Cruel Games: A Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance (Knights of Templar Academy Book 1)

by Sofia Daniel

I left Kendrick cupping his hopefully broken nose, watching me with disbelief shimmering in his gray eyes. My feet pounded the gravel with each step. I stormed through the archway in the hedges, too furious to cringe at the distant sound of barking.

  A juniper-scented breeze swirled through my hair, cooling my temper a few degrees. It had been stupid of me to have believed Kendrick was different from his brother and best friend. Dumb of me to have thought his offer of friendship wasn’t another way to ingratiate himself with Elizabeth.

  “What’s so special about her?” I snarled.

  The moment those words slipped my mouth, I regretted them. I never compared myself to other girls. Ever.

  But since joining Templar Academy, I got the vibe that Elizabeth saw me as competition, even though we were completely different people. Sure, we were both petite and blonde, but that was it.

  She was the princess in the tower, and I was more like the bawdy tavern wench. She was honey-blonde, a shade lighter than my natural dirty blonde, and I’d dyed mine platinum.

  “Lilah,” said a voice from behind. “Please, wait.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The word was like a struck match, reigniting my fury. What kind of twit did he take me for? A forgiving one?

  I turned around with my fists balled, ready to lay into him again. Kendrick’s nose was swollen, and he’d stuffed balled-up tissue in his left nostril. The irritating part of it was that instead of looking ridiculous, it just made him look rugged and fresh from a fight.

  “What are you sorry for?” I placed my hands on my hips.

  “For not predicting that Father Neapolitan’s sermon would skim recent revelations.”

  I reared back, not quite believing my ears. “Like Neo from the Matrix?”

  His face broke into the most heartbreaking smile of dazzling white teeth. What a pity he was such a dick underneath all that masculine beauty. “He’s rather taken the character to heart, don’t you think?”

  “Don’t change the subject,” I snapped, feeling a little hypocritical for bringing up the Matrix first.

  Kendrick’s face dropped. “Right.” He gave his swollen nose a tentative pat with his fingers. “You have to believe me. I didn’t bring you to church to be embarrassed—”

  “Humiliated.”

  “Yes.” He dipped his head. “It wasn’t my intention to bring you there to be humiliated. Father Neapolitan clings onto old testament beliefs and can be very judgmental. When I invited you, I hadn’t predicted he would base his sermon on your mother’s fall from grace.”

  I rolled my eyes. Talk about putting women on pedestals. If every unmarried mother fell from grace, Richley High Street would be littered with corpses.

  “Why do you even go there?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “It’s the nearest church to the academy, and everyone attends. I’m apologizing because I might have guessed he would use Elizabeth’s announcement as a topic. It was hurtful and insensitive and something you didn’t need to hear.”

  “How do I know you and Elizabeth didn’t plan this together?”

  The sound of barking became louder as though the dogs had broken free. Cringing, I shot a nervous glance at the kennel building on the left. It was time to leave this patch of land. Without waiting for Kendrick’s reply, I continued toward the next wall of hedges.

  Kendrick followed after me and placed his hands in his jacket pockets. “Elizabeth might have suggested the prodigal son, but she didn’t know you would be in attendance.”

  “Whatever.” Shaking my head, I glowered at the academy. The morning sun illuminated its white facade, making it shine like a buttercup, reminding me of the highlights in Orlando’s hair. Another lying wanker.

  We continued in silence through the meadow, the only sound our feet crunching the gravel. As we approached the second arch, Kendrick asked, “How can I make amends?”

  “Just go away until I forget you ever existed.”

  “I won’t until you accept that I didn’t set you up,” he said.

  “Why are you hanging around where you’re not wanted?” I snapped.

  “Because I want to get to know you better?”

  “Why?”

  “You’re interesting.”

  My feet ground to a halt. I turned around and glowered into Kendrick’s swollen face. “That’s the blandest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  His cheeks pinked. “Perhaps I’m beginning to see why Maxwell and Orlando find you so fascinating.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Going through puberty? Needing a little guidance with your burgeoning desires, are you?”

