Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(60)

“Darling,” he purrs, his voice like silk on the skin. I shiver as the syllables fall over me like a caress. “I’m the Duke of Westminster, the great-grandson of the Queen of England, and in possession of a fortune worth over nine billion British pounds. Whatever you have to say, whoever you are, it means quite literally nothing to me.” He pushes Harper back with a single finger on her chest and she stumbles, mouth gaping open.

Windsor smiles; it’s not pretty anymore.

Uh-oh.

He lifts his eyes up and rakes them over the group of Bluebloods, like he’s searching for something. Clearly he doesn’t find it because a huge grin appears on his face, and then he’s turning to me, eyes sparkling. I’m going to have to be careful with this guy; he is not as nice as he seems.

Hmm.

Somehow, that makes it easier for me to smile back.

“Bunch of self-important arseholes,” Windsor says with a shrug of his shoulders. “I can trace my bloodline back for centuries; I don’t need to prove myself. And you,” he looks me over carefully while the collective whole of the group bristles, “are clearly quite easy on the eyes, and quite right in the head to avoid these assholes. Shall we go then?”

“I’d love to,” I say, a new idea blooming in my chest.

The Bluebloods now hate Windsor; Windsor hates the Bluebloods.

This could work.

“This is a mistake you’re going to regret,” Tristan warns as we move past, but his voice is hot with anger and his dark gaze is quite clearly focused on Harper. Good. My plan all along was to let their own weaknesses, mistakes, and sins burn them from the inside out. The way Tristan treated Harper in the limo was my first clue that their relationship isn’t as peachy as Harper wants it to be.

“I think it’s a bold career move that’s going to bring me hours of entertainment.” Windsor produces his schedule with a flourish and passes it over to me, and we move on down the hall, leaving the Idols and their Inner Circle safely behind us.



“I love you so much! If I were attracted to boys, I’d be all over you,” Miranda whispers, her voice harsh, eyes brimming with happy tears. Windsor smirks, and pushes some loose hair from his forehead with his palm. It sticks straight up in the front, like a little cowlick or something. “Seriously, I’ve been following you on the news since forever. And when I heard you were coming to America, I knew. I just knew you would come to Burberry Prep.”

“I’ve received quite a mixed bag of welcomes today,” he says with a grin, reaching out to ruffle up my hair. I’m so stunned by the action that I just stand there. Zack narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his broad chest, taking in the prince like he’s not particularly impressed. “Those blokes near the front door,” he continues, gesturing with his thumb in the direction of the courtyard. “They your ex-boyfriends or something?”

“Huh?” I choke, and both Jessie and Miranda crack up. “What? No. No. Ew. No.” But also, maybe, kind of, sort of … Windsor cocks his head to one side and studies me before giving this loose, easy shrug of his shoulders that says he could give two fucks less, and was mostly just curious. “Why?”

“They all look at you with a certain … shall we say, je ne sais quoi.” He laughs and shakes his head. “Usually, I have an uncanny ability to guess when two people have slept together. I was getting mixed messages between you and those guys.” He pauses again and then raises his palms up while he clarifies. “Not all of them though, just the three ring leaders: the gray-eyed one, the lazy one, and the musician.”

“I never slept with them,” I squeak as Zack and Andrew both look at me like they’re trying to figure out if that’s the truth or not. “I’m a virgin.” The words tumble out before I can stop them, and then I groan, clamping a hand over my eyes just before Zack’s brows go up in shock. “Why did I just say that?”

“I have a habit of digging the honesty out of people,” Windsor explains, clearly so full of himself that I expect peacock feathers to pop out of his butt at any moment. He thinks very highly of himself, certainly. “It’s a gift.”

Windsor looks around the student lounge—a place I never hang out but which is essential to any student tour—and reaches up to straighten his tie. He’s got epaulettes on his jacket shoulders which I’ve never seen on anyone else’s academy uniform, but okay.

“You’ve met the Bluebloods then?” Zack asks, and Windsor turns his hazel gaze on my new football player friend. He studies him with total disinterest, but not a complete lack of warmth like Creed or Tristan might.

“Bluebloods?” Windsor asks, and then he laughs. It’s such a bright, airy sound that it startles me. “How quaint. Yes, I’ve met them. Instantly disliked them. Can’t wait to knock their worlds upside down. Wankers.” He wrinkles his nose up. “At least I know which girls not to shag. What’s wrong with that psycho one, with the missing chunk of hair?”

I laugh and clamp a hand over my mouth as a group of fourth year girls waltz by and then stop to gape. Windsor checks them all out, winks coquettishly, and then turns back to me, curiosity brimming in his eyes.

“She cut all my hair off last year, and dyed it bright red,” I explain. “Well, her and Harper—the brunette one that tried to hit on you.” Windsor nods, crossing one arm over his chest and resting his chin in the palm of his other hand. He smells like daffodils and shoe polish, and I’m sort of digging it.