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“Please do,” says Maisie with stiff bravado, but I can see the fear in her eyes.
“And Evan…” Jenkins takes my hand in his, and it’s only then that I realize I’m trembling. “It’s likely that you’ll need to speak to MI5 as well, I’m afraid. Is that something you’re willing to do?”
I try to nod, but it’s taking everything I have not to cry. Jenkins watches me for a long moment before pulling me into a gentle hug, and I cling to him as a single sob finally escapes.
“We’ll sort this out, darling,” he murmurs into my ear. “I promise. None of this is your fault.”
But as bad as it all is for me, that’s not the reason I’m crying. Instead, I watch Kit over Jenkins’s shoulder, both furious with him and terrified for him at the same time.
“I need to…” I try to say, but the words come out as a croak, and I clear my throat. “I need to talk to Kit. Alone. Please.”
Doyle looks dubious at best, and even Maisie hesitates, but it’s Jenkins who shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart.”
I pull back. “What? Why not?”
“Because this way, the three of us can assure the Home Office that there’s been no collusion between the two of you now that we know about Lord Clarence’s connection to the suspects.”
“Collusion?” I stumble over the word. “Jenkins, this isn’t some spy movie—”
“He’s right, Evan,” says Kit thickly. “If this gets…sticky for me, the palace is going to focus on protecting you. And they can’t do that if you’re trying to protect me.”
“I—” I look between them, stunned. “So what, you’re going to separate us?”
Doyle dabs his forehead with a handkerchief. “For the time being, it would be…wise for Lord Clarence to keep his distance from the royal family,” he says. “Not only from a legal perspective, but the optics—”
“But he didn’t do anything wrong,” I protest. “If you kick him out, it’ll look like we think he did. Jenkins—”
“I’m sorry, darling, but this is all rather serious, I’m afraid,” he says, still holding my hand. “We’ll know more once you and Lord Clarence speak to the Home Office.”
I open and shut my mouth, momentarily speechless, and finally I look at my sister. “Maisie, please,” I beg. “He’s your cousin.”
“So is Ben.” Her eyes are red as she meets mine. “I’m sorry, Evan. You told me to listen to my advisers, and…I’m listening.”
I push off the edge of the table with such force that my leg nearly buckles beneath me. “This isn’t fair,” I say jaggedly. “You know it’s not fair. You can’t just throw him to the wolves because it’s easier—”
“We’re not throwing anyone to the wolves,” says Jenkins. “You’re right, Evan. He didn’t do anything wrong. But we need the opportunity to prove that. He’ll have our best lawyers with him, and when it’s all said and done, everything will be fine.”
“How can you say that when—” I begin, but a tentative brush against my shoulder startles me, and as I whirl around, Kit snatches his hand back, every bit as fearful of touching me as he was during those first few weeks we knew each other. This, more than anything, is what breaks me, and when I finally close the distance between us and throw myself into his arms, it’s a relief to feel him embrace me in return.
“It’s all right,” he murmurs into my hair—not a whisper, not a secret Jenkins and Doyle and Maisie can hold against us. “As soon as we talk to MI5, it’ll all be settled. Dylan and Aoife have been texting me about the club for months, and I have everything I need to prove I had nothing to do with any of this. And that you didn’t, either.”
The ringing in my ears grows louder again as I hold him, refusing to let go. All I can picture are the terrible ways this could end—the worst-case scenarios that have Aoife and Dylan claiming Kit was part of this all along, that he offered them access and information and gave them everything they needed to pull this off. I can see the headlines. I can hear the jeers and the boos. I can imagine the talking heads and media figures tearing him down, mentioning his name in the same breath as Aoife Marsh and acting like they were in this together the entire time. And I’m terrified.
At last it’s Kit who gently pushes me away, until I’m clutching the fabric of his jacket and staring up at his blurry face. “I’ll see you soon, Ev,” he promises, resting his forehead against mine. That small gesture is enough to remind me of what my parents have been through and how everything in their lives conspired against them, and I am desperate—desperate to not let that happen to us.
“I love you,” I say, the words easy even if I have to force them past the lump in my throat. And despite the way everything is going so incredibly wrong, he manages a tiny, genuine smile.
“I love you, too,” he says, pressing his lips to my temple. And then it’s Jenkins’s arm around me instead, leading me to the exit. I watch Kit over my shoulder until we reach the doorway, and the last image I see of him is of his hand pressed to his mouth, and the utter despair he must’ve been holding at bay finally creeping over him, stealing the last of his smile.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Henrietta, with all that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours, I scarcely know where to begin.”
“It’s all been rather shocking, hasn’t it? But with the statement that was just released from Buckingham Palace regarding the King’s condition, we’re finally starting to see some answers.”
“His Majesty is alive—that’s certainly more than some were speculating.”
“Alive, yes, but given the news that the royal family is invoking certain clauses of the Regency Act of 2005, it’s clear that his injuries are extensive and potentially life-threatening.”
