Apparently the American princess had had enough. Her eyebrows furrowed in the most irresistible way as she clenched her fists. “All of me is real!” she whisper-yelled, but not before Christian and Duncan along with the rest of the store burst out into laughter.
“I can't believe I just said that.” She hid her head in her hands. “Can I claim temporary insanity? I took sleeping meds on my flight.”
“I’m sure you did,” Christian said, not taking his eyes off hers. “Drink your coffee. You're right. You really do need it.”
He put out his hand to introduce himself. “I’m the Marketing VP for the London operation.”
She smiled tensely. “Of course you are.” Then glancing at Duncan, “You'll pay for your many sins, Duncan Dickerson.”
That got a laugh out of everyone again. If Christian wasn't already so put off by Americans and women in general, he might actually like this one.
Duncan put a hand to his chest. “Me? Oh, I was just having a bit of fun. It was good for you to meet Christian. Would you like me to take you to your home now?”
“Home?” she asked, looking between them. “I have a house?”
“She doesn’t know?” Christian asked Duncan.
Duncan shrugged his shoulders. “I doubt her father told her everything.”
At this Christian smiled. “My lady.” He bent to kiss her hand before she had adequate time to pull it back.
“I don’t like your tone,” she said in a low voice.
Christian ignored her sarcasm. “You will be staying with your grandmother, at her house, which is actually your father’s house; it’s been around for generations.”
She rolled her eyes. “So I’ve been told.”
“We truly do have a rich history here in London—”
She put up her hand to silence him. “If you sing ‘God Save the Queen,’ I'm throwing my coffee in your face.”
“Wow. She wasn't joking about the sleep meds and the bad flight.” Duncan nudged Christian in the ribs.
“We best take her home,” Christian answered.
“Um, hi. I'm right here.” Kessen raised her hand.
Duncan laughed. “That’s a relief; she does know where she is.”
Christian’s expression turned sober as he nodded his head emphatically. “Good girl.” He patted her head and caught her rolling her eyes as she pulled away from him.
“Like I said, feisty,” Duncan muttered.
“Wait. How would you have talked to him about me?” she asked.
Christian laughed—the perfect timing. Duncan had earlier texted him about her complaint of men and technology. “His social media update.”
She growled, literally, and walked out the door.
Duncan threw the keys at Christian. “You do the honors. I think you've finally met your match, my lord.”
Christian rolled his eyes in disgust. “I can handle her.”
“See that you do.” Duncan nodded towards the door. “Hurry. A girl like that doesn’t stick around forever.”
Confused by his comment, Christian turned around and went to the waiting car.
Kessen was waiting in the car with her arms crossed protectively over her chest. As if any minute Christian was going to ravage her or stare too long. He rolled his eyes and got into the driver’s seat.
“You know, I can take care of myself. If you just give me directions to the house, you can stay for your meeting,” she said.
At least she’s not so selfish she doesn’t realize the sacrifice in my job it takes for me to drive her around. “You don’t like my company?” he asked teasingly.
She refused to look at him once. “No, I think you’re rude, remember? And apparently my dislike for tea makes us sworn enemies.”
Christian laughed. “Oh yes, sorry. I forgot. You are correct. But if you must know, I would feel like a cad if I let you find your grandmother’s house on your own. With your Yankees t-shirt, you would be mugged within minutes.”
“How comforting.” She snorted.
“Isn’t it, though?”
She turned towards him. “So what is it exactly that you do?”
“I see you’re still feisty,” he mumbled, but continued. “Considering I am the vice president of marketing for this branch, I’ll be the one to show you the ropes of the London office in between your visits with your family.”
Kessen made a weird face, and then huffed. “It will be good to see her.”
“Who?”
“My grandmother.” She smiled. “I haven’t seen her since grandfather died. I’m actually really excited. Oh, and my cousin’s getting married. Did you know that?”
“Uh…” Christian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No, that’s wonderful. Who is she marrying?”
“You mean to tell me London is so small you think you know every man who walks the street?” she asked dryly.
He ignored her jab “No, but your cousin is from a wealthy family. Wealthy families don’t date outside of their social circles. It simply isn’t done. And your father is an earl.”
“Just like the Vandenbrooks.” She sighed and looked out the window.
Christian accidently slammed on the brakes, and then cursed loudly. But he didn’t realize the window was open, so he grimaced as several people shook their heads in his direction—more likely from his lack of driving skills rather than the words coming out of his mouth.
“Did you say Vandenbrooks?” He choked.
She looked at him oddly. “Yes,” she said slowly, as if he was a five-year-old. “I do read, you know. Don’t judge; those novels are … historical.”
He laughed until his face hurt. “Historical? The romance novels about the Vandenbrook family are historical? And just where, dear girl, do you check your facts? The internet?”
When her face reddened, he realized she actually had gone online and checked out his family. Good thing his picture was quite old, and he wore his hair differently now. “You know, I wouldn’t believe everything I read,” he finally said, directing his eyes back to the road.
She looked disappointed. “So the Vandenbrook family isn’t one of the oldest and most powerful families in London? And they don’t live on Billionaires’ Row? And they don’t arrange marriages so their blood is never tainted with anything but old boring aristocrats?”
