Page 112 of Keep Her from Them

“Then it’s true. Why on earth do you think I’d go back?”

“Come, come, your holiday is over and your boyfriend has walked away.”

I stared. “Raphael? No, he hasn’t.”

Jackson’s expression of incredulity backed up my thoughts. Raphael would never leave me. But where was he?

Sir Reginald continued. “It has always troubled me when members of the family do not pay the appropriate respect to what they owe the Crown. King Philip entrusts upon me a great deal, and I do not take that lightly. If we need visibility throughout the year with trivial headlines of a princess in a frock to keep the attention of the British public, then that’s what we shall deliver.” He angled his head like a snake about to strike. “What you’ll deliver. I believe I’ve made my position clear.”

I took a step, furious. “You’re deluded. Dangerous. When my cousin finds out what you’ve done?—”

“Oh, your cousin won’t care about that. Only that we get the results, which means you getting back in the fucking helicopter with me and doing as you’re told.” His eyes gleamed as he delivered his killer blow. “Or your ex-boyfriend’s real name gets splashed all over the afternoon news, and your father loses his home. Can I speak plainer?”

Perkins recoiled in shock.

I swallowed a bitter sense of loss. He had no remorse and complete certainty over what he’d come here to do.

At the doorway, Ben marched in with Dori and Valentine, the latter holding a photographer with his wrists caught behind his back. Sir Reginald’s eye bulged.

At once, several people started speaking.

But it was a booming voice at the top of the sweeping staircase that silenced us all.

On the first landing, my father stood, resplendent in his blue smoking jacket and with antlered stag heads on the wall either side of him. “Alexandra, I assume this is the new security team you’ve appointed? Perkins, would you assist them in locating the brig?”

The brig was my father’s dungeon, used in previous centuries to house local villains.

“At once, sir.” Perkins bowed his head and indicated for Valentine to follow him. Then he paused and gestured at a now-silent Sir Reginald.

Of all the people in the world the private secretary was afraid of, there were only two. The king, and the king’s uncle.

“That one, too, sir?” Perkins asked.

My father gave a ratty tap of his toe. “Obviously. Lock them both up until I’m ready to deal with them. I have other business to attend to and do not expect to be disturbed.”

Sir Reginald squawked in protest, but Ben was already on him and strong-arming him after Valentine and the photographer.

I squeaked in shock and got out of their way, Dori coming to my side and Jackson staying with me as I restarted my heart and followed them to another staircase and down.

Perkins took a set of old, thick iron keys off a hook on the wall and unlocked two stone-walled rooms with barred doors. Ben and Valentine thrust one man in each, and Perkins twisted the keys in the locks.

Sir Reginald flew at the bars of his cell, spittle forming around his lips. “You cannot keep me here.”

Perkins didn’t flinch. “Actually, His Royal Highness is designated Constable and has the power of arrest. Ye committed a crime, as did your friend.” He addressed the sullen photographer who hadn’t made a peep. “Your brazen confession enabled your arrest. If ye have a complaint, take it up with the police when they arrive.”

He pocketed the keys then ushered us all out.

I wanted to laugh, or to enjoy Dori’s story of his exploits in tackling the photographer. But more, I had to find Raphael.

Chapter 39

Raphael

The door to the gallery swung open, and the prince burst through. Alex’s father eyed me then jerked his head for me to walk with him again.

After talking to Sir Reginald, I’d returned to the house to find Alex but stumbled in on the prince alone in his breakfast room. I’d cursed myself for breaching no doubt multiple protocols, but the man had waved me in, finishing up a phone call. Shortly after, he brought me here, to what he’d called his exercise room, the portrait gallery that smelled of beeswax and hundreds of years of history.

Shouting had reached us. He’d told me to stay put while he investigated.

---