  Cheeks darkening, he jerked his head away.

  Triumph spread through my chest, warm and tingling and smug. “You’re a virgin.”

  “I wouldn’t put it in such stark terms,” he murmured. “But I’m saving myself for the right woman.”

  “Elizabeth,” I spat.

  He gave his head a minute shake. “Her recent conduct has revealed personality traits I find intolerable. I no longer wish to associate with her.”

  “Even if that means not becoming Lord Liddell?” I asked, brows rising.

  “That’s my parents’ desire, not mine.”

  I huffed out a laugh. “Really?”

  “Until now, I didn’t realize Elizabeth could be so vindictive. You and your family did nothing to warrant such an attack, which is why I can abide her no longer.”

  “Fine.” I continued walking through the archway into the manicured gardens. The scent of roses filled my nostrils, chasing away the juniper. “But if you’re looking for someone to guide you through a sexual awakening or whatever you call this fascination with me, go somewhere else.”

  “Lilah?”

  “What?”

  “Say you forgive me.”

  “I forgive you. Will you bugger off now?”

  A loud, frustrated huff escaped his nostrils, and I suppressed a smile. He was so easy to tease. I wondered how he would be, squirming and naked on my bed. I’d never had a virgin before. But I’d never been with anyone apart from Sammy.

  We passed the pond, but I saw no sign of the little, brown frogs on the lily pads. Maybe they’d all gone out to lunch.

  Up ahead by the pyramids of roses, Gideon strolled alongside a much taller guy with blond hair. A smile spread across my lips. So, that was what Lachlan looked like without the silver hair wax. Gideon looked like he was giving Lachlan a tour of the gardens. Lachlan gazed at Gideon like he was the only thing worth looking at in these magical surroundings.

  “Who’s that with Adewale?” asked Kendrick.

  “Mind your own business, will you?”

  “I was just trying to make conversation.”

  “Alright then,” I asked as we walked up the gravel path by the oak trees. “Have you ever thought of me while you wanked?”

  He suppressed a smile. “Never.”

  “Are you lying?”

  “Probably.”

  I grinned at that. “Who freed Orlando and Maxwell?”

  His smile faded. “They managed to upturn the bed, trying to reach the keys for the handcuffs. I can’t believe they would entice anyone into such a lurid trap.”

  “You’re not blaming me for stealing the cameras?”

  He held the door open. “I would have done the same in your situation.”

  “You wouldn’t have gone into a nightclub, let alone gotten into the back of a limo with two guys.”

  “I was trying to put myself in the shoes of a girl who enjoyed alcohol and nightlife,” he said. “If I were such a person and approached by two stunningly handsome and exciting young men, I imagine their charm would sway me.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You just called yourself exciting and stunningly handsome.”

  “No, I did—” His eyes widened, and he broke into a chuckle. “I suppose I did, but I know the effect Maxwell has on girls.”

  My brows furrowed. Was Kendrick desperately insecure, deluded, or f
ishing for compliments? Or was it just a case of not being able to see the similarities between himself and his twin?

  “Whatever,” I said.

  We entered the dining room, and the smell of roast beef filled my nostrils and made my mouth water. It had been ages since I’d had a good old-fashioned roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, and I couldn’t wait to see how the chefs at Templar Academy prepared it.

  Kendrick and I sat at our usual table. “Did Mr. Burgh explained your familial connection?”

  “He filled in some of the gaps.”

  “Did you get all the answers you needed?”

  A waitress approached with a tureen of French onion soup. We paused to let her ladle out our portions.

  When she left, I turned to Kendrick and said, “He doesn’t know who got my mother pregnant.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Thirty-three.”

  “My parents are thirty-seven,” he replied. “They both studied here, but the age gap would have been too wide for them to be acquainted. I have an aunt who is thirty-five. Would you like me to ask her what she remembers about your mother?”

