Page 41 of Finding Lord Landry

Within a few minutes, he pulled through a gate into an alley that led into a small underground garage. A young man in a uniform came out of a nearby door and waited for us to pull to a stop.

“Welcome home, sir,” he said to Landry as he opened the driver’s door.

I stared at the kid, my mind going off on a million tangents. How was it possible there was an entire—giant—aspect of Landry’s life I’d had no exposure to? I knew he’d been keeping his personal life close to the vest, butthis?

It was impossible to wrap my head around, and my heart ached when I tried.

“Thanks, Simon,” Landry murmured, handing the man the key before coming over to my side as if he was going to open my door. Instead of waiting for him, I hopped out and moved toward the door to the building. Landry let out a sigh and followed me. “Simon, this is Kenji Toma. He’s allowed full access to the house and vehicles. Please treat him like family, okay?”

The young man’s eyes widened. “Yes, sir. Welcome to Hawling House, Mr. Toma.”

I nodded at him and let Landry lead the way into the vestibule, where there was a small utilitarian office and an elevator. We entered the elevator… and came out in a completely different world.

If I’d ever imagined what a historic home in Regent’s Park would look like if it had been held by the same family for hundreds of years, this was definitely it. Old paintings and framed vintage photos lined the walls. Intricate lamps stood on large antique tables with brass knobs mottled from age. Even the air smelled like old wood and leather. The elevator seemed to open off to the side of the entry hall. A giant vase of fresh flowers sat in the middle of a round table in the center of the open space, and a lush circular rug covered the old wooden floor. A graceful curving staircase led upstairs on the opposite side of the hall, and the ceiling was at least four stories above us. Weak winter light came in through windows on either side of the intricately carved double doors leading to the front walkway.

I could see a sliver of a uniform on a woman dusting a table in a nearby room, and a different woman’s laughter drifted from the back of the house.

“Are you hungry?” Landry asked. “I can introduce you to Nan, who kind of runs this place, or I can take you upstairs to a room…”

He looked nervous, which made it a little harder to hate him… but only a little. “I’d like some privacy to call my grandmother.”

“Of course.” Landry gestured for me to follow him up the wide staircase. “I texted her from the plane to tell her you were safe, but I know she’ll want to hear from you.”

I stopped on the bottom step. “You did?”

“Yes.” He frowned down at me. “I didn’t give her any details,” he hurriedly assured me, as thoughthatwas what might be giving me pause.

But I was too angry and hurt to be swayed, even by his consideration for my Baa Baa. I waved a hand impatiently for him to continue up the stairs, and neither of us spoke again until we’d reached the right level and walked far enough down a quiet hallway to a guest room.

“There should be a phone charger in the nightstand and whatever toiletries you need in the bathroom,” he offered quietly from the hallway. “There’s also a minifridge with drinks and snacks. If you want anything else to eat, just text me. And I’ll grab you some more clothes.”

Landry shifted his weight from side to side and kept his eyes on the floor. I refused to feel sorry for him when he was the architect of his own misery.

“Fine.” I stepped into the room and closed the door between us before letting out a breath. My shoulders were around my ears, and I was fighting the sensation of feeling trapped.

The room was more than a guest bedroom; it was asuiteof rooms that included a sitting area, a walk-in closet that was more of a dressing room, and a giant, luxurious bathroom with marble floors and antique porcelain and cast-iron fixtures. Everything was well maintained and luxurious in an understated way.

It still felt like a prison since I wanted to be anywhere but there.

I muttered to myself, “I can leave anytime.”

I moved over to the windows in the bedroom and looked out at the barren trees across the street. Several umbrellas bobbed down the sidewalk opposite the house as cars drove by in the afternoon drizzle. It was warm and dry in the house, but February in London was a stark contrast with the sunny weather I’d experienced in San Cordova. It never failed to surprise me how you could travel between such vastly different places in the span of a day.

Just like you could go from thinking you knew a person to feeling like they were a complete stranger in the span of five minutes.

I’d always known Landry was hiding something, but never in a million years did I think it was something like this. I still couldn’t wrap my head around how a British peer could hide while also being on magazine covers, billboards, and the side of London buses. It defied all logic.

And the better question was,whywould he hide it?

My head swam with exhaustion and confusion. Maybe it wasme. Maybe I was too tired, too overwhelmed by what I’d learned and what I’d been through, and too worried about what was happening in San Cordova to process anything more.

After plugging my phone into the charger, I threw myself on the bed and sank into the luxurious bedding. Despite the sleep I’d gotten on the plane, part of me wanted to curl up under the covers, but I knew my grandmother needed to hear from me directly before she’d believe I was safe.

I dialed her number the second my phone had enough power to turn on.

“Kenji, sweetheart.” Her voice was so familiar and warm my eyes stung.

“Baa Baa. I’m okay. I’m safe.”

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