Page 2 of Cruel Dynasty

I knew that because I’d begun to consider it myself.

Kerrigan didn’t want to come back. Or maybe she couldn’t come back. My body went cold at the thought as if it sensed that the woman whom I resemble so closely—that I had fooled nearly everyone, but Holden, into believing I was—was herself as cold as ice. I shuddered to think what that meant.

I didn’t know how to find her. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to, but watching the men plot and plan, I realized I might be the only one who could. I cleared my throat, knocking softly on the door to let them know they had company. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need my fiancé to take me home.”

I reinforced this lie by yawning widely.

“Of course,” Tod said, not bothering to even look in my direction. “I will speak to you later...unless you’ll be staying at Spencer’s flat this evening.”

Heat flooded my cheeks. It was strange how comfortable Tod was sending his daughter to Spencer’s bed. Then again, I wasn’t his daughter. Maybe he had an easier time remembering that than I did. “Oh. Um, we haven’t discussed…”

“It’s fine,” Tod cut me off. He gave the men a knowing smile as if to say that he knew we were leaving for reasons other than my exhaustion. But when he turned it toward me, it stopped at his eyes. They remained hard and wary, glinting like obsidian in the dim light of the office. I was a solution that was turning into a problem, because ten million pounds wasn’t enough to turn off my brain. He didn’t trust me. I didn’t think he particularly liked me.

That suited me just fine because as he stared me down, I felt the truth in my bones.

Tod Belmond knew where Kerrigan was hiding and why she had run away.

Because he was the reason she was gone.

2

“You’re quiet,” Spencer said as we started down the drive. He paused the car at the gates, waiting for them to open, but when they did, he didn’t pull forward. He was waiting for me, but I didn’t know what to say.

“Holden,” I muttered, hoping this was enough of an explanation to explain my malaise.

Spencer’s hands tightened on the steering wheel at the mention of his brother’s name. After a moment, he loosened them, but his face remained a stony mask. “Do you want to come home with me or go to your house?”

“Neither,” I said flatly, then quickly added, “I want to be with you, but not if…”

“Yeah, I know.” Spencer understood why I didn’t want to return to the flat he shared with his brother in London proper. “I’m beginning to think it’s time for me to move. This is bollocks. I loved that place.”

“We could make him move,” I suggested. Instantly, a wave of guilt hit me. Was I really going to come between them? Especially knowing that in the long run I had no claim to Spencer, his ring, or his heart?

Spencer shook his head. He was still rigid, sitting ramrod straight in his seat. A muscle tensed in his jaw as he stared at the road ahead. He didn’t speak for a few minutes. We passed the turn off to Willoughby Place, and soon I realized we were on our way toward the heart of London. I didn’t ask where he was headed until he drove toward Westminster—the opposite direction of his flat.

“I assume there’s a plan,” I said softly.

“We need to find our own place,” he bit out. My chest tightened as if to contain the heart that had just skipped a beat inside it.

There was no point getting attached to the idea of Spencer and a home. Tod Belmond would never agree to let me live elsewhere. And I couldn’t risk putting down roots. It was too dangerous. Under the guise of being Kerrigan, I was safe for the moment. That couldn’t last forever. I forced a pitiful laugh. “I don’t think we’ll find a new flat at this hour.”

“Not tonight.” He actually smiled, and the mood in the car lightened. Now instead of feeling like we were trapped in invisible quicksand, I only felt like we’d been caught in mud. It was a negligible improvement. “Tonight, we are staying elsewhere.”

“Where?” I looked out the window for clues as to where we were headed. London whizzed past in a blur of lights and motion. Like most major cities, it never slept entirely. Eventually the traffic would lighten and shops would close. But despite the late hour, London was still brimming with life. A few of the bigger stores were still open, ready to welcome late-night shoppers, and nearly every pub was serving the late-nighters and would be for a few hours still.

Construction signs rerouted us, forcing us to pass by the Palace of Westminster, Parliament, and the cluster of tourist traps that had grown like weeds amongst the important buildings. Crowds of people swarmed the sidewalks as we drove across Westminster bridge. Nearby on the banks of the Thames, the London Eye spun lazily. The McLaren shot past the sights with decisive speed and didn’t slow until Spencer pulled to the valet parking spot in front of the Westminster Royal hotel.

I stared up at the impressive building, which rose into the night sky with a sense of its own prestige. This wasn’t the kind of place I was used to going when I needed a spot to crash. In fact, I’d never been in an actual hotel, let alone a five-star hotel in one of London’s most expensive areas. I was still gawking when the valet opened my door.

“Welcome to the Westminster Royal, Miss,” he said as he helped me out of my seat. “Do you have any baggage?”

“No,” Spencer cut him off, already around the car and by my side. He stretched out his hand, the keys to the McLaren in his palm “I’m afraid this is a last minute trip.”

The valet hesitated at the offering. “I should warn you that the hotel is near capacity.”

If this concerned Spencer, he showed no sign of it. Instead, he buttoned his suit jacket, then offered me his arm. “I’m certain something can be arranged.”

Spencer bypassed the front desk where a man was angrily demanding an adjustment to his bill and went straight to the concierge. She smiled up at him from behind her stand. Her glasses reflected the screen of her computer and she pushed them higher on her nose.