Page 39 of Finding Lord Landry

Kenji let out a breath and nodded. “Thanks for letting me know.” He turned and looked out the window, where the London sky was its usual winter gray.

“Let me explain,” I said in a low voice. “Please.”

His nostrils flared, but he wouldn’t look at me. “No, thanks.”

“Kenj—”

He held up his hand to stop me. “I do not have the mental bandwidth to deal with your bullshit right now, Lan…whatever-the-fuck your name is.”

We landed within ten minutes at the small private airport. As we stepped off the airplane, it seemed the air in London might have been even colder than Kenji’s mood. We hurried into the small terminal building and then stopped short.

There in the lobby was a crowd of reporters and camera people. As soon as they spotted us, their voices tumbled over each other in a bid for attention. The noise made Kenji startle, so I reached out and grabbed his hand in reassurance without thinking. His hand tightened in mine as he shrank closer to my side.

It took me a minute to understand what they were shouting.

“Which one of you is the long-lost viscount?”

“Lord Hawling, over here!”

“Is it true you flew all the way to San Cordova to rescue your fiancé?”

“Isn’t that Landry Davis, the supermodel?”

“Which one of you is heir to the Winthrop fortune?”

“Is the Davencourt heir engaged to the Winthrop heir?”

Kenji stood frozen at my side. There was a momentary hush before Jim stepped up and held out his hands in a calming gesture. One reporter asked, “Mr. Winthrop, can you tell us what the situation is in San Cordova and how you managed to get your son out of there?”

Jim pulled Jamie close and put his arm around him. “As you can imagine, my son, Jamie, is exhausted from his harrowing experience. He and Lord Hawling’s fiancé, Kenji Toma, were held hostage at a resort in San Cordova. Jamie and Kenji are simply good friends who happened to be at the same spiritual retreat. We have heard that the remaining hostages will be freed within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. It would not be appropriate for us to say more about the situation right now. Thank you for respecting our privacy at this time.”

As he’d made his comments, he’d gestured to me and Kenji, who stood wide-eyed, still holding hands like the betrothed couple he’d described. Kenji dropped my hand like a hot potato and stared up at me in confused panic. It was a look I’d never seen on his face before.

Kenji was always Mr. Capable. He never panicked. When the rest of us were clueless about how to handle a situation, he was the one we turned to for direction. I hated knowing that his reaction now—in front of the press, no less—was my fault.

The reporters turned to me and started shouting out more questions. So much for “respecting our privacy at this time.”

“Landry, is it true you’re really Everett Davencourt, Viscount Hawling, heir to the Davencourt earldom?”

I felt Kenji begin to sway on his feet, so I placed a hand on his lower back to keep him from toppling over. “No comment.”

“When’s the wedding? Will it take place at Davencourt Park or Hawling House? And does the King know?”

“Will you and your fiancé be at the Hearts of Hawling Dinner together?”

“No comment,” I repeated, trying not to lose my temper.

I tried moving through the crowd toward the exit, wrapping an arm around Kenji’s slender form to keep him protected. The sound of snapping camera shutters followed us as we pushed past the reporters and reached the door.

Thankfully, my Range Rover was close to the valet stand. I yanked open the passenger door and hustled Kenji inside. Just before I got his door closed, one more nail was banged into my coffin.

“Is it true you plan to take your father’s place in the House of Lords this year?”

I felt the air whoosh out of my lungs as I stalked to the driver’s side of the vehicle and climbed inside. My hands shook as I started the engine and put the vehicle in Drive.

It wasn’t until we were out of the small airport and making our way through London’s city streets that Kenji finally spoke.

“Take me to Heathrow. I want to go home.”

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