you like me to ask her what she remembers about your mother?”

I stirred my soup. “It was a long time ago. Do you think she’ll even remember?”

“If what Elizabeth said about your mother taking an heirloom was true, it would have been the biggest scandal of the decade.”

I raised a shoulder. “Mother never talks about her past. I’d appreciate anything you can find out.”

He took a spoonful of his soup and sighed. “I hope today’s events won’t affect our friendship.”

“Stop talking about it, alright?” He was such an earnest wanker. It was hard to stay angry at him for long.