He sighed. “You’re a better detective than most. I’ll give you that, but try to focus on why you are here.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, don’t go stalking the Vandenbrook family when you have better things to do.”
She banged her head against the window. “Like my coming out party? Awesome.”
“I despise that you used ‘like’ and ‘awesome’ in the same breath,” he grumbled. Kessen shot him a snarky look, then smiled pleasantly in his direction.
He looked back to the road again. “What do you mean coming out party?”
She made a face in his direction and sighed heavily before answering. “My father wants me to embrace my British heritage, which honestly hasn’t been going well, what with him singing ‘God Save the Queen’ over me while I sleep.”
Christian laughed. “Go on.”
“Anyway, he said I can’t take over the business until I have a coming out party and spend a Season in London.” She shook her head then added, “I have no idea why I’m telling you this.”
He bit his lip. “I see.” It suddenly grew hot in the car. If his parents saw this girl and her connections to Newberry, his dating life would be sealed and handed to him on a silver platter with Kessen’s name on it, and above that it would say Bride. This surely would not do.
She was still jabbering on. Americans and their inability to silence themselves. “So, hopefully, my grandmother forgets all about it—she is eighty-eight, you know—and I can just focus on the company.”
“Have you met your grandmother?” he asked sarcastically. “She’s sharper than Duncan and I put together.”
“Not a difficult feat, I’
m sure.”
She was digging her own grave. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, America.”’
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She smiled sweetly. “But I gotta tell you, I don’t like nicknames.”
“I don’t recall asking if you did,” he said, feeling slightly annoyed at her tone. He silently prayed she would stop talking once they reached the large Victorian mansion.
Apparently, it was intimidating enough for even the spoiled American girl to gasp.
“I’ve forgotten how beautiful it was here.” Her voice was oddly thick with emotion as if she had just found some part of herself, yet Christian decided that would be impossible. It would mean she had a heart and actually did care about her heritage, when it was apparent she didn’t.
He pulled the car into park and shrugged his shoulders. “This is where we part ways. Have a lovely afternoon with your grandmother. I’m sure you have much to discuss.”
She looked at him cautiously. “You mean you’re not coming in with me?”
He couldn’t help but smirk. “You are under the impression there’s something between us other than severe dislike? If I’ve given you that impression, and you feel the need to introduce me to your family, I sincerely apologize.”
Christian had never seen another human being’s eyes squint so small in his entire life. Kessen unbuckled her seatbelt with reckless force and pushed open the door hard enough to bring it completely off its hinges. “I was just being nice, you pompous—”
“Oh hello, Lady Newberry!” Christian said pretending to see the elderly lady behind Kessen. The trick worked because the look on Kessen’s face was nothing short of absolute terror. She turned slowly around and yelled when she saw nobody there.
“Don’t make me your enemy, Christian … Christian … whatever your last name is!” She pointed her finger in his direction, and followed with a smug grin. In exiting the car she yelled something in Spanish—which in her defense, not that he wanted to side with her, she probably assumed he wouldn’t understand.
“Gracias,” he said, waving and driving away, leaving a pale and angry American behind.
Chapter Five
“Stupid British man,” Kessen muttered as she lifted all four of her suitcases up the cobblestone stairs towards the front entry of the house. Mr. Fancy Pants didn’t even help! He honked—honked—and drove off. For crying out loud, he nearly left a skid mark in front of the house with all his haste. Apparently, coming to London had made her the most unattractive person on the planet. What kind of girls did British guys go for anyway?
She made a mental note to ask Nick via internet chat later; he was always brutally honest. Was it the teeth? Was it because she looked “fake” to them? After all, Duncan was guilty of asking her if her hair and teeth and eyes were real, which honestly, was sort of mean. Who did that when they met a perfect stranger? Maybe they thought since Americans were rude, they had a right to be rude back?
Kessen gathered herself and lifted her hand to knock; she was momentarily thrown off balance when the door swung open, revealing an old-looking man in a suit. He did not smile. In fact, she was afraid he wasn’t even breathing; crap, he didn’t even blink. “I hate London,”Kessen grumbled to herself. If she had to look at one more emotionless person, she was going to stand on the top of the building and preach to people about the importance of having feelings.
He cleared his throat and continued to stare.
Kessen stared back, thinking it must be some kind of staring contest. Well, he was in for a long wait. She always won staring contests. She widened her eyes to give herself the look of … well, probably the look of someone about to go insane.
He cleared his throat again. “Miss, we don’t have any work here. Run along now and bother someone else.”
“But—” Kessen put up her hand to stop the rapidly closing door.
The man rolled his eyes. “Yes? What is it?”
“I’m Lord Newberry’s daughter. My name’s Kessen.”
His eyes widened in what she guessed was shock that the daughter of Lord Newberry would be so unkempt, and then yes, she saw them blink. He blinked. Thank you, God, she thought reverently.
He sniffed his nose at her and turned to walk away. “Follow me, Miss.”
She dragged her suitcases in as best she could and tried to remind herself to take slow, even breaths.
