Page 83 of Finding Lord Landry

Thankfully, Landry was now trying to stifle a laugh. As long as he was happy, so was I.

The day dragged on, ending in a formal dinner with five courses. The Winthrops had been invited, since Landry and Jamie’s “rekindled friendship” had smoothed over any lingering resentment between Jim and Lord Davencourt, but their inclusion in the dinner meant Landry was even more stressed than ever, fearing Ed would get into a repetition loop that gave the Winthrops private insight into the real reason he was retiring from politics.

Jamie, his younger sister, and his parents were seated closer to Lydia and Landry, while Cora and Nan flanked Ed at the head of the table. I sat between Nan and Jamie’s sister and managed to help steer the conversation. Every time Ed began to repeat a story, Cora, Nan, or I interjected to ask him about something completely different, sending him off in a different direction.

It was a long three and a half hours.

The Winthrops, minus Jamie, left soon after dessert, and Nan and Ed headed right off to bed. Cora, Landry, Jamie, and I made our way into a billiards room I’d never seen before.

“Thank you for that,” Jamie said sincerely as he shrugged out of his dinner jacket. “My parents were happy to be invited and pampered, and my sister couldn’t stop staring at all the paintings around the room and the sheer amount of silverware on the table.”

Landry took both of their coats and mine and laid them over a leather chair in the corner. “Didn’t she go to Wycombe Abbey? Surely they covered all of that there.”

He nodded. “Yes, and she’s friends with a couple of young women from titled families, but nothing like this. Dining at Hawling House is like dining in a Masterpiece Theater period piece.”

Cora kicked off her heels and tossed a few of her bangle bracelets on the nearby wooden shelf before grabbing the wineglass she’d stolen from dinner and curling up on the sofa. “Maybe you can tell her the chair she was sitting in has been used to make epic pillow forts in the past.”

“True story.” Landry nodded sagely. “And a certain cousin of mine has also been known to deliberately grind mushy peas into that carpet in hopes the dog would eat them.”

Cora nearly sputtered on the sip of wine she’d taken. “Aww, I miss Alfred. He was a good dog.”

Landry nodded again, only this time, it was accompanied by a smile as he handed Jamie a pool stick and moved to rack the balls.

Jamie grinned at Cora. “Naughty girl. Does your mother know? Because I might enjoy being the one to tell her.”

She knuckle-punched Landry’s arm while laughing at Jamie. “Fuck off. My mother would punish me by forcing me to dance with every snotty lordling in town, so I try to stay in her good graces.”

I could tell by his bright eyes when he looked at her that Jamie was especially enjoying Cora’s company. “My lips are sealed, then, if only so I can take all your dances instead.”

Cora’s cheeks darkened. “Maybe not all of them.”

Jamie nodded happily.

Landry gestured for Jamie to start the game. “As for thanking us for dinner,” he said in response to Jamie’s earlier comment. “I will forever be in your father’s debt for getting Kenji out of a dangerous situation. You ready to break?”

My eyes stayed glued on Landry as he and Jamie began a friendly round of trash-talking across the pool table. His casual reference to the importance of my safety struck me as not only heartfelt but important.

He had been trying to tell me how much he cared about me for a long time.

But I was beginning to learn that actions spoke louder than words.

EIGHTEEN

LANDRY

It had been three days since the sports day at Killian Prep.

Three days of Kenji’s attempts to pretend we were together, not only in front of the cameras but behind closed doors.

Three days of my blistering attempts at keeping myself so busy, so well exercised and distracted, I didn’t dare peel him out of his damned pajamas when I finally snuck back to my suite after stalling in the workout room and moved the stubborn man from the settee to my bed.

I might have appreciated that Kenji was respecting my need for distance by sleeping on the sofa, but all it did was give me the opportunity to prove to both of us over and over how fucking weak I was by moving him to the bed.

During the day, my self-control had reached masterful levels. But at night, I wasn’t able to sleep unless I was completely wrapped around him.

At least I could comfort myself that I did it without ever tearing his clothes off and begging my way into his body.

Kenji had tried at least ten times to talk to me about my motherfucking feelings, something I was absolutely not going to do. For three years, I’d hidden my hopeless love and feigned laughter to hide the sting of his rejections. Now, when everything in my life seemed to be teetering like my grandfather’s old spillikins tossed on a narrow window ledge, poised to crash to the pavement at the mildest breeze, I didn’t have it in me to laugh it off. Instead, I’d beg. I’d bargain. I’d sob.

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