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“What you’re really trying to tell me is that you don’t want to have to look at the woman whose world might be ripped apart.”
“Flora, what I’m trying to press home is that, yes, Eric Holmes is potentially a very dangerous man and as a father myself with a wife ferociously protective of her cubs, I know without doubt who the best person in the world to protect a child is.”
I’d hurt him by insinuating he didn’t care; he’d hurt me by not being straight from the start.
I already had known Eric was bad news, right from the very moment I first set eyes on the bastard.
This was an impossible situation.
“You’re doing other people’s dirty work, and I’m sorry,” I said, struggling to prevent my lip from wobbling.
“I am sorry, Flora,” he said as gently as he could.
“Let me have my work. Trust me, Logan will be fine.” If Amy had survived Arabella…
He took a deep breath. “Your unease makes others here uneasy.”
“I can’t help that. But if you expect me to carry this alone, fine, toss me out into the cold.”
I lifted my head and gazed sharply at him. Here I was, a nobody, bartering with the future monarch like he was nothing but a dodgy market trader and I was down to my last copper.
“My work keeps me sane. So put surveillance on me, on my house. Do what you will. I will do better at pretending everything is okay. You can do this for me, for Caelan. You never know, being frustrated might force Eric to make a misstep and you could have him.”
“I wouldn’t risk Caelan’s wrath for anything, not even your sanity,” he chuckled.
I wished I could have laughed along with him, but my chest was a basic cavity capable of nothing more than shifting up and down in that moment.
“Please,” I said again, a hand over my mouth, a tear balancing on my lashes as I stared out into the lush gardens.
“It’ll be done,” he said.
Without a word, I got up and left.
Back in my wing, I closed my office door… and screamed into a cushion.
Chapter Nine
I knew there was something wrong a few days later, when I was driving with the baby in the back of the car through Brighton, and I saw the same blue Range Rover in my rear-view mirror I’d seen all the way from London. Four men packed into the vehicle, four. The government wouldn’t send four. They’d send one and maybe a drone. At a push two men, one of which would be a trainee. No. It felt different to the lazy junk-eaters who sat at the end of my street in baseball caps doing their crosswords. Basically, near-retired cops who would report in, nothing more. Those men in that blue vehicle were no babysitters. They were beasts.
I’d driven out with the intention of giving myself some breathing space, but had I fucked up?
Maybe the prince was right. I should’ve never left Morag and Harold’s side.
I drove around as if I were trying to find the perfect parking spot, perchance a mother and baby space right near the beachfront (yeah, right). I actually did end up parking in such a space, but in a supermarket car park nowhere near the front. I’d gone round and round in circles, in some kind of heightened state by that point, a frenzy if you like. I buckled Logan into his buggy while scoping the borough. The other vehicle had disappeared… or was nearby.
The prince wouldn’t send out his own personal protection squad of beefcakes to follow little, inconsequential old me to the seaside… would he?
Doubtful.
I purchased donuts inside the supermarket and bottled water, pretending everything was normal. They’d hidden themselves well, because when I decided to vacate the supermarket car park altogether and head to the beach, again, nobody I passed screamed berserker.
Convinced it’d been nothing, I lapped up the scene of too many people in too few clothes for the time of year. Couples and gangs of friends, families and loners, everything was here. Nobody looked scared. I even began munching on one of my donuts as I walked.
When Logan let out a little yelp and a cry, I knew it was time to find a place. So we went to a café and I fed him, drank tea and told myself everything was going to be all right, even though it felt pretty similar to the time I’d known Caelan was stalking me—and I’d ignored it.
We went out and about again after the café and Logan was fast asleep once more. As Amy had quickly learned, Logan was a pretty good baby.
I ended up on a packed street of dancers and revellers, some kind of festival going on, when my head started spinning as I got pushed and shoved. The buggy nearly got away from me and I was dizzy, only just managing to keep a grasp of the handles.