  I stirred my soup. “It was a long time ago. Do you think she’ll even remember?”

  “If what Elizabeth said about your mother taking an heirloom was true, it would have been the biggest scandal of the decade.”

  I raised a shoulder. “Mother never talks about her past. I’d appreciate anything you can find out.”

  He took a spoonful of his soup and sighed. “I hope today’s events won’t affect our friendship.”

  “Stop talking about it, alright?” He was such an earnest wanker. It was hard to stay angry at him for long.

  Kendrick gave me an eager nod, and we ate our soup in silence.

  After a meal of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding followed by Bakewell pudding and custard, we walked to the village of white, eighteenth-century buildings arranged around a paved square with its own gazebo. As the afternoon sun glinted off their slate roofs, I noticed that most of them were unusually well-preserved.

  Maxwell explained that the village had been built in the reign of King George to support troops for the Napoleonic Wars. Now, most of the industry around the village centered on the school and tourism.

  “Have you been to the Bonny Thistle?” he asked.

  I glanced into a cozy restaurant with flagstone floors, dark wood furniture, lit by candles and a roaring fireplace. “No.”

  “We can go together next Sunday.”

  “Isn’t it too soon after Elizabeth to be asking girls out for dates?”

  He smiled. “I told you. We never dated.”

  “You just courted her for fun?”

  “Not exactly.” His brows drew together. “Maxwell and Orlando gave up on her sometime last year, and I kept her company out of habit. There wasn’t anyone I noticed until you came along.”

  “You barely even looked at me.”

  “The glimpses I caught were enough, and I thought the way you spoke to Maxwell and Orlando was fun.”

  I shook my head. “Sometimes, I don’t understand boys.”

  “Will you give me another chance?”

  My gaze caught a gorgeous window display of a chocolate fountain. Next to it stood a pile of macaroons. On the other side, lay chocolate hearts that looked hand-made.

  “Do you want to stop off at the Chocolate Salon for a cup of tea?” he asked.

  I stared into his eager face and sighed. Kendrick’s gray eyes glimmered with hope, his brows raised with expectation. Did my view of his asshole twin and best friend cloud my judgment, or was Kendrick as big a bastard as Orlando and Maxwell? It was hard to tell.

  “Actually, we’d better head back. I’m meeting someone this evening, and I want to have a soak beforehand.”

  His face fell, and guilt twanged at my heartstrings. “Alright”, he said. “But think about it. We can go to the village any weekend you like.”

  I didn’t reply. No matter how nice Kendrick appeared, I still couldn’t trust him.

  Chapter 19

  We returned to the academy, where I made an excuse about needing to finish stitching some horsehair on a garment for tailoring club.

  At the entrance to the tower, Kendrick leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek, but I ducked through the door with a muttered goodbye.

  I fired up my phone, checking for any messages from Gideon, but nothing came up. His date with Lachlan would probably stretch all the way to curfew.

  Instead of moping about lost opportunities with Kendrick, I opened my wardrobe and pulled out my sewing kit and my latest project—a tailored jacket to match my Sunday dress.

  Hours later, I made my way to the headmaster’s office, wiped my damp hands on my dress, and knocked on the door.

  “Enter,” replied his deep Scottish voice.

  I pushed open the door to find Mr. Burgh sitting behind his desk, dressed in a white shirt, tweed waistcoat, and matching pants, looking very dapper.

  Butterflies took flight in my stomach, and my breath quickened. After a lifetime of gangsters, it was hard to believe that this cultured gentleman was my flesh and blood.

  He glanced up and gave me a tired smile. “I’m so sorry.”

  My heart plummeted. Was he canceling on me? “What’s wrong?”

  “Someone informed me that you were at today’s service. Father Neapolitan’s sermon must have cut deep.”

  I raised a shoulder. “Those were the words of a man who’s never had a life. It’s petty to dwell on the mistakes people make when they’re young.”

  Mr. Burgh’s smile broadened. “I told him something similar but not in so many pleasant words.”

