Page 69 of Finding Lord Landry

“I did, just before he announced he was going for a run. He agreed.”

I moved back to the dresser and began to collect the meager belongings I’d accrued in the past two days. “A run? I thought he went out in the car.”

“That was earlier. He went to Downing Street to talk to Teddy. Not sure how it went, but when he came back, he came straight upstairs to get on his running kit. He’ll probably be gone already by the time we get to his rooms, and he’s usually gone for a while on these runs. But you probably already know that.”

I lingered over the pullover Landry had given me on the plane. “You know we aren’t actually…”

She rolled her eyes. “I understand it’s complicated, but I also passed by this room yesterday and heard just enough to know you’ll survive a few nights bunking in with my cousin.”

Heat rushed to my face. Hadn’t Landry clamped a hand over my mouth? Jesus.

She found a cloth laundry bag in the wardrobe and handed it to me for my little collection before she reached for the few items on hangers. “Besides, there’s a settee in his room. Make him sleep on it if you want. He practically bleeds good manners.”

I snorted. “Landry? Good manners? He once ate an entire serving of edamame while flicking the shells out of a limousine window one at a time.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “He’s dined multiple times with the royal family without putting a foot wrong. He met and conversed with the president of Hungary when he was selected to join the man’s tour of Eton. He was present at his father’s Privy Council ceremony, which is an uncommon honor. And he?—”

I cut her off. “You sound like Nan. I get it. He can fake it when he needs to. But the man also once deliberately farted in a business meeting to set up a good-cop, stupid-cop routine with Bash.”

The edge of her mouth curled up. “He did that exact same thing when he was young to get out of going to tea with a friend of his mother’s. Aunt Liv wasn’t having it. She made him give up milk, ice cream, and cheese for an entire week to ‘make sure he wasn’t bothered by dairy.’ I, of course, taunted him with every dairy treat I snuck from the kitchen like the supportive cousin I am.”

We moved together out of the bedroom and down the hall. I didn’t even know where Landry’s room was, so I was reliant on Cora to show me the way.

“Sounds like the two of you were close,” I prompted.

The old wooden floorboards creaked under the carpet runners in the hallway as we moved down the hall and around the corner to another part of the house. “Sort of. Uncle Ed brought us to live here when my dad died. I was fourteen, and Landry was ten, which meant I had no patience for him, and then we went off to different schools. It wasn’t until later that we became closer.”

“Well, I’m glad you have each other,” I said softly.

Cora smiled. “I am, too. Sometimes it’s hard to explain the pressures of a life like this to anyone who doesn’t live it, not to mention the challenges that come from Uncle Ed’s health and my mother’s… other issues.”

“Other issues?” I glanced at her in concern. All I’d heard about Landry’s Aunt Lydia was that she was on vacation in the Maldives but scheduled to return in time for the Hearts of Hawling Dinner.

Cora caught my look and chuckled. “Oh, my mother’s not ill, fortunately. She’s just very,veryinvolved in my life. You’ll understand when you meet her.” She threaded her free arm through mine and pulled me around a corner. “Landry’s room is just—oh!”

The man himself appeared like we’d summoned him somehow, and those gorgeous aquamarine eyes met mine.

For a second, I forgot where we were. Forgot Cora. Forgot the clothes in my arms. Forgot everything but the way my chest ached at the sight of him.

Landry lookedexhausted, like a hundred years had passed since we’d walked home from brunch rather than just a few hours. And it hit me like a punch to the ribs that he didn’t just look tired; he looked heartbroken.

“Landry? Are you—?” I began.

Before I could finish the question, he reached out a hand to cup my face. His thumb traced the corner of my mouth, and his own lips tipped up in an impression of a smile.

“You,” he said softly, “are a sight for sore eyes.”

Then, his hand slid behind my head, his fingers threaded into my hair—firm, sure,claiming—and he pulled me into a kiss that made a whimper escape my throat and a flare of heat curl through my gut.

I could still count the number of kisses we’d shared on one hand, but something about this felt different than the others. It was passion and desperation and hunger, a demand, aplea.

I pressed myself into him and pushed up onto my tiptoes, wanting to give him whatever he was searching for?—

But a moment later, he broke away. He stared at me, eyes wide, breathing heavily. Then, he cleared his throat.

“I’ll see you at dinner, sweetheart,” he said, and then he was gone.

I stood breathless and reeling. I’d felt that kiss fuckingeverywhere… and I had no fucking clue what it meant.

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