do I hang a damn left when I’m driving on the wrong side of the road, and I’m in the wrong seat too?”
“The same way you hang a right when you’re driving on the left side, I suppose,” I said as she flipped me off for my comment. “Hey, I was going to call the driver. You’re the one who grabbed the keys, gorgeous.” I chuckled, seeing another email pop in from my assistant in my London.
“Holy shit.” She raised her hands off the steering wheel and danced in her seat. “I fucking dominated that bitch.”
“Only three laps this time." I smirked.
“If you can shut the phone off, you could be behind the wheel and driving this car. It’s the most glorious thing in the world.”
“Fine, you can pull over,” I said. “Seriously, there are more roundabouts, and I’m in the mood to get to the castle, not spend my night going in circles.”
She reached over a lightly punched my arm. “See, I knew I get you driving again.” She eased the car off the main road and stepped out. “It just took my pretending I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.”
I met her at the trunk and pulled her into my arms. “You weren’t pretending.” I lifted her chin to press my lips to her smiling ones. “Besides, it’s raining, and the last thing we need is the GPS shouting, you laughing, and windshield wipers adding to all of that while we’re dizzy from going in circles.”
“Just drive my ass to this castle,” she said with that damn smile that intrigued me from the first moment I met her on the plane to London. “At least I learned something new today—when in England, don’t drive like a crazy American.” She laughed.
We sat in the car, settled, and took off. How long had it been since I’d turned it all off and drove one of my cars? This was somewhat healing to my soul. It was so relaxing.
“What do you know about Thornbury?” I asked, maneuvering the next roundabout a bit less theatrically than Avery would have.
“Well, from what the flyer said, it is haunted, and also, you can stay in the same rooms as Henry the Eighth and Anne Boleyn when they stayed here.” She gripped my arm. “Do you think if we play into this lie, they’ll let us stay in that room?”
“As much as the Tudor Dynasty is fascinating with the mark it left here, do you truly want to stay in the room that man stayed in?”
“When he was with Anne, he was cool, remember?”
“So, he only was not cool after he beheaded Anne Boleyn? I think Katherine of Aragon would disagree.”
“I don’t know when he went nuts. I know he suffered injuries and went crazy.”
“Do you think that’s why he killed Duke of Buckingham and seized this castle?”
“I know his uncle, Jasper Tudor, haunts the bottom floors of Thornbury because he hates women,” she answered. “Henry killed the duke?”
“You seem to have a fascination, as most do, with this particular king. Guess why he charged him with high treason and had him beheaded at the Tower of London.”
“Well, if I’m honest, I got my obsession with the king because of a TV show.” She bit her bottom lip.
“Interesting.” I laughed. “Do you find it fascinating outside of that particular series?”
“It piqued my interest enough to know I wanted to see sights of the Tudors when I was out here. Little did I know I’d be going to a real castle—that is a hotel—and staying there, with a hot guy,” she said and placed her hand over mine on the gear shift. I loved the gesture. “Tell me why he killed the duke.”
“On top of the fact that Buckingham was going behind his back because he believed he had a stronger claim to the throne, owning nicer things than Henry wasn’t something the king appreciated. Thornbury was just something else to stick in Henry’s craw.” I arched my brow at her, at ease from enjoying my driving my car that I never took out. I was missing out on so many things in life, no matter how simple.
“Dude was a dick. Sort of like Jasper Tudor, haunting the bottom floor. I still need to learn why, though.”
“That I don’t know,” I answered. “I’ve never gone down the paranormal route to the history of ghosts in England.”
“This is the coolest thing ever, though.” She unbuckled and brought her lips to my cheek, “We have to