Cruel Shame (Knights of Templar Academy #3) - Sofia Daniel Page 0,33
idiot for coming here. A bloody idiot for thinking Mother would want to help Mr. Burgh, when she could barely speak to the man that time we met in the police station. And now Kendrick got to witness first-hand the shitty characters in my former life.
He waited several moments, staring in the direction of the front door before following me inside. As the car pulled out of the driveway and into the road, he turned to me and frowned. “I’m sorry.”
I met his sorrowful, gray eyes. “What for?”
“Max or Orlando would have said something by now to make you laugh. I never know how to act around girls when they’re upset.”
I placed my hand over his. “The memory of you beating the shit out of Sammy will bolster my spirits for a lifetime. Where did you learn to fight?”
The corner of his lip curled into a smile. “Captain of the boxing team.”
I swatted at his arm. “You should have told me. I was worried Sammy would punch you senseless.”
Kendrick’s eyes dimmed. “That man hid behind the door, caught Max by surprise, and kept hitting him even after he’d fallen. I should have knocked out his teeth.”
I exhaled a long breath, wondering what other aspects of his personality Kendrick kept hidden.
He cleared his throat. “Your mother’s conduct today was… disappointing.”
I shook my head. “Let’s not talk about her.”
An hour later, our Uber stopped within the landscaped gardens of a three-story Elizabethan mansion set within acres of countryside. Kendrick explained that Gravetye Manor Hotel was only a twenty-minute drive away from Gatwick Airport. We could have a meal there and wait if Mother changed her mind about helping Mr. Burgh.
Gray clouds covered the sky, but bright lights shone from a huge, glass sunroom where people dined around white-clothed tables. My stomach rumbled and I hoped they had enough space in the restaurant for two more.
We stepped out into the cold evening, and into a reception area of wood panels, brass wall lights and snowdrops in crystal vases. Until now, I’d never really considered the difference between old money and new but coming here after Billy Hancock’s place showed me that a person didn’t need wads of cash to look classy.
As we stood at the front desk of polished walnut wood, he leaned into me and asked, “How is your concussion?”
It took a moment for the dull ache to register in the front of my mind. That uninterrupted night of sleep on the train had been exactly what I needed. “Much better.”
His eyes softened. “And you?”
Forcing a smile, I shook my head. “Not so good.”
The receptionist stepped in from a side room, asking if we wanted a room or a table at the restaurant. Kendrick asked for a table for two, and the receptionist guided us to the bar, saying there would be an hour’s wait for food. My stomach spasmed with hunger, but the scents of roasted meat wafting through the hallways promised that it would be worth a wait.
We settled by a crackling fireplace into a comfortable, two-seater sofa upholstered in purple velvet. It was more like a living room than a pub, with people sitting around low tables on matching sofas and armchairs. On the far left of the room stood a wooden bar that matched the paneled walls.
Kendrick passed me a menu, and one of the employees took our order for food and drinks. Right now, the thought of alcohol turned my stomach, and I ordered a hot chocolate to keep my hunger at bay. He ordered an Irish coffee, which was black and topped with thick, white cream.
When my hot chocolate arrived, it was a thick concoction covered with chocolate cream, dark chocolate sauce, and sprinkles. I took a sip, letting the rich, heady flavors of cacao, vanilla, and hazelnut mingle on my tongue. It was the thickest, most velvety thing I’d ever tasted, and I lost myself in the sensation, letting the bitterness of the afternoon fade to the barest aftertaste.
He exhaled a long breath and shook his head. “We had a great-grand aunt in the same situation as your mother.”
My throat dried, and I dropped my gaze to the chocolate the server had left on the table, wondering what on earth Kendrick had gathered from his encounter with Mother.
“She was a sought-after heiress in her youth but married a man who only wanted her dowry and the income that came with her estate.”
My brows drew together. That didn’t sound like Mother at all. “What happened to