Sound of Madness A Dark Royal Romance - Maria Luis Page 0,109
no. Bringing Rowena to Broadmoor Hospital, however, is asinine. I don’t doubt her ability to handle herself—but embroiling her in this mission won’t just be putting a target on my back, it’ll land one on hers too. Kidnapping a former Holyrood agent for political leverage goes against every rule in the bloody handbook.
And I’m going straight to hell.
With my jaw clenched, I plant a hand over Rowena’s, where she has it ready to open the car door. “What I’m doing at Broadmoor isn’t for Holyrood,” I mutter, careful to keep my voice low, “and it isn’t for the queen.”
Her head tips back. “Then who is it for?”
I want to lie.
And yet, as I hold her gaze, I feel her silently daring me to confess the truth. To trust her with something that has nothing to do with the queen or the future of England and everything to do with me.
“Get in the car.”
As if sensing that I want privacy for this conversation, Rowena slips into the passenger seat without protest. I close the door behind her then grab the duffel bag. With one last glance up at Holly Village, I feel the hair on the back of my arms stand tall.
I know you’re there, you bastard.
Scouring the vacant windows, I find him on the second floor where Alfie Barker and Guthram’s man, Kendrick, are locked away in the loft.
Pushing the curtain wide, Hugh Coney presses both hands to the glass.
Mercy or not, if he turns me into Guthram before I’m good and ready, I’ll string him up by the bollocks and let the vultures feast on his entrails.
Turning my back on him, I cut around the bonnet and climb into the driver’s seat. The duffel goes in the back seat and the key into the ignition. With my hand on the gearstick, we peel out of the drive and onto Swain’s Lane. The sycamore-laned street winds us down toward North Road, and I’m surprised that Rowena waits until I’ve merged onto the motorway, to reiterate, firmly, “Who is this for?”
“Me, Rowena.” With the quiet admission, I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “It’s for Saxon, too, but mostly it’s for me.”
I feel her gaze linger on me before shifting back to stare out the windscreen. “Does this have anything to do with that bloke you brought back last night?”
Brought back implies that I had plans to invite him to the pub for a pint. Instead, I put him in the backseat of this car. Dead men can’t talk, and those who keep their tongues and their lives . . . Well, I can’t risk him running back to Marcus Guthram.
Briefly lifting my hand from the wheel, I scrub my palm over my unshaven jaw. “It has to do with that night at Westminster, when your father found me. Turns out that telling him to fuck off carries with it a life sentence. He’s the one who had the Met’s police commissioner put the bounty on my head.” When I hear Rowena’s small intake of breath, I cast a sharp glance her way before admitting, “My family goes back years with the Guthrams. Marcus’s father, Robert, was best mates with Pa. They served in Holyrood together.”
In my periphery, I see her frown. “Are there rules about who becomes involved with Holyrood? If Robert Guthram took the oath to the Crown, wouldn’t that mean his son would serve too?”
“No. Marcus shouldn’t even know that Holyrood exists.”
She taps her fingers on her thighs. “Wouldn’t the same be said for you and your brothers, then?”
“The Godwins have served the Crown since 1899. We are Holyrood.” Flicking on the indicator, I ease into the middle lane to cut around a lorry. “Generation to generation, we all join. It’s in our blood.”
“Like a title,” she says slowly. “Some people inherit dukedoms and others, like you, inherit—”
“Spy rings.” I give a low laugh. “I’m not sure which one of us has it better, but it’s the same concept—the eldest takes control. For us, it’s Guy. Pa was an only child.” Over the years, Saxon has mentioned time and again that Henry Godwin wasn’t the right man for the position. I’ve always taken his word for it—my memories of our father are few and far between. “Outside of the Godwins, it’s like any other post. Only, if you’re hired, you agree to never say a word. So, no, Guthram should have never told Marcus about Holyrood.”