Private Royals (Private 12.50)

She was not innocent in this, the Duke reminded himself. She had courted disaster. Invited it into her home. Abbie had every right to grieve for her mother, but she was a royal and had failed the test when it came to acting like one.

No, she was not innocent.

His bones aching from weariness and anxiety, the Duke crossed his mahogany-clad office, coming to stand in front of a framed photograph that held pride of place in the centre of the wall.

It had been taken twenty-six years ago, and the Duke studied the lines of soldiers who stood and kneeled in ranks, many sporting moustaches, the younger Duke’s own nothing but a pathetic pencil line. It had been a dangerous time in Northern Ireland, and the Duke had revelled in the challenge. Standing beside him was Sergeant Aaron Shaw.

The Duke swallowed. Shaw had always been his man – solid, unflappable. It grieved him that his sergeant had survived the Troubl

es in Ireland, only to die protecting his daughter. The bond between officer and NCO could never have been described as friendship, but there was a deep-rooted respect and understanding born from comradeship. They had relied upon one another, and so, on learning of Shaw’s very likely passing, the Duke had imagined that he would be saddened.

He wasn’t. He was only angry. So many people had let him down.

The Duke moved to his desk, his sagging body almost disappearing into the depths of the high-backed chair as he sat. He was exhausted. He was finished.

Worse yet, his family was finished.

He heard a commotion in the corridor. He knew who it would be. He had expected him to arrive sooner and for the endgame to be played out, for the man’s coming could only mean one thing – the Duke was doomed.

And so was his daughter.

CHAPTER 22

THE DUKE’S OFFICE door opened so violently that it almost came off its hinges.

Morgan was the cause, his handsome face darkened with a snarl as he stormed in with Knight and Cook behind him.

The Duke’s grey face showed no sign of alarm as Morgan slammed a piece of paper onto the mahogany desk.

‘This is for you, Your Grace,’ he growled.

The Duke looked from the note to Morgan. Then tears began to roll down his sallow cheeks.

‘I don’t want to read it,’ he choked.

‘Then I will,’ Morgan declared and snatched up the paper. ‘It’s pretty concise, because Sadie Wilkinson was in a hurry to take her own life.’

A groan from the Duke confirmed that this had been his fear.

‘That’s right,’ Morgan told him. ‘Wilkinson is dead, and so is Grace Beckit. Now we know why.’

As the eyes of Knight and Cook burned into the Duke, Morgan went on to read Wilkinson’s confession. Desperate to salvage Abbie’s image in the public eye, the Duke and Wilkinson had dreamed up the idea of a staged kidnapping. It had been Wilkinson’s suggestion that the young royal would have been released during the Trooping the Colour parade for maximum exposure, the contrast of a dishevelled and abused young woman against a strong and regimented military force a stroke of PR genius. Abbie had been ignorant of the plot, just as Wilkinson had been ignorant of the true danger of the stunt. She’d had no idea how Grace had become involved, but seeing her body had been too much for her. Wilkinson had not been able to live with the guilt.

‘I couldn’t do anything for her,’ Knight growled, approaching the Duke. ‘She was dead when I found her.’

‘Three deaths,’ Morgan spat, throwing the suicide note into the Duke’s lap, then leaning across the desk so that his own face was in the older man’s. ‘Why?’ he roared.

‘They’ve gone rogue,’ the Duke whined, tears still falling.

It was too much for the soldier Cook, who stepped up and drilled her fist into the ex-military man’s jaw.

‘Hold yourself like a bloody soldier, you coward, and tell us what we need to know!’

The blow brought some composure back to the Duke. ‘Shaw,’ he said. ‘Shaw was handling it.’ A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.

‘Shaw’s dead,’ Knight stated.

‘He brought in someone else. Shaw must have lost control of him,’ the Duke told them, confirming Morgan’s suspicions that Shaw had been killed by someone he trusted.