  “What did you say?”

  Pulling himself to his feet, he shook his head and chuckled. “Something about him not getting as many opportunities to sin when he spends his life sermonizing and watching DVDs.”

  “Is that why he’s so bitter?”

  “There’s history between himself and your mother.” He walked around his desk. “They were sweethearts around the time she became pregnant.”

  My stomach tightened. “Do you think he could be—”

  “If he was your father, he would have taken responsibility.” Mr. Burgh placed an arm around my shoulders, and we strolled to the door. “Strangely, he never showed any interest in other women after your mother ran away.”

  A grimace twisted my features. That wasn’t a definitive answer. Besides, if that Neapolitan twat had gotten me pregnant, I’d run to the moon, never mind London.

  We left the academy buildings through the front door, just as the sun hung low in an indigo sky and cast long shadows over the courtyard.

  A tall barrier of hedgerows stretched alongside a road that led further into the country estate. We continued in silence until we reached a set of gates that led to a smaller building constructed in the same French chateau-style as the academy.

  Its stone front and tall, curved windows reminded me of the holiday rentals where Mother and Billy Hancock spent their vacations to the south of France. Maybe she was pining for this place on some deep level.

  “Is this where the teachers live?” I asked.

  “It’s the headmaster’s residence,” he replied. “Previous incumbents have had larger families, as well as servants, to accommodate. I only take up a few rooms.”

  A pang of sadness struck my heart as we walked through the cobbled courtyard and up a set of stone steps. I could have lived here with him and his wife. It would have been a much happier life than the one I had spent in Richley.

  The doors led to a magnificent entrance hall with a tartan chair by the fireplace that looked like it was used for visitors to sit and take off their boots. Six-foot-tall wood-paneling covered the walls and above them hung antlers.

  I wondered if Mr. Burgh enjoyed hunting like Kendrick’s father, but didn’t want to waste my time thinking about him or his twin.

  He led me to a room four times the size of the lounge at Sammy’s p
lace, which was lit by a huge chandelier and a collection of table lamps. The smell of woodsmoke filled my nostrils, and I glanced at the wall opposite the windows to find a fire burning in the fireplace.

  Warmth spread across my chest as I took in champagne-colored damask armchairs with a dining table and six chairs upholstered in matching fabric. “This is beautiful!”

  He chuckled. “One of the benefits of the job.”

  I turned to him, my eyes wide. “Do you have your own home?”

  “A Victorian house in Edinburgh, which I rent out, and some holiday cottages in the Isle of Skye.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t know teaching was so lucrative. But if Mr. Burgh had lived in the academy for years, I imagined he’d have a lot of spare cash to invest.

  “Take a seat.” He gestured at the dining table set with two places. “I’ll bring dinner.”

  I walked around, taking in all the family photos. Mr. Burgh had married a tall, stern-looking woman with the same mousy-brown hair as Mother. She wore her hair in a severe bun with rectangular-shaped glasses.

  It made me wonder if Mother had gotten her the unforgiving traits of her personality from Mrs. Burgh.

  The headmaster walked in, holding a bright red cast iron pot. “I hope you like chicken and dumplings.”

  “It sounds lovely.” I slipped into my seat and let him dish out a generous serving.

  The stew was one of those one-dish meals that seemed to contain all the major food groups. He cracked open a bottle of white wine and poured me a glass.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Did you make it yourself?”

  His cheeks reddened. “Mrs. Campbell might have helped.”

  I sipped from my glass and hid a smile. If I was a gambler, I’d bet that she made the entire stew herself and even put it in the oven for him.

  Mr. Burgh launched into his life story. He had been a student at Templar Academy in the seventies and had returned here to teach after university and teacher training college. He took over as headmaster at the turn of the century.

  “Which subject did you teach?”

  “Religious Studies.” He sipped his wine and explained that he had studied Theology at Edinburgh University, fully intending to become a priest, but he changed his mind after meeting his wife and decided to become a teacher.