Mina staggered down the stairs, ruthlessly hauled by Barrons. “Where are you taking me?” She couldn’t catch her breath. All she could see were those damning photographs—the same ones Gow had given her the other night. But she’d burned them. How the devil had the prince consort gotten his hands on them and worked out what she had? Gow. He’d been in her household for years as one of the few she could rely on to get the information she needed. So bland and unassuming, never asking for anything more than he was owed. The Falcons were not only assassins but also spies. It wasn’t beyond belief to imagine that the prince consort would try to infiltrate all of their houses. Indeed, she often vetted prospective employees very carefully. But what if the spy had already been there, trusted under her father, inherited by her? She hadn’t queried the employees she already had. But Gow as the spy made too much sense not to be true.