He led her down a hallway which apparently had no ending, and up a flight of stairs. He told her to leave the luggage at the bottom and a maid would bring it up when she could. Kessen nodded her head and continued to follow him.
He finally stopped in front of a large white door and knocked not once, not twice, but three times. Each knock gradually louder than the first. The thought occurred to her that it was quite possible he knocked three times only for her grandma, and once for everyone else. Did they have a school for people like him? A no blinking school?
The door swung open, revealing her tiny grandmother. She was shrinking with age, which Kessen had thought was merely an urban legend. But the truth was being exhibited through her grandma, who was five-foot-two when full grown, and was now only four-foot-nine, bless her little heart.
“Grandmother!” Kessen yelled then hugged her as tightly as she could. Who cares about the stupid British rules of personal space?
Her grandmother didn’t seem to mind either; instead she held Kessen with all the force a woman of eighty-eight could possess, which oddly enough, seemed like quite a lot of strength.
“Oh, my dearie, oh, my love,” her grandma whispered into her hair. “I have missed you so much, my love. How is your father? Is he well? Here, come sit, sit!” She pointed to two little chairs by a small fireplace and turned towards the man-who-knows-no-emotion. “John, will you please bring us some tea and biscuits?”
He nodded his head, still not smiling and left.
“Does he smile?” she asked casually.
“Never,” she said, expression stern. “We Brits do not smile, Kessen.”
Kessen looked at her, panic-stricken, until her grandmother started laughing, a twinkle behind her harsh mask.
“I’m just having a little fun, love. Old John’s always upset about something. Pay him no mind, and he’s a tame little pussy cat.”
Kessen smiled and grabbed her grandmother’s hand. “I’ve missed you.”
Tears filled her grandmother’s eyes. “Oh love, my heart is whole just seeing you sitting across from me. It is my greatest joy to introduce you to society.”
Anxiety washed over her body. She must have showed as much, because her grandmother suddenly felt the need to reassure her.
“No worries, my dear. Everything will be just fine. We have a small ball this Friday which will be in your honor. I have already set aside time for shopping. It will be splendid, absolutely splendid!”
Kessen forced a toothy grin and said a quick “Yay” through clenched teeth. It was going to be a long week.
****
And it was. In fact, Kessen didn’t even have time to sleep, let alone go check out the London offices of Newberry and Co. Her dad must have meant it when he said he wanted her to experience a Season.
Well, she was experiencing it, all right. The last three nights had been filled with endless dinner parties and shopping. By the night of the ball, she was so exhausted, she thought she would fall asleep getting dressed.
Her grandmother convinced Kessen to wear something slightly scandalous to her coming out party, mainly because it’s what they expected Americans to do, and if she was to find a good match (yes, she did actually say ‘match’), she needed to gain attention.
Three hours, two makeup artists, and one pedicurist later, Kessen was ready. Her gown was a silver, shimmery contraption, which plunged so low on her back it needed to be taped above her tailbone; the front was higher but left nothing to the imagination. It made her glad she had been working out every day for the past few months. She wore white gloves that went past her elbows and her hai
r was curled in huge, luscious waves all the way down her back. The makeup wasn’t truly her style, but then again she never wore much makeup. They paired a smoky eye with pink lipstick, making her feel like a Barbie doll on her first date with Ken.
She took a deep breath as she heard a knock on the door.
Her grandmother appeared in head-to-toe pearls, which was actually the least shocking part about her outfit. The most outrageous element was the enormous ostrich hat perched on her head. It looked like a nest. A nest that had been recently used.
“Lovely,” Kessen found herself saying, even though she wondered if her grandmother’s vision was also going with her height.
“Oh, my love! Let me look at you!” her grandmother twirled her like only cute old British grandmothers could do, and sighed. “The future Duke of Albany will love you in this! Oh, he will adore you. He must marry this year, you know.” She nudged Kessen in the side as if to say “take the hint.”
Kessen wanted to gag. Marriage was the last thing she wanted. It sounded worse than her poorly written romance novels. “Um, thanks, Grandmother. But I think … well, I don’t think I’m ready for marriage quite yet.”
Her grandmother’s face paled as if her granddaughter had just confessed that she liked cats more than men.
“Oh dear, oh dear.” Her grandmother sank onto the bed as if she was having a stroke.
“Are you okay?” Kessen rushed to her side. “Grandmother? Can you hear me?”
When Kessen reached her side, she was grabbed by the brittle yet irritatingly strong hand, and pulled down to the old woman’s face. “Listen here, Kessen. You will marry soon; you must marry soon. I need to see great-grandbabies before I keel over and die!”
Kessen didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or do both. “Okay, Grandmother. I … I’ll try.” Because what else can you say to your eighty-eight year old British grandmother? No? She didn’t know the meaning of the word. It would be like asking her to compose a Tweet. Rather than get online, she would write a song about a bird.
It took nearly ten minutes for Kessen to coax her grandmother out of her room, and around ten promises that she would dance with the future duke, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do and it rated just about as high as driving nails into her hand.
Compromising Kessen Page 4