Page 47 of Lords of Misrule
“Truth be told, Duchess; I don’t know if she is my girlfriend anymore. She barely speaks to me and won’t answer half my texts and calls.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You haven’t asked her?”
“And sound like some pathetic fucking loser begging for crumbs?” His irritated tone is surprising. I’m used to it from Rowan, but Hudson’s normally not so abrasive. I go silent in the wake.
“Sorry. I’m not trying to be a dick. It’s just a sore subject.”
“Why stay with her then? You know some of the girls on campus are dying to be with you.”
“Are they?” His brow rises and falls as he puts the car in park.
“From everything I’ve heard.”
I don’t press the issue further. Whatever is lurking under the surface of all of this with him is more than I know what to do with. And definitely more than I can sort out in the time we have here together in between trying to get this painting sold and playing the adoring couple in front of his relatives.
We make the long walk up to the front door, and Hudson presses the bell. There’s no immediate answer, and I rub my hands together, blowing my breath between them to try to stay warm. He presses the button again, and we wait. A few more minutes and nothing. My stomach turns. This was our only shot. The only chance we have in hell of getting the money in any sort of rapid order without a massive risk on our part.
As a last resort he grabs the large brass knocker and bangs it against the door, a little louder than is probably polite, and a voice on the other side shouts through it.
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I’m fucking coming!”
I raise my brows and look at Hudson. The door swings open a moment later and a well-dressed attractive guy with styled wavy blond hair about our age stands in the door frame, a flask in his hand. He steps out.
“Hudson!”
“Ed!”
The two of them greet each other and exchange a handshake that turns into a half hug as Ed pulls the door shut behind him again.
“What the hell are you doing up this way? And here of all places?” Ed’s brow furrows as he studies Hudson.
“I was going to meet with your grandfather. Have a painting I want to show him.”
“A painting?”
“Yeah. My grandparents set it up with him. This is Charlotte.” Hudson nods to me.
“Nice to meet you, Charlotte.” Ed takes my hand, studying me as he shakes it. His face is unreadable, a practiced look of amused disinterest, so I have no idea if I’m passing muster or not.
“Is your grandfather home?”
“Oh. He’s home. You don’t want to talk to him right now though. We just had it out over a whole bunch of things, and he’s in his office swigging scotch and muttering about how much he hates our generation. Not a good time.”
“What did you do now?”
“What haven’t I done?” Ed smirks.
“I won’t ask then.”
“Good idea.”
“So no chance of talking with him at all today?”
“No. He might settle down tomorrow, but you won’t get anything out of him today. And their maid is out with the flu, so there’s not even anyone to serve you a drink while you wait. Just bad timing all around I’m afraid.”
