Compromising Kessen (Vandenbrook #1)(12)

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?